Day of surgery to remove bar:
Planning for the prosthetics clinic before the 1 pm surgery, I called days ahead and made the appointment. ‘8:30, 8:45, or an 11:00 is available,’ said the office paperwork lady that I remembered so well from last time. I thought… 8:30 is a wee bit early … ‘8:45 please’ I said. ‘I know that she will need a small splint, here are her measurements.’ ‘Oh, good to know,’ said office lady. ‘We will have to get a special one for her.’
Husband and BIL and I involved on this one. All three of us to the prosthetics clinic, then to the hospital. I would check in with all the paperwork and then leave. They would sit through the surgery and take her home.
MIL ready to go. (Thank god for the care-givers. They are worth their weight in gold.) Wheelchair, slope, car, clinic. Parking lot, wheelchair, MIL, office. Running a bit late but still about 8:40 when I dash in ahead of the others. ‘MIL here for her appointment.’
‘You’re a bit late,’ said office paperwork lady, flapping papers about on her desk. ‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘We have the 8:45 appointment.’ ‘No, you have the 8:30, but we can still take you.’ ‘No, I’m sure…’I began to explain. ‘You will be beat,’ stated office lady emphatically. My mouth hung open in astonishment.
BIL and husband rolled in MIL. Gave office lady the co-pay. If I threw a tantrum right there in the office, ripping off wallpaper, jumping on the spindly furniture, and eating the potted plant, it would feel good temporarily, but hurt MIL’s prospects for this splint thingie she had to have. I sat down quietly.
A few minutes of hunting about my papers made me realize I was missing something. I drove quickly home so I missed the next part. My husband filled me in.
They sat in the waiting room until about 9:15, when my husband noticed the prosthetics doctor driving into the parking lot. The actual visitation lasted less than 5 minutes. The doctor didn’t even look at the broken arm, but measured the other arm. Then he didn’t have the right size. BIL and husband very unimpressed. Left with splint Velcro thingie in box.
MIL, BIL, husband and I to hospital. Admissions, paperwork, forms, upstairs, room. Changed MIL to gown, visited the smallest bathroom in the world. (Try that with someone who can’t move her arm nor stand up without assistance.) Blood pressure, temperature. Verified husband still had splint box. After settling MIL into bed, I kissed her, thanked BIL and husband and joyfully fled the hospital.
My husband came home hours later stunned into exhaustion. BIL and he had seen MIL into surgery. They had gone to the allotted guest room and settled in to wait. And waited. Sometime later Dr. R.S. showed up, declaring her out of surgery and fine. Husband offered him the splint box.
‘Oh, no. I couldn’t find you, so I used one of ours,’ Dr. R. S. said cheerfully.
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