A Trip to the Hospital

A Trip to the Hospital

The small instant messaging window pops up on my screen with the words, "Take me to the hospital." My roommate and I had been carrying on a conversation with little depth. I was having difficulties deciding on a topic for my latest paper, so the conversation, however shallow, was a welcomed break. Keeping up with the sarcastic theme, my response was, "Are you dying, bro?" The short replies, "yes," followed quickly by "I need to see a doctor," had me questioning the truth of this situation. After telling him he was not allowed to die while I was in the middle of writing papers, I asked if he thought he really needed to go and why. He said, "I think so; I think my knee is dislocated. I need to get it relocated before school tomorrow." My papers were due in two days so I had to decide between finishing the papers and assisting my friend. "Call an ambulance. I have to finish these papers," I said. "NO! It costs like a million dollars for an ambulance! PLEASE take me," he replied. I tried to imagine him saying this, and quickly dismissed the thought with the realization that he was merely feet away, as we lived in the same house. I rose from my comfortable computer chair, reluctantly, to investigate further.

I knocked on his door and entered without waiting for an invitation. He was lying on his bed with his legs in the shape of the number four. His right hand was just above his swollen knee and he was laughing and cringing at the same time, blushing in embarrassment. He is a tall man and moving around on the bed with such an injury seemed to be quite the task. Moving his body to a position that allowed me a better look at the knee takes him a considerable amount of energy. Having recently dealt with a similar situation that limited my own mobility, I was empathetic to his situation. I could understand the embarrassment and told him I would take him to the hospital without further investigation.

My first concern was getting him into the car. Luckily, my sister had let me borrow a pair of crutches a few weeks before when I had sustained my leg injury. Unfortunately, these were older wooden crutches and one of them was missing the rubber piece at the bottom. We agreed they were better than nothing and that he would need to be cautious in his movements. The positioning of furniture in the house slowed down the task of getting to the front door, but that issue was small compared to what lay ahead.

I heard the pounding of the rain falling before the door was completely opened. It was difficult enough getting this large man to this location without the rain. Now, we had to get him down a wet flight of stairs containing 30 or so steps at 11 P.M. in the dead of night with an ancient pair of crutches, one of which was missing the rubber stopper. To avoid a major disaster, such as another disabled limb, we decided he should sit down on the first step and then slide the rest of the way down on his bottom. He lowered himself with the utmost of care with only my arms supporting the bulk of his weight. A 6'2 macho man having to inch his way down a large set of wet stairs on his bottom hit me as hysterical and I began to laugh. He stopped about half way down the metal staircase, exhausted, to look back at me through water-speckled glasses just long enough to let me know how he felt with the middle finger of his free hand. This stirred even further laughter from within me that I could not contain. As he inched closer to the bottom, I began my own descent, allowing time for him to reach the pavement and myself to maneuver with the crutches in my grasp. My drenched reflection stared back at me from each passing stair. I was deliberate and cautious in my movements as we did not have reinforcements and could not afford another casualty.

I was feeling the weight of the saturated clothing around my body and knew he was having a much more difficult time with the rain than I was, having traversed a large staircase on his bottom and then across a four lane parking lot. I sensed his impatience as I fumbled with the keys trying to unlock the silver sports utility vehicle. The vehicle's other three doors unlocked simultaneously with mine and we hopped in as quickly as we could. Using my hand as a squeegee I removed the excess water from my face. I looked at my roommate as the vehicle's dashboard components illuminated the inside of the car. Water dripped from his hair, eyeglasses, and chin and his breath was visible in the cool, autumn night. The large man's chest raised and lowered rhythmically; his breathing was shallow. I began to laugh hysterically, unable to put the car into drive. Through my squinted eyes I could see the anger and frustration building inside him. "Shut your face and get me to the damn hospital! This isn't funny it hurts like hell," he said, slapping me in the back of the head. I told him he looked like a fat Harry Potter and drove out of the lot.

We were a fourth of the way to the hospital and my laughing was dying down. It was late in the evening and there was very little traffic. I could see the rain drops in the headlights just before

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