Free Barry Friedman - The Old Folks At Home: Warehouse Them or Leave Them on the Ice Floe by Barry Friedman Page A

said, “Hmm.”
    At the “Hmm,” my hand to flew to my mouth. “Is it, you know, broken?”
    Without looking up he said, “We’ll get her to the ER for x-rays.”
    They placed the backboard on the ground alongside her, and while one tech gently pulled on her right leg, they moved her over on to it. Although they were gentle, Harriet screamed. They ran duct tape around her chest and head, securing her to the backboard, then lifted her to a rack inside the ambulance.
      I grabbed the elbow of one of the EMTs. “Where are you taking her?”
    “To St. Joseph ’s ER.”
    St. Joseph ’s hospital was only about a mile away. I debated whether or not to hop into the ambulance with Harriet, but decided it was better to have my own car so I could drive home when the time came. I had the valet bring it up and followed the ambulance.
    By the time I had parked, Harriet had been brought into an examination room. The waiting room, separated by a door from the examination rooms, was jammed with patients and their families and friends. When the door to the examination and treatment area opened, I caught a glimpse of nurses and doctors, scurrying around. A receptionist at a desk blocked me from going in.
    “They’re awfully busy in there,” she said. “You’ll just be in the way. I’ll call you when the doctor has seen her.”
    I could see her point, and paced the waiting area until I heard her call my name.
    Harriet was in an examination room on a gurney. She grabbed my jacket. “Am I glad to see you.” she said.
    A doctor wearing a white coat with his name, A. Nelson, M.D., embroidered on a pocket, stood holding a clipboard. He appeared to be in his late forties, swarthy, slender and had the broad shoulders of an athlete.
    I introduced myself and shook his hand. “What can you tell me, Doctor?”
    “I’ve examined her. She has some bruises, but the main problem is her right hip. She’s going for an x-ray now. You can go with her. After the x-ray we’ll talk, okay?”
    “Does it look as though anything is broken?” My anxiety was still in the red zone.
    “She may have a fractured hip, but let’s wait for the x-ray.”
    I followed an orderly pushing the gurney to the X-Ray Department and did some more waiting. And worrying.
    Twenty minutes later, Dr. Nelson emerged from the room where he’d been looking at Harriet’s x-ray. He appeared somber. My heart sank.
    “She has a fractured hip, Mr. Callins. Do you have an orthopaedic surgeon?”
    I’d had arthroscopic surgery for a torn cartilage in my knee, but that was twenty years ago and I couldn’t even remember the name of the surgeon. I shook my head. “Who’s the best orthopaedic surgeon on the staff here?”
    He smiled. “We have sixteen orthopods on staff and they’re all good. But Dr. Baldwin is head of the department and his specialty is hips.”
    “If this was your wife or mother, who would you have?”
    “Dr. Baldwin.” No hesitation.
    “Call him in.”
    Nelson went to a phone. When he returned, he said, “You’re in luck. Dr. Baldwin just came out of surgery. He’ll be here shortly.”
    Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Baldwin, in a white coat over a green scrub suit, wearing a green surgical cap, arrived. He was in his fifties, over six feet tall, square jaw, and smiling eyes. We made our introductions and I waited outside the examination room where Harriet lay, while he went in. When he came out he said, “I’m going to look at her x-rays.”
    “How does it look?’
    He shrugged. “No question she has a fractured hip. How’s her health generally?”
    “She’s never had any serious health problems. Maybe a little challenged in the short-term memory department over the past two years.”
    “Well, we’ll have someone check her heart and lungs, run some lab tests. After I see her x-rays I’ll discuss her treatment.”
    More waiting and stewing until Dr. Baldwin returned with the results. We sat.
    “Well, the x-ray confirmed that Mrs. Callins