The doctor entered my room, and after a few tense seconds he looked at me with a saddened expression and said, "We can't find anything wrong with your CT scan results. Everything came back perfectly fine, except for a slight swelling in your vertebrata.”
With that he went on to explain that they didn’t have a neurology unit and that I would need to head to one via transfer from there.
He left the room to find a free bed at St. Vincent in Indianapolis. My father, grandfather, mother in-law, and wife all looked at me when the doctor left. I can remember, in detail, each of their expression. They all frightened me except for my wife Rosemary and my father Bob.
Rose’s eyes wouldn’t leave mine. Looking into them, I started remembering the first time I gazed into her eyes. I remembered the cool of that night, the way she smelled, and how nervous I was. We both were lain down at a friend’s house. The Punisher was on the TV, and we were focused on each other. We held each other’s hands, lightly running our fingers over each other’s palms and wrists. Our toes touched each other lightly, and the rest of the world existed outside of us. It was then I knew, looking into her eyes, she would be there forever and I would never leave her side.
My father’s eyes were scared. But, they were strong, as they always are. He made me feel like I was 6 again. I could remember the bicycle I had received. I couldn’t remember what it was for, but I remember my two brothers Robbie and Ben both got one too. I remembered the look on his face when he was holding my handlebars. His eyes were scared to let go, but strong in confidence I could succeed. The look on his face then was the same it was at that moment in the ER.
I can’t explain how I felt in that moment. It was as if someone sucked the air out of the room and stopped time.
After a few minutes in that existence two nurses entered the room. One had an interesting tone to her words when she began speaking.
“Ok hun, we’re going to get you up and walking so we can get you out of here.” She sounded like she was trying to convince me into doing something I had been hiding. Bluntly putting it, I don’t think they believed what I was telling them.
The nurses walked to my bedside and began trying to sit me up. “This isn’t going to work,” I said slightly irritated at their tone, “I can’t walk. My legs aren’t moving if no one told you.” I added in a sharp tone.
“Oh,” one of the nurses said surprised, “you can’t walk?” she asked me as if she were speaking to a child.
You can predict what I wanted to tell this woman. But, I restrained myself in my response.
“No, that’s why I came in. I can’t move my legs at all.” I said, returning the talking to a child tone.
The nurses left the room shortly after that response.
The doctor returned after about 15 minutes. He told me that the hospital I wanted to go to didn’t have any beds available. We went through 3 other hospitals before finally finding an available bed in Methodist.
With that the paramedics came in, transferred me onto another stretcher, and off we went to Methodist Hospital of Indianapolis.
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