Road Trippin in 1973
Estimated reading time: 14 minutes, 26 seconds
Emergency Room
As I stepped out of the car, I felt dizzy. One of the hospital staff came over with a wheelchair. “Thanks,” I said. “A dog bit me.” Cathy started talking to the aides about how friendly the dog was and how she was sure she could have treated me at the hostel. “Let the doctors check him and make that decision,” the nurse informed her.
After providing my insurance card, they wheeled me into a treatment room.
They pulled off my ripped shirt and jeans, which now had a gaping hole from my hip to knee.
“That is a pretty serious bite,” said a doctor who introduced themselves as Dr. Jenkins.
As they cleaned the wounds, the pain became almost unbearable.
Dr. Jenkins made an assessment and wrote something down in my chart.
“We will give an injection for tetanus and penicillin and stitch you up.”
“How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad. If the bite had been a fraction of an inch higher, it would have cracked your rib cage. That would have been a serious life-threatening situation.”
I swallowed to control the pain and accept how serious it was.
They gave me the two injections and started to sew me up.
“How many stitches?”
“A baker’s dozen at least.”
Dr. Jenkins gave me a packet of discharge papers and a prescription for penicillin and pain pills. I could not take the medication for pain until I got home as I was responsible for seven boys.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
