Many years ago, my husband and I had our first date on Valentine's Day. I was on crutches. Made for an interesting day but let's go back to the why. It really began with me turning him down with these words, "I hate doctors. Get lost."
Why would a mild mannered Cancer who was usually nice say those words to a potential mate. The day began with the surgical intern helping a patient out of bed. Though there was a sign on the bottom of the bed that said Bed Rest, he helped the man to stand so he could use a urinal. Guess what! He left and the patient fell on the floor and fractured his hip. The patient had terminal cancer and very fragile bones. After screaming at the intern, who appeared not my future husband and my response.
The evening became worse. This was the US Steel ward. An admission had arrived at change of shift and I had done nothing more than assessed him. I was returning to the nurses' station when my aide came flying out of the room and smashed into the wall. Fortunately he wasn't hurt.
"He's having the DTs," she said.
I went in to assess the situation and approached the patient. "When I went to take his pulse, he swung. I did one of those quick football turns and you could hear the cartilage pop. I went out to call the intern and the patient's doctor. Took three of us to medicate him. The wife arrived for visiting hours. I took her aside to talk about his history.
"Me, Does he drink."
Her. "He never touches alcohol."
Me. "Really."
Her, "He does drink a case of beer a day but that's not alcohol."
Me. "Duh."
Two days later, The orthopedic surgeon went in to repair the cartilage. Fortunately he was the Steeler's orthopedic surgeon and my scar was a mere two inches long. A week after the surgery, I returned to work.
And that's how I had my first date on crutches.
