I’d been in the hospital a week when Nurse Pelvis came back from her vacation.
She was short and looked like Jaimie Lee Curtis with short legs and extra lines in her face from seeing thirty years of pain and suffering. Her name was something like Harriet Friedman, but we called her Nurse Pelvis because she had a long story about the time she broke her pelvis and she had this kinda sexy pelvis first walk.
I was in traction, with a cast on my arm to help the severed tendons in my forearm heal.
She looked at me frowning. Then she smiled and the room lit up.
“That’s not a fractured pelvis,” she said. “Your pelvis isn’t even out of place. It’s just cracked.”
This was true, my pelvis would take a month of traction in a hospital bed to heal enough to stand, but it wasn’t anything like the massive fractures my dad would suffer years later.
“I’ll tell you about a fractured pelvis,” Nurse Pelvis went on, smiling happily. “We had a guy in here a couple of years ago who was fixing his roof and fell off. Knocks the wind out of him and sprains his wrist. So he decides that is not going to happen again. So before he goes back up to finish fixing his roof, he ties a rope around the trailer hitch on his Suburban, and the other end around his waist. So he goes back up on the roof and over to the other side where he’s fixing the flashing around the chimney.
"Then his wife walks out the front door, hops in the Suburban and drives off to do the weekend shopping. He was in here for a year, his wife left him, he lost his house.
As the blog said in Barbarossa, tying yourself to security is really, really dangerous.