A slice of life from three years ago today.
My husband fell very early in the morning and could not get up. He had taken a sleeping pill the nightbefore, which probably made him groggy when he got up to use the bathroom, and he forgot to put on his slippers. He wanted me to call the doorman to help him up, but when I noticed there was some blood on the floor, he asked me to call an ambulance, and he spent the day in the ER. Nothing was found to keep him there, and he came home in the evening by taxi.
His doctor wanted to know how lucid he was, and I told her, as lucid as he could be given that he’d had little sleep.
And then I wrote these questions in my journal: “How lucid is he anyway? How depressed is he with this inactivity? How long can he stay off his feet without suffering the ill effects of inactivity, weakness in legs, weaker balance?”
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