How I Spent Bastille Day 2009
Title
How I Spent Bastille Day 2009
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"The day started beautifully. After weeks of rain and clouds, the sun came out, and I decided to do something I haven’t done in years: hit a tennis ball against the wall."
Date
2009-07-15
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Coverage
2009-07-14/2009-07-15
Identifier
How_I_Spent_Bastille_Day
Text
How I Spent Bastille Day 2009
The day started beautifully. After weeks of rain and clouds, the sun came out, and I decided to do something I haven’t done in years: hit a tennis ball against the wall. After lunch, I took out my old tennis racket and several balls, and went to the tennis court, and the wall which had a sign reading: “No ball playing against the wall,” and proceeded to play ball against the wall.
After a few minutes, I was beginning to get the hang of it. Just like the old days in the
PS 39 playground in the Bronx, and more recently, the Driscoll school here in Brookline. Then, something happened which wasn’t like the old days: My feet got tangled up going after a ball, and I tripped. I have fallen a couple of times in the past year, and the experience takes on the quality of a movie in slow motion. I become an observer, as I watch myself slowly falling, falling. I am unable to change direction from down to up, or to regain my balance, I am going down, and I instinctively and stupidly put out my hand to break the fall. I landed on my right hand and right buttock.
I picked myself up, grateful that no one saw me, and headed home. Fran was surprised that I had returned so soon. I sheepishly told her that I had fallen, and that my right wrist and right buttock was hurting. I made an ice pack and put it on my wrist, and lay down. Martha, Mark and the kids were returning from the Vineyard, and when they arrived, I went downstairs, helped them with their luggage, led Mark to the car rental agency and drove him home. It was about 5:30 pm. My wrist continued to hurt, as did my butt, which felt like a rock.
Fran made a lovely supper, and after supper, I went to the bathroom. (Forgive these intimate details.) While there, I broke out into a cold sweat and became dizzy. After a few minutes, I made my way to the bedroom, and lay down. Again. I was feeling better. However, my family didn’t realize I was feeling better, and Martha insisted on calling 911. This made me feel worse. Within 10 minutes a whole crew of EMT guys materialized. They looked me over, asked a bunch of questions, and took me to a stretcher in the hall. I was rolled out the door to an ambulance waiting on Pond Av. I was then rolled into the ambulance and two gentlemen started to take my blood pressure and an EKG. Turns out my blood pressure was very low. VERY low—something like 77 over 40. I didn’t know what it meant, but they looked concerned, and seemed concerned as well about the squiggly lines from the EKG. Fran followed the ambulance to the Emergency Dept.
We went to Beth Israel. I was wheeled in and noticed the sign “Triage,” Believing that I really was not sick, and that too much of a fuss was being made, I concluded that I would have to wait a very long time. Au contraire. I entered a room where I was surrounded by nurses who started attaching me to IVs, and putting oxygen up my nose, a blood pressure sleeve on my arm, and sticking me with more stickers for another EKG. Nothing like a very low blood pressure to get their attention. The Doctor, John Jesus, came in and started asking me the same questions that the 911 guys asked: Did I hit my head? Do I have pains in my chest, stomach, anywhere, etc? He examined my rectum for blood. And then he disappeared. Fran was aware how handsome he was.
And I waited, and waited, and waited. A nurse came in, checked my blood pressure and temperature, and noticed that my blood pressure was looking better. More waiting. It has been almost three hours. There was a digital clock over the doorway, and I watched it go from 10 pm to 11 pm to 12 midnight. I was particularly intrigued when it came to 12:18—my birthday, then 12:22--my anniversary (first time around), then 12:25--Christmas. I believe it was soon after Christmas that I was taken to have my wrist X-rayed. Fran, who was sitting next to me all this time, reading the paper, noticed the interesting hair styling of the young man who came to transport me to and from the X-ray room. About 20 minutes later, I was taken to have a chest X-ray. About a half hour later, I was informed that everything was fine: I do not have a break, but I do have a badly sprained wrist, and they will put a splint on it. I think it was made of fiberglass, went on soft, then hardened, No news about the chest X-ray. Since my wrist continued to hurt, a nurse gave me percoset. It did not make it feel any better.
There were signs that we were coming to the end of the ordeal. My blood pressure was almost back to normal. Dr. Jesus came in with five sheets of paper. Two were labeled “Patient Information.” One described Syncope/Transient Loss of Consciousness. It is a common problem caused by inadequate blood flow to the brain. My old friend, Vasovagel Response, caused, in even healthy people, by the sight of blood, hearing unexpected news or while experiencing pain. I am supposed to drink plenty of liquids, and take prescribed medications. The second sheet discussed hand and wrist injuries. Simple sprains or strains will resolve over one to two weeks. (Let’s hope this is a simple strain.) Recommended treatment: rest, a sling, pain relievers. A third sheet listed preliminary diagnoses, and asked me to make an appointment with orthopedics, which I did. And finally, a list of my medications. And a prescription for percoset.
,
I was feeing good. The splint was put in place. The IVs and the oxygen tube and the EKG, and the blood pressure sleeve were all removed. The nurse placed cotton where the IVs were and scotch taped them to my arm. She did not remove the EKG terminals, expecting me to do it at home. Man, do they hurt when pulled off! We were free to go. Everybody was happy that nothing bad was found. Was I lucky! Of course, if I had been really lucky, I wouldn’t have fallen.
(I should note that typing this took me ten times as long as it would have if I had use of both hands. Not only was I using my right hand only for capitals, I kept making mistakes, including omitting letters, on every third word. This never happened to me before. But I should consider myself lucky that I can use the computer at all.)
7-15-09
The day started beautifully. After weeks of rain and clouds, the sun came out, and I decided to do something I haven’t done in years: hit a tennis ball against the wall. After lunch, I took out my old tennis racket and several balls, and went to the tennis court, and the wall which had a sign reading: “No ball playing against the wall,” and proceeded to play ball against the wall.
After a few minutes, I was beginning to get the hang of it. Just like the old days in the
PS 39 playground in the Bronx, and more recently, the Driscoll school here in Brookline. Then, something happened which wasn’t like the old days: My feet got tangled up going after a ball, and I tripped. I have fallen a couple of times in the past year, and the experience takes on the quality of a movie in slow motion. I become an observer, as I watch myself slowly falling, falling. I am unable to change direction from down to up, or to regain my balance, I am going down, and I instinctively and stupidly put out my hand to break the fall. I landed on my right hand and right buttock.
I picked myself up, grateful that no one saw me, and headed home. Fran was surprised that I had returned so soon. I sheepishly told her that I had fallen, and that my right wrist and right buttock was hurting. I made an ice pack and put it on my wrist, and lay down. Martha, Mark and the kids were returning from the Vineyard, and when they arrived, I went downstairs, helped them with their luggage, led Mark to the car rental agency and drove him home. It was about 5:30 pm. My wrist continued to hurt, as did my butt, which felt like a rock.
Fran made a lovely supper, and after supper, I went to the bathroom. (Forgive these intimate details.) While there, I broke out into a cold sweat and became dizzy. After a few minutes, I made my way to the bedroom, and lay down. Again. I was feeling better. However, my family didn’t realize I was feeling better, and Martha insisted on calling 911. This made me feel worse. Within 10 minutes a whole crew of EMT guys materialized. They looked me over, asked a bunch of questions, and took me to a stretcher in the hall. I was rolled out the door to an ambulance waiting on Pond Av. I was then rolled into the ambulance and two gentlemen started to take my blood pressure and an EKG. Turns out my blood pressure was very low. VERY low—something like 77 over 40. I didn’t know what it meant, but they looked concerned, and seemed concerned as well about the squiggly lines from the EKG. Fran followed the ambulance to the Emergency Dept.
We went to Beth Israel. I was wheeled in and noticed the sign “Triage,” Believing that I really was not sick, and that too much of a fuss was being made, I concluded that I would have to wait a very long time. Au contraire. I entered a room where I was surrounded by nurses who started attaching me to IVs, and putting oxygen up my nose, a blood pressure sleeve on my arm, and sticking me with more stickers for another EKG. Nothing like a very low blood pressure to get their attention. The Doctor, John Jesus, came in and started asking me the same questions that the 911 guys asked: Did I hit my head? Do I have pains in my chest, stomach, anywhere, etc? He examined my rectum for blood. And then he disappeared. Fran was aware how handsome he was.
And I waited, and waited, and waited. A nurse came in, checked my blood pressure and temperature, and noticed that my blood pressure was looking better. More waiting. It has been almost three hours. There was a digital clock over the doorway, and I watched it go from 10 pm to 11 pm to 12 midnight. I was particularly intrigued when it came to 12:18—my birthday, then 12:22--my anniversary (first time around), then 12:25--Christmas. I believe it was soon after Christmas that I was taken to have my wrist X-rayed. Fran, who was sitting next to me all this time, reading the paper, noticed the interesting hair styling of the young man who came to transport me to and from the X-ray room. About 20 minutes later, I was taken to have a chest X-ray. About a half hour later, I was informed that everything was fine: I do not have a break, but I do have a badly sprained wrist, and they will put a splint on it. I think it was made of fiberglass, went on soft, then hardened, No news about the chest X-ray. Since my wrist continued to hurt, a nurse gave me percoset. It did not make it feel any better.
There were signs that we were coming to the end of the ordeal. My blood pressure was almost back to normal. Dr. Jesus came in with five sheets of paper. Two were labeled “Patient Information.” One described Syncope/Transient Loss of Consciousness. It is a common problem caused by inadequate blood flow to the brain. My old friend, Vasovagel Response, caused, in even healthy people, by the sight of blood, hearing unexpected news or while experiencing pain. I am supposed to drink plenty of liquids, and take prescribed medications. The second sheet discussed hand and wrist injuries. Simple sprains or strains will resolve over one to two weeks. (Let’s hope this is a simple strain.) Recommended treatment: rest, a sling, pain relievers. A third sheet listed preliminary diagnoses, and asked me to make an appointment with orthopedics, which I did. And finally, a list of my medications. And a prescription for percoset.
,
I was feeing good. The splint was put in place. The IVs and the oxygen tube and the EKG, and the blood pressure sleeve were all removed. The nurse placed cotton where the IVs were and scotch taped them to my arm. She did not remove the EKG terminals, expecting me to do it at home. Man, do they hurt when pulled off! We were free to go. Everybody was happy that nothing bad was found. Was I lucky! Of course, if I had been really lucky, I wouldn’t have fallen.
(I should note that typing this took me ten times as long as it would have if I had use of both hands. Not only was I using my right hand only for capitals, I kept making mistakes, including omitting letters, on every third word. This never happened to me before. But I should consider myself lucky that I can use the computer at all.)
7-15-09
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “How I Spent Bastille Day 2009,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed April 20, 2024, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/94.