I knew I was in a hospital when I woke up because I had tubes in me everywhere, and I mean everywhere. The second thing was there was a doctor, a couple of nurses and my wife surrounding my bed.
“You’ve broken your hip.” the doctor announced with authority.
This time whatever pain killer they had me on preempted any smart ass remark, like “What was your first clue?”
“The bad news,” the doctor started.
Those three words knifed their way through my morphine induced fuzziness. My mind said “You kidding me. a broken hip is the good news.”
The doctor continued, “because you take Eliquis, the new blood thinner, for your heart; we need to wait at least forty-eight hours for the drug to be out of your system to make the surgery safe. If it were elective surgery we would wait a week.”
Having said that he handed me the button which controlled the intravenous morphine pump. “When you start to feel the onslaught of pain, push the button.”
I immediately pushed the button and continued to push it for forty-eight hours while I laid in the hospital bed waiting for surgery for my broken hip.