A Brush With the Beast
It all begins one Sunday morning when Mrs. Morris, a 75-year-old retiree with a heart condition, trips on her way out of church. She falls flat on the sidewalk, can’t get up, and ends up in our Bronx emergency room. A CT scan shows a pelvic fracture, and she’s admitted to our inpatient team.
When I join the family medicine residents to see Mrs. Morris the following day, she can’t get out of bed. She’s got short, unruly white hair and a gee-whiz expression that charms us. “What a pain!” she says. Given how close she lives to the brink–terrible circulation has cost her one heart attack and several toe amputations–I’m impressed with her good cheer.
Things looks promising. Follow-up studies confirm that the fracture won’t require surgery, and in the afternoon a physical therapist pilots her through a few wobbly steps.
The next morning we come to Mrs. Morris’s room and find her peering at a novel. “I think it would be great fun to be a secret agent, don’t you?” she says to me.
We make arrangements to transfer her to a rehabilitation facility, where therapy will get her walking again.
All goes smoothly until a hospital » Continue Reading.
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