What is the Sound of One Hand Washing?

                                                Part 4 of 4 

Surprise!  I decided to finish my broken arm story after all.  It seems I felt a little bit more like writing after getting some things off my chest in my previous rant post. As for the future, who the hell knows.  It seems that Herr Newsom has just posted re-opening guidelines that pretty much guarantee California stays shutdown for the next 75 years.  So no promises about future content.  Enjoy this one while you can (or if you can). 

Part 3 is here. 

So I had to wait for an orderly to come wheel me out.  First we stopped by check-out so I could pay for the E.R. visit.  I dunno, but somehow I got my debit card out of my wallet.  Note: I used a debit card cuz I knew I wouldn't be able to sign my name on a credit card receipt, but I could use my left hand to tap in my PIN number.  Then he wheeled me to the 24-hour pharmacy in the hospital.

It was kind of funny….they had all these chairs for people to sit while waiting, and three out of every four chairs were taped off with yellow tape.  Social distancing, you see.  Fortunately it wasn't crowded.  I just stayed in my wheelchair anyway.  It took awhile but they finally had my drugs for me.  Then I had to wait for a pharmacist to "consult" with me.  Then, they wanted me to sign some kind of waiver since they were giving me narcotics.  But I couldn't sign to get the drugs for my broken arm because…..I had a broken arm.  The pharmacist signed for me.  I guess that is ok. 

Then we headed to the exit and I tried to request a Lyft with my one good hand.  That was not easy to do.  And then there is the address for where the Lyft is to pick me up.  This is always problematic at Kaiser.  It is a big place, it has several addresses, and I never know for sure where to tell them to show up.  I was sure I told Lyft the right place, but then I got the notice my ride was there and I didn't see the Lyft vehicle.  

Now I should mention that it had taken so long for me to see the doc a second time and then wait for the orderly to pick me up and get my drugs, etc, that it was now dark.  I had really wanted to get home in the light.  Damn. 

Although I didn't feel it was necessary, the orderly insisted on staying with me until he could actually put me in the car.

Since I couldn't see the Lyft car that was supposedly there, I knew I had to try to reach him.  Ordinarily, I would have just texted him with further instructions, but one-handed that was not really something I could do.  So I actually had to call him. Using your cell phone to make an actual telephone call, who'da thunk it? 

I got thru to him and I told him where I was.  I told him that he had to come in the circle (actually a semi-circle) at the hospital front entrance.  Could he see that?  He didn't sound like the sharpest tool in the shed.  He grunted, "I don't know," and then he disconnected.  I could only hope he'd show up in a minute or two.  He did not.  So I tried to call him again.  This time I got voice mail.  I left a message, but I called again.  It sounded like someone picked up but there was no voice on the other end, finally it disconnected again. 

According to the Lyft app, there was no ride pending.  So I had to start over and request another ride.  I guess I described my location better, or maybe this guy was just smarter than the other guy because he actually found me.  The orderly helped me into the car and we headed finally headed home. 

I'm not sure exactly when, but at some point in the evening I received a notice from Lyft that I was being charged $5 for a no-show, as if it was my fault the first driver didn't pick me up.  I was pissed, but I had more important things to worry about.  Note:  I never did complain to Lyft to get that charged removed.  I figured I would have had to have complained in a text or an email and it was way too much effort to bother for the lousy five bucks. 

The Lyft driver took me home.  In my haste to go to the ER hours earlier, I had neglected to take an activator for the giant gate that encloses my townhome complex.  I did have a key to the gate that you can walk thru, but I couldn't open the gate so the Lyft car could drive through.  And opening the big heavy "people gate" in my condition was no fun at all.  But I somehow managed to do it, and hobbled to my unit.  I was able to walk, but it did hurt to walk, my leg was still bothering me quite a bit. 

Now I came to the front of my house, in the dark.  And there was all my stuff from the grocery delivery that I had scheduled that day, which hopefully you all remember.  He had followed my instructions perfectly and set everything up against my front door. 

Which made it almost impossible to get my key in the lock to open the door.  Especially with only one hand.  Especially in the dark.   Actually the first problem was finding the right key.  I have three keys on my key chain that are the same design, only one of which opens my front door (like most people, I have several keys on my key chain that I have no idea what lock they open). Of course I could use the flashlight on my cell phone. But with only good hand, I have no idea how I used the flashlight on my cell phone and held onto the key chain.  I had to use the process of elimination to test the three keys that had the right design to see which one was the right key for the lock. In the dark, it was almost impossible to put each key in the lock!  My voice notes don't relate how I used the flashlight and the key chain one-handed but somehow after much time and effort, I found the right key. 

As I mentioned earlier, the lock is all the way over on the right side, fairly high up.  In the dark, it would always be a challenge getting the key in there.  But now, I had to reach over and try not to trip and break my neck on my groceries (which by the way, were awfully difficult to move out of the way with only one arm).  It took me forever but I finally did it, then I had to get in the house (in the dark), climbing over the groceries.  It was quite an ordeal.  

Then I had to turn on the A/C, the lights, my PC (which I didn't really need to do) and then figure out how I was gonna get my damn groceries inside. 

Well, most of the groceries were spoiled.  All the frozen stuff was long since thawed out.  But it didn't matter, as you might remember, my shopper had made all substitutions on my frozen meals and didn't pick one that I would eat (like with the Lyft charge, I never complained about the lost money there). He didn't make any of my requested substitutions.  Some refrigerated stuff (like salad), I stuck in the fridge hoping it wasn't ruined (actually a lot of it was still usable).  There was little non-perishable stuff because I had cancelled that.  

Oh, and there was a 24 pack of bottled water sitting on my porch.  There was no way I could move that inside.  I just left it on my porch for days (weeks), until I started bringing it inside one bottle at a time.  Initially I couldn't even bend over to get a bottle at a time because for the first week, it hurt like hell (in my leg) to bend down to reach the floor.  So for a week, when I dropped something, it stayed dropped. 

One thing I really felt like I needed to do was….wash my hands.  I had been at the germ-infested hospital for hours and what do they always tell you…wash your hands when you've been out. 

But I couldn't wash my hands because one of them was bound useless by my side.  I was looking at who knew how many weeks before I could properly wash my hands.  I figured I was sure to die of COVID. 

What is the sound of one hand washing?  In the coming days, I somehow managed to master the art of washing my left hand one-handed, without any help from my right hand.  

I had gone way too long without eating (or taking my meds) so I somehow ate.  There was no way I was capable of figuring out how to prepare a meal so I ate some stuff that I could just open the box and stuff in my face, no cooking involved.  

I made the mistake of lying down on my couch to eat and watch TV.  Like most of my house, either intentionally or by happenstance, the couch is set up for a right handed person.  I once had the brilliant idea of putting a big coffee table in front of the couch.  Although I was able to climb into the couch, the coffee table made it well-nigh impossible to get off the couch.  I am not exaggerating, with my right arm being useless, it took me at least 20 minutes to get off the couch. 

I didn't make that mistake again, I didn't get back on that couch for another month, until I had better use of my arm.  I watched TV from my chair and also I did a lot of TV watching from my desk, on the PC.  When I wanted to lie down and watch TV, I had to use my tablet.  The trouble with that was that it was difficult to hold the tablet comfortably since I couldn't use my right hand. 

I had the hospital gown on for two or three days, until I finally figured out I could slip it off without taking off my immobilizer.  I had to kinda/sort put it back on whenever I ventured out to pick up my mail.  Very awkward. 

And of course I couldn't shower.  I mean I didn't think there was any way I could get the immobilizer back on if I took it off.  Now I did hear from Orthopedics the next day, setting up a telephone visit with an Orthopedist for a week from the accident.  A telephone visit?  How would that work? 

By the time of that e-visit, I was really ripe.  I mean, I couldn't stand being around myself, I smelled so bad.  So I was actually glad I didn't have an in-person visit with the doc—I was sure that no Lyft driver would let me in their car! 

The e-visit turned into a video visit when the doc heard me say that I couldn't shower and that I didn't think I had the immobilizer on right.  Remember, they left my arm at my side because I screamed when they tried to put it on my chest.  He looked at it and explained to me how it should look, and insisted I would be able to put it back on if I took off (and explained how).  By this time I tested the arm and I could actually get it across my chest without screaming in agony. The doc also told me I could take a shower (even if it wasn't easy to wash under either arm—at least I could get some water under there). 

By the time I had my first real visit the following week, I no longer stunk.  And much to my surprise, I was actual able to get dressed enough to go out and go to the doc.  I had to wear a button down dress shirt with my sweat pants, so it was another weird look (also getting socks on and off was a challenge too). 

I had a devil of a time learning to use a fork left-handed, and brushing my teeth left-handed, but I got better as I went along.  I found meals I could make and it was a lot of boring, monotonous stuff. 

As I write this now, I am much better but still not near 100%.  The doc says that I will never be able to lift my right arm completely over my head straight up in the air.  I am still in Physical Therapy.  I go in every other week, and I do my exercises every day.  But I am still in a fair amount of pain (depending on what I am doing) and I don't have the range of motion I want.  I can't put my right arm behind my back, for example. 

People have been suggesting I go to Vegas.  But honestly, I am in no shape to pack and unpack for a Vegas trip.  It'll be awhile. 

And that's about it.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I Broke My Arm, Then the State Broke Me

Where have I been? 

First I'd like to apologize to all my readers (or, what's left of them) for not posting the next chapter in my broken arm saga.  The truth is I have been unable to find the motivation to write it up. 

I suppose I could blame the relative lack of positive (or really, any) feedback to the first three posts for failing to motivate me to finish.  That plays a part in it, but really only a very small part.  I know when I post something that is non-poker it usually doesn't get much of a response.  Besides, I have to admit that I have maybe lost my touch in the ability to put an entertaining spin on the weird things that happen to me. 

But really what has me demotivated, demoralized, disillusioned and depressed is what is going on in the country right now, and more specifically in my state, and in my city of Los Angeles. 

Just when things were starting to look up, lockdownwise, everything went to shit.  I mean, my arm was well on the way to mending, I was actually able to use it for a lot of things (but by no means everything).  And the state was starting to open up.  Restaurants had re-opened, and even poker rooms had re-opened.  While the poker room out in Ventura remained closed, both The Bike and Commerce were opened and spreading 8-handed poker (I think it was 8-handed, anyway). 

So things were looking up, and there was light at the end of the tunnel. I was getting ready to write up my next post (although part of the initial delay was due to my finally having to get my nose to the grindstone and complete my taxes, which as usual I had put off to the last minute, and the last minute had been delayed three months), and then….. 

And then, California Fascist Dictator Governor Gavin Newsom re-closed the state in most counties (including mine and all the ones near me).  Poker rooms were shut down again, just weeks after opening to good attendance.  Restaurants were closed to indoor dining.  It was take-out only unless they could find some space for outdoor tables.  Gyms, barbers, hair salons, nail salons, all put out of business. 

Just as I was done with my taxes, just as I was feeling well and able enough to get out and do some things…..the rug was pulled right out from under me (and everyone else in the state). 

I could no longer find a reason to drag myself out of bed, and certainly didn't feel like sitting at the keyboard hacking out a blog post about my damn broken arm (which as you will recall, only happened because of the initial lockdown).  I felt like my arm had been re-broken.  I vowed not to post again as long as CA was closed.  It was a pretty easy vow to keep because I couldn't motivate myself to write anyway.  And since I make zero money from this blog—it has always been a labor of love—no one else could motivate me either.

Yes, I know, I know, it could be worse.  Plenty of people are suffering through this crisis more than I am.  Yes, many people have died or been really, really ill. This pandemic is horrific. But I'm not everyone else, I'm just me.  I'm telling you how this is affecting me. 

Although actually, I am thinking of the many victims.  And not just those who have died or those who have lost loved ones.  I'm thinking about the people who are the victims of the lockdown. I think of those poor small business owners (restaurants, gyms, hair salons, etc) who were closed down for several months, losing huge amounts of income, then went to great expense to redesign their businesses to meet new safety standards, only to have the rug pulled out from under them by being shutdown just a few weeks after re-opening. 

For example, during the brief period of freedom before the latest lockdown, I managed to get a haircut. At the time, Los Angeles Fascist Dictator Mayor Eric Garcetti had not deigned to reopen Los Angeles (might also have been due to the fascists on the L.A. County Board of Supervisors) so I couldn't have gotten my haircut in L.A.  Fortunately I have been going to the next county over to get my haircut so I was able to get it cut in that brief window I had.  The lady who runs the shop had gone to great expense to accommodate social distancing rules, put up plexiglass everywhere, relocated the chairs, printed up forms for all her customers to fill out, set up chairs ouside her shop to wait since you couldn't wait inside.  Must have cost her a fortune, and this was after she lost several months of income.  Plus she can no longer handle the volume she could before because she had to take some chairs out and reduce staff. 

I imagine restaurants had the same issue, taking out tables, putting up plexiglass, paper menus, etc.  And of course, if a restaurant isn't running at full capacity it is probably losing money.  So all that expense just to run their business at a loss!  But at least they had some money coming in. 

Imagine how they felt when the Fascist Dictator Governor pulled the rug out from under them and forced them to close again?  My heart breaks for the families who have lost loved ones to the virus, but my heart also breaks for the small business owners who are losing their businesses day by day by this lockdown. 

Sometime after Newsom reclosed businesses, Garcetti revived his stay at home order.  So once again, not only is there no place to go but I have been placed under house arrest and confined to my quarters. And I am in solitary confinement! I am still waiting to be advised of what offense I am being punished for, having no knowledge of being convicted with any crime. I haven't even been charged with one.  Is this America or some third world dictatorship? 

I should also point out that not only am I being denied the ability to do anything, but just like those small business owners, my financial situation is being impacted.  My livelihood—my income stream—depends on live poker.  Not just in Las Vegas (where it is coming back), but the entire country.  And particularly in California.  There is no worse state for poker to disappear from for me than my home state.   

So anyway, I guess that explains what's taken me so long to post and why I still am not in any mood to finish my broken arm story.  And seriously, this may be my last blog post.  I dunno if I'll ever feel like finishing that story, and besides, what am I going to write about after that?  I seriously doubt I'll ever play another hand of poker.  As long as California Fascist Dictator Governor Gavin Newsom is in charge, live poker is unlikely to return to the state. I'd be willing to bet no currently closed poker room will re-open in CA before year's end (or maybe early November).  And circumstances prevent me from travelling to Vegas right now. 

When Fascist Dictator Governor closed us down recently, he said it would be for three weeks.  That was five weeks ago and in the meantime he's only closed down more of the state, not re-opened any part of it.  And before that, remember back in March when they locked us down the first time, it was "Fifteen days to slow the spread," or "Two weeks to flatten the curve."  That was bullshit too.  I guess you just can't trust a Fascist Dictator Governor to keep his word.  Who knew? 

That's all I've got to say.  Is this good-bye?  Kind of looks like it, but we'll just have to see. I really had to force myself to write this but I did feel I owed you some sort of explanation.

"At Least I'm Wearing Underwear"

Broken Arm, part 3 (of who knows how many parts)

Part 2 is here.

So I was taken to a small examination/hospital room.  Someone helped me off with most of my clothes and put on one of those awesome hospital gowns.  Eventually a nurse came in to take some information.  Everyone had a mask of course (including me, still) but this nurse had the most elaborate mask of anyone I saw.  I think she could have gone scuba diving in it.

She ask me about my meds and what happened and all that fun stuff. She hooked me up to a blood pressure monitor and an oxygen monitor.  And then she left, saying that the "doctor will be right in."  Ha!

It was again quite awhile for before the doctor came in.  She finally showed up, she asked me a bunch of questions like what happened, where does it hurt, etc.  I described my pain and my fall and she gave me what I thought was a rather cursory examination. I mean she touched me but not as much as I would have expected.  She said that someone would come by to take me for X-rays of both my arm and leg. She left.

But she did come back to ask me about my pain—did I want something for it?  I said yes, rather emphatically. At first she was going to give me Norco (oral) but then she decided I needed something that worked faster, because when they were going to be taking X-rays, they'd have to move my arm and it would be quite painful.  Oh boy, something to look forward to. Spoiler: It ended up taking so long to get into X-ray that there was no need to give me morphine just because it worked faster.

So she sent a nurse in to give me a shot of morphine.  That would of course make me drowsy but that wouldn't be a problem, I wasn't driving anyway.  But she didn't warn me that it would make my stomach a bit queasy.  In fact, I did feel nauseated on and off a little while I was there through the afternoon. And in fact when I woke up (at home) the next morning, having taken the Norco she prescribed for me the night before, I did throw up a little bit. 

Anyway, now there was nothing to do but wait.  And wait.  And wait.  I really had no idea that it would take so long to get taken to X-ray, but it did.  By this time, all my worldly possessions, my pants, my shirts, my t-shirt, my keys, my wallet and my phone were in that plastic hospital bag they had given me earlier.  And that bag was on a chair that I couldn't reach.  There was a TV in the vicinity but I couldn't reach it to even turn it on.  And I didn't have any water and hadn't been offered any.

So there was nothing to do but just lie there in pain and wait, and stare off into the distance.  There was also no call button in case I needed anything (like assistance in turning on the TV, or getting my phone).  They had the curtain to my little room closed.  The only thing I could have done was shouted at the top of my lungs to try to get someone's attention if I did need help. 

I stayed silent, but after it had been more than an hour since I'd last seen anyone (the nurse who gave me the shot) I was seriously considering shouting to find out what was going on (and maybe ask for some water).  But I waited.  I did that thing where you stare at the clock on the wall and say to yourself, "Well, when it gets to be 15 minutes to, I'll start yelling."  Then that time comes and goes and you say, "when it gets to 10 minutes to.."  Well I dunno how many times I let it slide but I can tell you I really was about two minutes away from screaming when an orderly finally showed up to get me X-rayed.  It had been close to 90-minutes since I'd been in that room before they came.

It was a welcome trip for a couple of reasons.  One I was bored and ready to get going, and two, that little room was really hot. The mask was making me even warmer and sometimes I was having trouble breathing through it.  I admit I had to lower the mask every now and then so I could breathe. The trip through the hospital to the X-ray department was nice and cool.

There were a bunch of techs helping with the X-rays.  I was on the wrong kind of gurney (whatever that meant) so they had to have several people actually lift me from that gurney to the table where I needed to be for the X-rays.  That was fun (but probably even less fun for the orderlies who had to lift me up)..

And the Doc did not lie.  It was quite painful as they moved me so they could take the proper X-rays. Hell, when they lifted me from the gurney to the X-ray table it hurt pretty much all over, especially in the arm and leg.  Morphine can only do so much.  They took pics of my leg and my arm and moving the arm for them was sometimes excruciating. 

The first person moving me around actually needed help from a senior tech to make sure I was in the proper position for the X-rays to come out right.  But eventually they got what they needed (or so I thought) and they took me back to my room.  Note, from what I learned during my hospital stay for my heart problem in 2016, I knew to insist that I take the bag with my wallet and phone with me to the X-ray room).

When I got back to my room, the orderly was about to reconnect me to the blood pressure and oxygen monitors when I stopped him.  "Before you do that, can I go the restroom first real quick?"

I should have known this outside his purview.  "Let me get the nurse."  So I had to wait in the bed, unhooked up, until the orderly got the nurse.

Well, it was a different nurse than the one who had cross-examined me when I first got to the room.  It made a difference.  She asked if I wanted a urinal.  I said no, I could walk to the restroom.  She said, "Are you sure….you're here because you fell, what if you fall again?"  Sigh. I knew I could make it to the restroom, it wasn't that far.  I said I couldn't relieve myself lying in the bed.  She said she would put the back of the bed up.  OK, I relented.  Between the drugs and the pain I was not interested in arguing with her.  As she went to get the urinal, I realized the problem was that she didn't know I had been perfectly fine until I tripped and fell.  She probably thought I was some old guy who had trouble keeping his balance in general.  I mean my leg did feel lousy but I could definitely walk a little bit on my own.

Well she brought in the urinal and raised the bed.  But she didn't raise it enough.  It was very difficult for me to go, especially cuz I was also trying hard not to piss myself, or the bed, or my underwear.  Naturally, just as the flow started, I was startled by the doctor showing up.  Well she was more embarrassed than I was but you never want to interrupt someone in the middle of taking a piss. She said "excuse me" and disappeared.

I was pretty sure I wasn't done but I couldn't get anything more to come out (TMI?), so I closed up and then I had nothing to do with this damn urinal with my urine in it but just hold it!  I couldn't reach anything to put it on and I didn't want to risk spilling it, for obvious reasons.

I held it with me for who knows how long until a nurse finally showed up to hook me back.  In the meantime I had missed my window of opportunity to actually get a report from the doc as to what was wrong with me.

So that was another 10-15 minutes of time lost before she returned.  She brought with her several bits of bad news.  The main thing was that I had a fractured humerus. That's the bone at the top of the arm that connects to your shoulder. They would have to put an "immobilizer" on me.  She said that around 80% of the time they don't need to do surgery, it heals on its own.  Oh, and my leg was fine.  Then why did it hurt?  Well, it's like a pulled muscle.  No treatment needed, it will get better all by itself.  The issue was my right arm/shoulder.

The other bit of bad news was that the radiologist wanted to take a few more pictures.  He wanted pictures below my knee and also of my shoulder to make sure it wasn't separated.  The ER doc was pretty sure I didn't have a separated shoulder.  She also wasn’t worried about my knee but the radiologist wanted to be sure.

Then she told me what would happen going forward, assuming the additional X-rays didn't have any nasty surprises.  They'd send me home in the immobilizer and refer me to Orthopedics.  I'd hear from them in a day or two, and eventually get an appointment to see an Orthopedist. 

Really?  They weren't having me see an Orthopedist right away, right then and there, when I was already there?  Did that make any sense?  I didn't ask.  I just assumed it had to do with new procedures in place because of COVID-19.  Maybe they didn't even have an Orthopedist around.  Maybe they stayed home now because of fear of getting sick, and came in only on a limited basis.  After all, it was well known that hospitals were not doing "elective" surgeries and procedures any more.  It didn't seem right to me but that's what I get for breaking my damn arm in the middle of a pandemic.  Next time, I should plan it better.

In the meantime, I was to wear the immobilizer and keep my arm still.  But she did say that after a couple of days, I should start moving my arm a little (rotating it a bit) so that I don't get a frozen shoulder.

Well, getting ahead of my story, let me tell you, when I finally spoke to an orthopedist, about a week later, he told me no way should I be moving my arm at that point!  He said something like, "That's why you listen to your orthopedist, not an ER doctor."  I didn't say anything but I certainly wondered why an ER doctor, who would often see people for broken limbs, didn't know not to give such potentially ruinous advice.  By the way, thankfully I had not taken the ER doc's advice, not so much because I thought it was wrong but more because I was in too much discomfort to even try it, figuring it would be safer to have an Orthopedist tell me what to do.

So they came in and put an immobilizer on me.  I guess this is what they do instead of a cast these days (depending on the nature of the injury, I presume). I had no idea what it was supposed to look like when it was done but the last thing they tried to do was place my right arm across my chest (or maybe stomach) and put it in a sleeve that attached to the piece around my chest by velcro.  But when he tried to move my arm up like that, I let out a scream that would wake the dead.  So he left my arm "immobilized" down by my side.  But there was some other piece there that kept me from moving my arm (too much).

But I wasn't done—I had to wait around to be taken back to X-ray.  And waited.  It wasn't as long as the first wait for X-ray but it was good long while.  They took the immobilizer off so they could take X-rays, took a pic of my knee (or below the knee) and sent me back.

After a bit, they said I was ready to be discharged.  Wait, what?  What about the second set of X-rays?  Nothing there, you can go.

Well good to know I didn't have a separated shoulder.  But I wasn't satisfied. I didn't think I'd gotten enough information from the Doc, I wanted to see her again. So I insisted she come by before I would leave.

So more delay.

In the meantime, they had to figure out how to get me home.  There was no way I could lift my arm to get any kind of pull-over shirt on. The nurse had been looking at my t-shirt to see if there was any way she could put it on me, but gave up.  But she did notice my t-shirt was not exactly new, shall we say.  She said something like, "this t-shirt is pretty ratty."  That was kind of needlessly nasty under the circumstances.  I said, "Well, when I got dressed this morning, I didn't know I was going to undress for anybody.  At least I'm wearing underwear."  She laughed and said, "Yeah, that's a good thing."

They had put the immobilizer over my bare skin, but I couldn't be sent home shirtless. They finally realized that I was going to have to go home wearing the hospital gown.  So they took off the immobilizer, put the gown on me, put the immobilizer on over the gown.  I said, "How am I ever going to get this gown off by myself?"  They said I would be able to pull it through the immobilizer and then off my bad arm.  Yeah, right.

I wondered if they were going to charge me for the hospital gown they gave me (they did not).

I waited around for the Doc and she finally came and seemed surprised I wanted to talk to her again.  "You needed to see me again?"

I said I just wanted to make sure I knew what was going on.  "Yeah, yeah, you can be moving the arm a little in a few days, and you'll hear from Orthopedics in a day or two."  I kind of suspected that she wasn't telling me everything, like maybe because they had minimal staff to deal with anything not COVID-19 related. Like she would have Orthopedics give me the bad news.  But that was pure speculation.

In theory I could have walked out of there, but I had to go down to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.  So they insisted that they have someone wheel me down there, then wheel out of the hospital to wait for my Lyft. 

So let's leave it right there for this chapter, and you can read the conclusion here.