“Hi, I’m here to see my mom?” She stood in the medroom dressed in hospital scrubs and black square glasses. My car was parked in the driveway. “Sorry, your mom is injured.” My mom recited her birthdate from memory. “That’s right, but the surgeon isn't here.” She sighed then gave me a hug and we both started crying again once over. We weren’t expecting my mom to fall and I hadn’t prepared myself. Her little body laid next to me, her hip and cut off stained pants flapped off the side of the bed when I lifted the covers to look. Quite the shattered femur. I glanced over her shoulder and noticed the IV pump was beeping. “Well, that’s the fifth IV they've placed.” “What’s your pain level, with a broken femur being a ten.” The conversation continued for several minutes until her dilaudid came around and pain left.
