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Show 136 to move and so I move. But once I move, I find I am needing to move again. And again. This is not simple restlessness -1 am somehow constrained to move. I press the call light and surprise the nurse when I ask to have my wheelchair moved next to my bed so I can transfer into it. I transfer as one piece, stiff, from bed to chair. But, sitting there for no more than one minute, I am needing to transfer back into my bed. I cannot sit still. Into the bed but then back out into the wheelchair and then I push around the room. And the sequence repeated twice more. It is late in the night and I press the call light one more time. "No," the nurse states with obvious hesitation, uncomfortable with where I might be going with my question and with my body, "there is no one but staff out in the hallway." Being out in the world this stiff invites startle and she knows it as well as I. Nevertheless. I cannot remain in my room. With obvious trepidation, the nurse holds the door to my room open. There is real life out there. Phones are ringing. Nurses at the station are talking. Exhausted interns are writing notes at the desk. I cross the threshold into the sounds of life. I begin my journey. The unit forms a giant circle with the nurses' station and several conference rooms and doctors' lounges in the middle. I am pushing the IV pole between my feet, propelled by the wheelchair footrest, as I lunge against the wheel rims with my crooked arms and fingers. My body is invigo- |
