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Show 253. "Your husband's foot is crushed, " said the first one, and I thought of the crushed hand Dr. Paul Richards had successfully repaired in the Bingham Hospital. "You husband's foot has to be amputated, " said the next nurse. I thought about how we used to dance, how I listened for his firm, swift step each day at four-thirty, and what a lift it was to know that he was home. I had five hours to contemplate this and other things. "Your husband's leg is coming off at the knee, " reported the next nurse who came out of the door. She was on the run and had no time for me. Finally: "Your husband's leg is totally gone. The doctors are amputating it at the hip. " She gave me a second look and said: "Here, sit down. " The next I knew she was holding ammonia-soaked cotton under my nose. He was in shock when they wheeled him out of the operating room, and stayed in it for nearly a week. And no wonder! As he was pulled into the crusher he hooked his right leg over the side, and, with his arms held on while the machine literally tore his left leg off. Yet he was the only man who kept his head, told the shattered crew how to apply pressure on his jumping arteries, where the first-aid material was. The ambulance was twenty-three minutes getting him from Magna to the St. Marks hospital and when it reached there doctors were on the steps with infusions and hypodermics. My poor, beautiful husband, doomed to crutches for the rest of his life! |