Nobody Reads This Page: “A Journey, Interrupted” (Part Three)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-26)

 

 

“Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you.” – Ovid

 

I arrived at Geauga Hospital only days before my 65^th birthday. But more than being mindful of that significant chronological anniversary, I was struck by the fact of having reached such an important milestone without ever being housed in a care facility. My health was never a great concern during years of working as a professional writer, retail clerk, and manager. I had gathered inertia during a long life that propelled me through many experiences, including two marriages, and the publishing of over 50 printed volumes. But with my formal admission as a patient to the local medical center, I met an immobile boundary of consequences.

 

For many years, I had been a speeding train in perpetual motion. Now, I was stalled, stunned, and sapped of energy.

 

A visual inspection of my leg, at least from a personal perspective, did not tell the tale. Yet when under the microscope, the nature of my affliction became disturbingly apparent. The open wound on my left leg was infected, and critical. An immediate remedy was to pump my body full of antibiotics, and elevate the limb. This massive infusion of chemicals worked so rapidly that at first, a doctor who was on duty overnight surmised that my sore must have been cleaned at the ER in Geneva. But indeed, I assured him that they had not taken any such measures, beyond starting a regimen of IV infusions. With a sort of magic effect, the irritated flesh had begun to clear. Though I was still quite far from being healed, and released.

 

The physician did his work with an appropriate level of attention and skill. But then added a remark that made me smile, despite being groggy and uncomfortable. He spoke with an unusual amount of ironic amusement, and candor.

 

“So Rodney, they tell me you do not like Conneaut?”

 

I was somewhat disoriented by this point, after spending most of the previous day in Geneva. But the directness of his query cleared my head.

 

“My family resides here, in Hambden Township. Literally a matter of minutes from this building. Going to the eastern community of Conneaut would have been a hardship for everyone involved. I made my preference clear, but that opinion did not seem to resonate at first. However once I repeated myself, with more gusto, the message was apparently received. The woman who confronted me went running for cover...”

 

I was on a virtual carousel of nurses, doctors, assistants, interns, and aides. So, as he disappeared into the maze of patient rooms and other, mysterious departments, this grand wheel kept spinning. In a sense, I had fallen out of time, much like a traveler through the cosmos. I felt lost and listless.

 

Sadly, I could not find a comfortable spot in bed, which was perhaps predictable. This meant that actual sleep came only in brief intervals. If I did manage to shut my eyes for a moment, those precious and fleeting encounters with unconscious repose were interrupted by a request for blood, a check of vital signs, or to take new medicines.

 

At some point in the morning, I heard my roommate ordering breakfast. The specified choices sounded delicious, with eggs, bacon, sausage, and potatoes all being available. Yet my appetite had been sidelined. My belly resisted the lure of solid food, as it attempted to cope with an influx of healing fluids, ebbing through a spike in my arm.

 

This restrictive arrangement of being laid flat on a thin, commercial mattress soon had the debilitated joints in my body howling to receive mercy. I was aching for reasons that were unrelated to the cause of my extended stay. Added to this woeful mood was a sense that I had been disconnected from my own existence by circumstance. I wanted to sit at my desk and work at the keyboard. Or perhaps, to go outside, to my front porch for fresh air and comfort. But neither of these pleasant options were available.

 

I learned by observation, that the unfortunate fellow who lay on the other side of a retractable curtain that split our room was named Frank. And I heard him describe having fallen at home, with a shoulder fracture resulting. Boldly, I called out from my side of the fabric veil, to engage him in polite conversation. A strategy rooted in shared sacrifice. I reckoned that neither of us were particularly thrilled with our current predicament. But perhaps, through the art of describing our fates to one another, that burden might be lessened, at least temporarily.

 

“Hey, I can hear that you’ve had a rough ride getting here, neighbor. I can make a similar claim, myself. But as they say in the common vernacular, ‘it is what it is.’ Do you have a good prognosis for getting better?”

 

My associate on the other side said that he had been alone for several hours before being discovered at his home. He had other health concerns that exacerbated his condition, but still sounded confident enough to pursue goals of treatment and wellness. I surmised that he was about a decade younger. But most surprising of all was his reaction when I mentioned having been a salaried co-manager for Giant Eagle.

 

“I was in retail operations for 33 years. My final assignment was at a private location in Geneva, under the ownership of David Archinal. He later sold the business to Chris Piovarchy and his sons. They were already in control of the Ashtabula store, which was once held by Ernie Springer. He had been a veteran of Fazio’s, and knew my business partner Randy, in the early days of Pittsburgh moving into this market area.”

 

Frank brightened with my mention of the food emporium on Route 534.

 

“If you worked in Geneva, then you must know their personnel manager? She and I grew up on opposite sides of the same road. We’ve been friends for a long time...”

 

This coincidence made my face tingle. Despite being randomly thrown together, by different medical maladies, we had found a commonality that made us connected. That alone eased my mood, as the day unfolded.

 

I did not vocalize my thirst for a cold brew, while resting. Though with every passing hour, that craving became more intense. Coffee and ginger ale served to satisfy my desire for refreshment, temporarily. Yet I still lacked a robust appetite for anything edible.

 

A day later, someone ordered an unexpected tray of food to be delivered to my bed, in the early hours. It was far from delicious, as I had imagined, but I managed to tolerate the eggs and a cup of grapes. What I guessed must have been a bowl of oatmeal frightened me with its taste and texture. I did not bother with anything else on the plate.

 

Most of all, I simply wanted to go home. Being at the hospital was unfamiliar and challenging to accept. But, that privilege of liberation would be withheld, until the state of my leg issue had improved.