Dr. Patel comes in with his groupies, or a better term would be the medical students from Syracuse University across the street. From what I've been told I'm an intriguing case study. I wondered how much they know.

The morphine has seriously blunted the pain radiating from my crushed foot in a sling. Things like how long the catheter stays, or if I will have withdrawals from the morphine take a backseat to the need to address whether my leg will be amputated just below the knee.

During the initial painful conversations with Dr. Patel, It was made clear that before the foot could be repaired, they had to know if it could be saved. Fighting a rampant infection and the foot dying from lack of circulation were obstacles. Old pictures from school days in my head flipped through my mind of the notorious sawing of limbs on the civil war battlefield.

Breathe, just breathe. My foot just can't die. And then it thundered in my head. I might lose part of my leg. But Katrina, my soul mate lost her life. The knots in my stomach tightened.


Dr. Patel and the group of interns all smiled at me. "How have you been since we talked? Resting better? I hope we have managed the pain."

"Yes, but can you save my foot?"

I have good news. There appears to be enough circulation in the foot, and the treatments and medicine are keeping it alive. No need to amputate. But we must prep you for surgery soon before it is too late to do our best to preserve the integrity of your foot."

Relief washed over me to the point of chills. The interns seemed pleased. I'm not sure they wanted to observe my leg getting hacked off either.

My breathing deepened and a sigh heard round the world. "Thanks doctor. But why can't anyone tell me any details about my fiancee?"

"As you know, we are thousands of miles away. I understand you need to know exact details, but you must think of yourself right now. You are still considered in critical but stable condition."

"But it would be easy for someone here to share information from their computer or cell phone. Where's my phone? Colorado? I need to know if she lived after the crash. I...I need to know what became of her."

"Soon," said Patel. Very soon we will give a chance to use a computer. For now, it would be best to have a loved one to help you navigate the details of your most unfortunate accident."




The sound of a buzz saw filled my ears. I strained my neck to see the sparks fly mixed with blood. I told myself it's only a dream.

It's only a dream! Wake up!

I Blinked open my eyes, sweating, inhaling hard. My leg was still there! Despite the darkness. The room reflected the lights from the hallway. And I could see I was still in one piece.

I leaned back in my hospital bed and breathed a sigh. The pain was not as severe, and my leg was not throbbing.

From my darkened room, I watched nurses walk by. Then a patient walked by with his IV on wheels, wearing gown dragging the floor. I envied him. I wondered if I'd ever walk straight again. I sighed.

This cart rolled by then stops. It's a cleaning cart. I saw a nurse in the background, but nothing makes her concerned for me. I realized, he's a night janitor. He backed up. His bald head reflects as he dipped his head inside. My first thought was it must be Mr. Clean from the old commercials. "Hey, you awake, Bub."

"Yes. If you need to come in and clean, by all means.

He brings the housekeeping cart inside the room. Reaches for the light.

"Please don't. The light hurts my eyes."

He smiled. "No worries, Bub." He emptied the trash. I'm not sure I should be telling you this, but from what I heard, a rich dude flew you back to Syracuse, NY from Colorado. He paid for one of those military medic flights or something. That's how you got here. They took you from the airport in a helicopter and landed you on the roof."

"I'm guessing that doesn't happen every day," I said.

"Not around here. It never happens." He seemed more interested in talking to me than cleaning. He did empty the garbage into his cart but then pulled up a plastic chair next to me and leaned toward me.

"Do you know about my fianc�©?"

"I only know what I heard about you. I know you were like a mercy flight to be with your family. Are you telling me that she's not with you? Sorry dude. She okay?"

"No...No she's not okay. They tell me she didn't make it. My Mom told. But I still don't have news or any word from Colorado."

Mr. Clean, which is what I called him, because he never gave me his name, he shook his head and rubbed his chin. "Man, sorry to hear. Did you...um get to hold hands or say goodbye?"


"Goodbyes? Yea right. I couldn't because I'm here. And she's there. I'm not sure what happened in the accident either. I blacked out at some point. I have flashbacks. It's like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces."

"Man," he said. "You're not going to try to go back there or anything? Sounds like you got some major recovery time."

Mr. Clean stood up and got dangerously close to my leg in a cast and sling. It was like he was intrigued by it, like he might squeeze it.

"Do you mind if I try to get some rest." I looked down at the red call button between us in my bed.

"No problem, Bub." He grabbed his cart and was between me and the door, my exit from this purgatory.

"Hey, wait. You don't happen to have one of those smart phones? Maybe there's local news in Denver on it."

Mr. Clean pulled a phone out of his pants pocket and held it up in the air. Yea, but sometimes in this place cell receptions sketchy." He looked at me. "Say, you don't. I mean, in your condition, you maybe should read about your girlfriend's death?"

Tears pressed in the back of my eyes. I didn't want this guy to see them. "I don't have a tv. It's like I'm shut out from the rest of the world. I don't even know if the Yankees still lead their division. And yea I want to know if I killed my girlfriend. I want to know how long she lived. I want to know if she asked for me. I have the need to know."

He smiled. "Okay, okay, I get it. But you might need to give up on the Yankees, they are in third place. Lately they think it's whiffled ball.

It looked like he was googling something. I was holding my breath. Suddenly my stomach stirred like a thousand needles poking me from inside. I took a deep breath and propped myself up.

He leaned over and put the phone in front of me. "Here you go. There's a picture of what looks like your crash."

I wasn't sure. It looked like the foothills of Colorado near Castle Rock. "How'd you know what information to put in?"

"That's a no brainer. I just put your name in related to an accident in Colorado." He crossed his arms over his chest.

A nurse looked in and caught his eye. She stopped and starred at the janitor and then looked over at me. She had hair brown hair in a bun with those blue smocks. "You okay Mr. Dixon?"

"Yes. He was just showing me something on his phone."

"Okay." She crinkled her brow and then sped away from the door.

I looked at the scene, this red truck was crushed. It looked like an accordion. There was box truck nearby with the cab smashed.

"Looks like according to the article, the other driver lived. It does say they pulled out you and a girl, both in critical condition."

"Wait, my mother made me think, she died at the scene."

He snatched the phone from my hand. "It doesn't say, exactly. But trust your Mom. She must know. I got to go."

"Wait! I said. I was hoping to find more..."

He grabbed his cart and headed through the door. That nurse is hellfire. I could get into trouble, and the VA pays me good when I fill in on the weekends, esp. Sundays."

Before I could say another word, he was gone. But the information he gave me was like a sucker punch to my heart.