The rest of the story is in a somewhat lighter vein. When they first
lifted me from the bed and sat me in an easy chair for a few minutes,
I felt as I imagine a jelly-fish might feel after being stepped on. My
head wobbled about from one shoulder to the other like that of a newly
hatched bird, and altogether I felt as if I had scarcely enough stamina
to begin life over again. I well remember the comment of my nurse,
who was so delighted with having “pulled me through” and at seeing me
up in a chair that for a moment her Irish humor overcame the art of
simulation. After viewing me for some seconds with an estimating eye
she honestly confessed that I looked like the last piece at a remnant
sale.
As I looked out of the window and saw figures moving about on the
streets it seemed as if I had migrated to some alien world, where
everything was topsy-turvy, and I asked the nurse why everybody was
walking backward.
She smiled and shook her head.--“You’ve been very ill.”
My head went round and round, as if it were on a swivel. A blustering
snowstorm was in progress and as the figures scurried about on the
street I was puzzled to know why they all faced the wrong way--how
they could tell where they were going, or when they arrived at their
destination. I was barely conscious of having once lived somewhere, on
some sphere, and I vaguely wondered if I should now have to begin life
anew and learn everything all over again, or if I could pick up the
broken threads and start where I had left off.
My wife having heard that I was sitting up, came in. We talked for
a while, and somehow she appeared relieved to find how little I
remembered of what had happened the past few weeks. She seemed
glad that I was going to get well, perhaps because--among other
considerations--it lessened the burden on her conscience for having
pushed me into the first operation; and by way of making amends for
this, and also for scolding me about my stubborn refusal to get well
before the second operation, she said I had been a very good patient;
that I had been right all the while, and I knew more than all the
doctors, nurses and everyone else--even including herself--about what
ailed me. After this tremendous concession--which made me a little
suspicious that something had gone awry and some bad news must be
impending--she asked if there was anything I wanted. This seemed odd,
after getting used to being _told_ what I wanted.
“Yes,” I said, “I want a new room.”
“But you have a nice room, with plenty of air, light, private bath and
everything.”
“I don’t like it,” I said.
“What is there you don’t like about it?”
By this time I was becoming tired from overexertion. She afterwards
told me that I looked wearily about, then resting my eyes on the
paneled oak door I said,--
“The door is upside down--I want another room.”
In the weeks that followed I had the usual run of bad days and nights,
when things looked gloomy and hope sank low, but all things considered,
my recovery was satisfactory to the physicians, though it seemed slow,
and at times uncertain, to me.
A few days after my first experience of sitting up, Doctor Will came in
and found me nibbling on a piece of toast--the first solid food I had
taken in many weeks--which prompted him jokingly to remark that since I
was beginning to eat, the price of my board ought to be raised.
“Doctor,” I said, “that reminds me of something that’s been worrying me
of late. You being one of America’s greatest surgeons, naturally I have
a patriotic pride in being operated on by you; but when I came here I
had no intention of giving you a steady job cutting me open and sewing
me up. One operation at a time by a great surgeon is usually as much
as any ordinary person can stand, either physically or financially,
and my Scotch instinct warns me that you are running me into ruinous
extravagance.”
“Never mind, my good fellow,” he said; “don’t let that bother you. We
are here to cure you, not to get your money; and when you get your bill
if it isn’t satisfactory all you need do is scratch out the amount and
fill in your own figures--whatever sum is agreeable to you, and that
will be our price.” But I was so elated over my recovery that it didn’t
occur to me to acquaint the office with this generous proposal.