A Yankee Notebook: Hospital
Rutland Herald
It had been a lovely weekend, courtesy of Martin Luther King Jr. — lots of pleasant conversation and snacks in the two chairs in the office, supper at Julio’s on Friday, lunch at the Wayside on Saturday, shopping for groceries at the Chopper — icy-cold outside, but snug inside. Bea would head back toward the big city on Monday, and I’d get to work on my weekly column. At bedtime Sunday, though, I was seized with a sudden, serious chill — shaking uncontrollably. You’ve probably had one: you can’t stop shaking, no matter how many blankets you pile on. It usually means you’ve got a fever. I declined to check. What would I do if it turned out I did? I brushed quickly and went to bed. About 1 or so in the morning, I got up to go to the john and couldn’t stand up. Couldn’t even reach my walker, Herschel; but kept trying and (they tell me) ended up sitting on the floor.