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ll after mid…night; wrapped in my warm fleecy robe I stood silently staring out the ninth floor window of the daunting New York hospital。 I was staring at the 59th Street Bridge。 It was as sparkling and beautiful as a Christmas tree。 New York city has always been special to me: the Broadway theatre; the music; the restaurants from the deli’s to the Tavern…On…the…Green。 “This is what the city is supposed to be about;” I thought; dreading the morning to e and all the uncertainty it held。 But the morning did e and at nine ; I was wheeled into an operating room。 Eleven hours and forty…five minutes later I was wheeled into a recovery room; and a very few hours after being returned to my own hospital room; I found myself actually on my feet; half walking; half propelled by medical equipment and members of my family。 The orders were to walk the length and back of the long hospital corridor。
It was then that I first saw him。 I saw him through a haze of drugs; pain and the dreamy unreality that this could be happening to me。 He was standing in the doorway of a hospital room。 In my twilight; unfocused state I saw him almost as a spirit shape rather than a full blown person。 Yet the body language of this shape was somehow sending out sympathy and encouragement to me。
This became my daily routine for the next three weeks。 As I gained a little more strength the man would be standing in the doorway; smiling and nodding as I would pass with one or more members of my family。 On the fourth week I was allowed to solo up the corridor。 As I passed his room; there was my faithful friend in the doorway。 He was a slender dark plexioned man。 I stopped a minute to chat。 He introduced me to his wife; and his son who was lying listlessly in a hospital bed。 The next day as I made my
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