A “BROKEN” LEG

My airline prohibited its employees from taking extended vacations. In 1967 I had requested a four-month leave of absence and it had been denied. I was only given two weeks of vacation. Consequently, I improvised.

I convinced Carole, my roommate, to ask a fellow hospital colleague to wrap my leg in a cast.

“Once the photos are taken, I’ll mail them to World Airways from Bangkok, explaining that I had an accident while on vacation,” I said. “They certainly can’t expect me to return to work with a broken leg.”

We drove to the hospital and met a doctor who applied gauze and a plaster cast while I sat on an emergency room table. He loaned me crutches and I had photos taken to verify my “accident.” Now we were ready to go home and party.

Balloons and travel posters decorated our apartment. Beer and wine flowed along with sourdough bread and Dungeness crab. What could be better! I tried to sing “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” but I could only stumble between our guests. We laughed, told stories, and everyone signed their names on my cast.

Photo:

A “broken” leg.

As midnight approached the partiers left with kisses and hugs, and my roommates disappeared into their bedrooms. Making my drunken way to the bathroom, I filled a tub full of hot, soapy water and got in—cast and all. In my inebriated state I enjoyed the first few minutes in the bath, and then reality hit.

No one had informed me how to remove the cast. I assumed I could soak if off, since it had just been put on. Wrong! I sat in the tub for so long my skin began to crease and turn purple.

I pulled and tugged, but the cumbersome blob would not break free. I took a hammer and slammed the cast so hard I thought I had actually broken it—the leg, that is. The cast was still there.

With tears in my eyes, I hobbled nude to the kitchen. The party had ended, everyone had left, and a hangover headache had started. This was definitely not one of my better ideas.

Rummaging through drawers, I found some heavy-duty shears and attempted to cut off the cast. Sitting on the floor, I cut and tore at the tough fibers. Finally, two hours after the party had ended, the cast came off and I staggered back to my bedroom.

The next day was a blur. Thank goodness I had packed earlier in the week. My standard outfit for traveling was a navy chiffon dress, hemmed above my knees. It was classy, easy to wash, and didn’t wrinkle. There was always a chance that I could be bumped up to first class and I wanted to fit the part.

I said goodbye to my roommates, and Bob drove me to the airport. With kisses and tears, we parted.

“I can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” Bob said. “Write often. I’ll miss you.”

I walked into the Oakland terminal to begin the first leg of my trip, flying to Japan on my airline. In Tokyo I mailed the photo of me in a cast to World Airways and asked for an extension to my vacation. For the next six weeks I flew as a passenger on Lufthansa, sightseeing in Thailand, India, Pakistan, and Egypt.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27