Where It Happened

It was mid-afternoon on Wednesday, June 3, when I got up from my seat right next to one of the rebar planters in the garden of the Getty Center. Sliding on the gravel, I slid into one of the planters, striking it with my head, collarbone, and the back of my right hand. Three bystanders came and helped me up.

The pain wasn’t yet at its peak: That came three hours later. Somehow, I managed to make my way to the MTA bus stop on Sepulveda Blvd. and take the 761 bus to the end of the line by the Metro Rail Sepulveda station. From there, I had to walk four blocks to where my car was parked near the intersection of Exposition and Pico. Driving several miles with an ever more painful right shoulder was not easy. Somehow I managed the feat by planning a route with all right turns (using my left arm to turn right).

I could barely make it up the stairs to my apartment. When I walked in, I notified Martine that I had rebroken my right shoulder. (I was wrong as it turned out.)

Plunking down on the couch, I found the pain increasing exponentially, to the extent that I couldn°t get up. After dealing with my stubborn refusals for six hours, Martine dialed 911. Within minutes, my apartment was filled with burly first responders, who lifted me up and waltzed me down the stairs top a waiting ambulance. Fortunately, UCLA Ronald Reagan Hospital had space for me in their emergency ward.

I will give you more info tomorrow. I will jump the gun, however, by informing you that the diagnosis of my condition was “closed nondisplaced fracture of acromial end of right clavicle.”