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Jill was lifted cautiously and placed on the examining table. The cast held her leg at such an angle to her upper body that she wasn’t able to sit or lie comfortably. She had to put her hands on the table for support. Her face was tense, her anxious eyes were fixed on the cast. “Connie, this young lady must be supplied with crutches.” The nurse nodded and hurried out. A minute later, she came back in, carrying two aluminum crutches. Pratt handed me a sheet of paper containing cast care instructions and patted my shoulder. “She needs rest and good care,” he said. “I will do what I can to help her heal faster.” “Very kind of you, George,” Jill said and smiled broadly. “Help her stand up!” the doctor said to me. As I headed to the examining table, Jill was already trying to swing her legs around. The cast was jutting stiffly over the edge of the table like a barrel of a gun, pointing at me. I took it and gently lowered it. Her casted heel clanked on the floor and her toes curled.

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