January 23, 1993
Today at O. J.’s regular physical, the doctor mentioned a recent weight gain and cautioned him that regular exercise was very important in maintaining his strength and coordination. He was very thoughtful on the way home. While I was cooking supper he disappeared.
I called family and neighbors to help find him. Twilight made searching more difficult. Then someone saw him staggering toward home on the gas well road that ran about a half mile long next to our house.
Blood covered his face and neck and stained the front of his jacket. There was a large bump on his head. His glasses were missing and skin was torn away from his left cheekbone and embedded with gravel and sand. Dirt covered him from the attempts to get up and his whole jacket was torn and bloody. He began to cry from relief as the outside lights from the house came on and family surrounded him.
Because he was on blood thinner, we did not attempt to clean him up, but took him directly to the Emergency Room. I sat in the trauma room while medical staff took vital signs and prepared to clean and stitch his wounds.
One of the nurses said, “This is an obvious case of elder abuse.”
Never has my fear and anxiety turned so quickly to outrage. Before I could speak the attending doctor saw my response and immediately responded, “Can’t you seen that he’s had a fall?” He sent the nurse out of the room before I could make a scene or threaten a libel suit.
Back at the farm my son in law had retraced O. J.’s steps and found where he had fallen. A large area of the loose crushed rock gravel had much blood where he had tried to get up; and his broken glasses few feet farther revealed where he had originally fallen then crawled along trying to find a way to pull himself up. In the deepening gloom he had panicked trying to find his way home.
The fears raised by the experience forced him to further limit his activity. For a few days O. J. stayed in his recliner or in the car and showed no wish to venture out even to territory that had been so familiar to him or to repeat the misadventure. His world was growing smaller and more dangerous.
Less active, his legs became stiff and painful. A wheelchair was a welcome relief when we went into stores or to the doctor’s office. He still grumbled when it was placed in the back of the chair, but it enabled him to go places and visit with people.
Dorothy Gast
