Jeff’s hands gripped the side rails of the gurney, and his right thigh frog-legged out at a near right angle to his body, supported by at least five pillows stuffed between him and the rail.
“Don’t touch me,” he said, moving only his eyes when he heard me enter. Then he saw that I was carrying X-rays. “Are you the surgeon?” he asked. “What’s the matter with my hip?”
“I’m the orthopedist on call,” I replied, putting a hand gently on his left shoulder. “How are you feeling? Do you hurt anywhere besides your hip?”
“Don’t touch my leg,” he moaned. “They haven’t given me anything for pain. They said you would.”
