So this is what happened:
Last Wednesday, my great-aunt Rosie, who is 94 years-old and lives alone in a tiny 1-bedroom apartment in Pawtucket, RI, was getting up from the couch in her living room when she fell. As she fell, she accidentally knocked over a side table, which then landed on top of her.
She was trapped under the table for four days.
In the meantime, she had no way of eating or drinking. She repeatedly soiled herself. On Saturday morning, she finally managed to extricate herself from under the table and crawled into the bedroom, where she grabbed the phone by its cord, tugged it to the floor, and proceeded to dial 911. Eight firemen showed up twenty minutes later, broke down her door, and brought her to nearby Miriam Hospital.
This morning I visited her there. All things considered, she looked well. She had been fed and bathed. She was still too weak to stand, but she was not too weak to talk, and she and I chatted for a good two hours, with much of the energetic conversation coming from her. I wish I could say that her spirits were as spry. This afternoon, after I left, her niece Audrey was supposed to come by and help move her into an assisted living facility, which is where Aunt Rosie will now be spending the rest of her life.
My biggest complaint today was getting stuck in a traffic snarl around New Haven as I drove back to NYC.
Talk about relativity, eh?