Mrs. Zlatar, you do not deserve what is happening to you. And I do not mean to fall from the balcony, but to the wicked information and comments that accompany that fall. And I sincerely hope you do not read them. For it will be more painful than the broken leg.

And it's obvious that you're in pain in life and have too much to earn this. You know that I did not even think about you personally this post office as a minister of culture. There is no need to enter the reasons why it was so, but you have to do that badly. And we have enough queues for that, so we'll stop now.

And we've met you since you were a member of the Zagreb Cultural Council. Your duty is excellent. During all these years of journalism, I met and heard a lot of your ex-students who say you were an excellent professor. They loved you. So in your life you did not do anything half or mediocre. This is an indisputable fact about you.

You did not save yourself in life, and obviously life did not save you.

From a variety of information about your downfall, I find it one of the most frightening and the best. If it really is true that you were lying with a broken leg all over the night without anybody seeing you, looking for you and getting help, I sincerely sympathize with you.

And I warmly hope that's because you were unconscious and you did not feel anything. I hope you were not aware and awake, but silly as I was in a similar situation.

I rarely whom I have told, but now I will share it publicly with you. I had a few years ago a bit resection of the small intestine and some of the less vital organs of the body and after a long time I started to take some rigid food again.

The doctors warned me that my first chair would be tough and painful so my nurses were always there. Namely, due to the long lying down my legs were atrophied and my abdomen was torn apart by the two operations that opened them halfway, I could not even reach the neck. That's why I have to mention it and have a diaper on it.

It was already for some chore and baffling like me humiliating enough, let alone what followed that day. Because the doctors warned me of pain, but not humiliation. If I did not kill you with the details, the diapers did not come to a halt when the intestines finally worked after a long time.

It was really humiliating to squeeze that button near the bed and invite the sisters. Until then I used to be dressed and washed like a small baby, but they had to change sheets and sheets that did not seem to be so lovely.

I can not describe that feeling of guilt as I watched them sit on the handy jug they laid on me as they pressed on white lingerie. They were not happy either because they warned me that this might happen and that I had to squeeze the button before I felt the urge.

My hands shivered as I held on to the chair handles where the hole was buried and a knuckle attached to the hole. If he goes away again. The problem with the Vineyard hospital, whether you believe it or not, was such a primitive medical aid to be just one, so the nurses had to move from room to room.

But after that, the rope chair left my bed next to the note that I would call them when they "clench" again to swim to my chair in time.

It is difficult for someone to describe who did not have the resection, but that time is literally counted in a few seconds. The terrible idea was that they could control their bodies and organs so weakly.

The new attack arrived earlier than I expected. On the left was my help button, and the chair right right next to the bed. I was lying in the room because it was at that time a great strike by a doctor and a nurse and they only received emergency cases.

I estimate that even Ben Johnson's most powerful doping would not come to me in time, so I rather dangled with those handles above the bed to the right rather than the left (a story that often accompanies me).

With one hand, I held my lunch and tried to sit down on the chair, and to the other I quickly removed the diaper. However, he started in that breakthrough. It is difficult to describe and imagine what has happened. I did not believe it was humanly possible.

This time it was not just a sheet, but a floor, to my horror, even the walls. And not a little. I do not overdo it when I say it has exploded in the room of a smelly bomb. Regardless of the terrible pains in the stomach sutures that began to shoot, I dropped to that chair.

As I kept running from me, I watched the room and could not believe what I saw around me. I started crying, but not from pain, but from scenes. Never in my life I have felt such an imbalance and shame at the same time.

I remembered immediately Jacoba Frantzena. I suppose you know about which book and which part of the book I'm talking about. As I read it, when I was reading it, the part that once a proud old man impotently talked about with her flesh did seem pretty unattractive and unreal, and then I too experienced it.

And it seemed to me that I was talking shit and laughing at me. But I was terribly frightened by the knowledge that I would find such a mess of a nurse. Her hands trembled, her stomach worse, but I delayed to scream as much as I could. I held it for at least an hour, while the hands did not fall, so I did not find myself on a floor covered with brownish yellowish sticky and smelly liquid.

And then I did not shout. I tried to crawl down the floor and get up to bed to get to that damn button and call those nurses who have already experienced one of my humiliation. I knew they would be angry and horrible, but I was already used to them. Better those, I thought, than some new alien with whom humiliation is only greater.

But I did not. And when I finally decided to shout and call for help, I did not go down. I think I got the whole hospital up.

There was a senior nurse in the room who worked there. He looked up at the room with horror, then closed and closed the door quickly. Although my tears were mixed up with the fever I had been completely overwhelmed before, the whirlwind disappeared completely from her face.

Careful, as only mother or grandmother knows, helped me to lie down on the next bed because it was far less polluted than mine, which gave her more work. She told me I did not care, so she went out and quickly returned with the can and the scarves. She cleaned the room and told no one else to come in.

There was no shock or condemn on her face. She just did not worry and how it is happening. And in the end he told me I would not hesitate to ask for help.

You probably, dear Mrs. Zlatar, are you wondering why I'm telling you about this nasty episode of your life and what does that have to do with you?

So I just wanted to tell you that Frantzen was right. The husbands sometimes really talk, and usually when we are the weakest and most subtle.

But if you are loudly calling for help, then people first come across you. Which ones you did not know or recognized as such. That's why I said that I hope you were unconscious. I hope you did not stay all night because you were silly like me.

Do not be shy of going to help. I'm not saying you will not be disappointed in some of the things you expected to respond, and they will turn your head away from you. It will be that. And more than you're screaming. But I assure you, if you are loudly lonely, you will also meet some good and dear people. And you will come to some of which you did not expect and which you also forgot.

You're burning, what's the matter with you? It is only important that you lift it as soon as possible. Because while you lie on the floor, the shit really moves and speaks louder. And dear people are waiting for you to call them.

Fast, happy and complete recovery wants you to read the portal of And head up!