In church.
No one else knew. Doug would say he didn't know for sure either, but the avalanche of weakness, coupled with clammy skin, was quite the flashing sign. He slipped out of the pew and escaped to the car, where I quickly joined him. He was adamant about not going to the hospital, so I drove him home where he took a two-hour nap. Hear me say I will never give into the I don't need to go to the hospital line again. Never. Ever. Not long after Doug woke up from his nap, the chest pains and numbness in his arms began.
And I wasn't there.
I was at the grocery store. He tried to call me, but my phone was buried under a pile of tissues, a hefty make-up bag, and other essentials, at the bottom of my purse. Even if my ring tone was Stars and Stripes Forever, I wouldn't have heard it. (Do I sound defensive?)
When I returned home and saw that Doug's car was gone, my first thought wasn't hospital but golf course. After digging out my phone, I saw three messages from our son and one from Doug, who answered my call on the first ring. He'd had a heart attack and was in the emergency room at the hospital near our house.
At least that's what I thought.
Tailgating every driver out for a leisurely Sunday drive, I Cruella de Vil'd my way to the hospital, spilled my story to the emergency room parking lot attendant (Husband! Heart attack!), abandoned my car in what I think was a parking space, and sprinted to the Information Desk. They had no record of a Doug Ford being admitted. I insisted he was there. He told me so. Oh, wait. Could he have gone to the hospital's other location, the woman asked? A couple of taps on her computer keyboard provided the answer: Yes, that's where he was.
Why Doug chose this hospital's second location -- which is TWICE as far from our home -- I didn't know, but I couldn't tell him that I'd gone to the wrong hospital because in my rush to get to him, I'd locked my purse, phone, and house keys IN THE HOUSE.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm at the second hospital, repeating the park, rush in, and ask routine. They don't have a Doug Ford in their emergency room either! I insist he's there. They insist he's not. I tell them their sister hospital sent me there. They tell me that I'm not at their second location, but a different hospital franchise altogether.
Are you kidding me?
By now I've played out the the situation to its worst end, and am pondering which of Doug's friends will be his pall bearers, whether or not to sell his car, and how lonely retirement will be without him. Please God, don't let him die before I get to the hospital, I pray.
Ten minutes later Doug and I are reunited. He's alive, stable and waiting on a visit from the cardiologist. We find out later that, yes, he did have a heart attack, but that his heart wasn't damaged. His is a best-case scenario.
Doug came home from the hospital on Tuesday. After dinner, we relaxed in our normal locations: Doug in his La-Z-boy, me on the couch. Just like every other night. And yet, it felt like a special occasion. Which is was. A reprieve and a new beginning.
Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in His hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!"
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| Our selfie taken this morning! |
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