I have a photographer coming at 8:00. I got my haircut and I plan to tidy up a bit before he arrives, but there it is.
Shortly after the call from the photographer, who sounded as vague about his connection with the WSJ as I am, I had an email from someone wanting a quick article. I write for a local online magazine, and this person is with a larger, statewide online magazine.
As I pushed the button to send my fees to this person, I got a call from my mother saying my dad was on his way to the hospital. Life is too exciting.I left dinner half-cooked and zipped over to the hospital.
Where I found a couple of ladies from church hanging out in the emergency room. We proceeded to hold a little party there. After about an hour of cheery conversation, I decided that I must be in the wrong place. It just couldn’t take an hour for an ambulance to get to the hospital, it seemed to me.
My husband thought they might have run into traffic.
“It’s an ambulance,” I said. “It doesn’t have to wait for traffic.”
So I went up to the window, where they began calling around to other hospitals in case. Pretty soon, someone recalled having seen a squad come in by another route, and they directed me to my dad’s room. He was fairly chipper, for someone hooked up to all kinds of stuff. The staff, also, were very relaxed about the whole thing. I’m going to take him some flowers today, and hope everything is still fine.
The nurse took away his saline drip. My husband disapproved of this. “He’s old,” he said in an outraged tone. “He needs that.”
Apparently, you can buy this stuff in the grocery stores in his country, and people often settle down with a nice saline drip if they’re feeling a bit tired.
It’s too exciting around my house, that’s all.