Fight the Good Fight….
Roughly two weeks into my stay at “The Little Shop”, I began to feel the light start of a cold creeping in. Before I knew it, I was downright sick. I conveyed to the “powers that be” about my concerns, but my words “fell on deaf ears”. It didn’t help that the radiator in my room leaked and it sounded as though it would have to be laid to rest in the near future. Very loud and uncooperative. All day and all night – “drip”, “drop”. At this stage of the game, I was sure that mold was my “bunk mate” – living “rent free”, I might add. “Little” was finally sent to my room by one of the nurses. For what appeared to be the 100th time, I pleaded my case via “My Man”. The declaration spilled out with an urgency as I aggressively pointed at the board. He wasted no time as he spoke to me in a matter of fact voice. “Next time you blow your nose, save it in a Kleenex and we will have it analyzed by the lab.” I could not even believe what I was hearing, but I did just that. I gave him exactly what he wanted. I’ll put it to you like this, – I did the deed and stared at the evidence just to make sure that it was “just right”. “Little” came in a couple of days later and proclaimed, “your not sick. Your sample came back “normal.” “Really”, I “scrawled in blood”. He fired back, “yes, really.”
My Knight in Shining Armor….
Scott was well aware of how ill I was becoming and he showed up at the “Shop” on a random weekday morning. This was especially uncharacteristic for him, as he needed to make money and work seemed to be his only solace. I didn’t realize how fragile he truly was until my mother and her husband showed up for a visit. In an animated tone, he shouted, “we need to get her out of here. I can’t take any more.” Scott was “fit to be tied” as the teary scene unfolded. Mom put her arms around him and implored him to calm down and really think about this. You see, mother never liked to “upset the apple cart”. Scott took a couple of deep breaths and then left for work, but the “get Kelly out of here” seed had been planted.
Get My Things Packed, The Cavalry is Coming….
That day came and went, but the next day I texted Scott. I was unaware of the chain of events that would soon take place. I explained that I was feeling much worse and didn’t know what to do. His next words were, “let me make a phone call.” He called the main phone number at the “Shop” and told the “airhead” on the other end of the line that he was coming to get me out and check me into the emergency room at the hospital. Scott later informed me that the young woman sounded as though she had a wad of gum in her mouth as she babbled, “I’ll get the nurse on duty.” My nurse did not mince her words as she declared, “if you take her, it will be against medical advise. Also know as AMA.” Scott, not normally being one to back down, enlightened “Nurse Dearest” of the new plans that were soon to be laid out. “You need to have someone go in and help Kelly get read y to leave. I will be there in 45 minutes.” Close to half an hour passed after I last spoke to Scooter and two of the aides walked into my room. One of them instructed me to get up as they needed to help me get dressed. “Staying to Help?” These women usually behaved as though I were interrupting their “meeting of the minds”. One of the girls finally clued me in that Scott was coming to get me. I barely had enough energy to climb out of bed. “How can that be?” I should have had enough energy to run around the building because, if you remember, “Little Shop” declared that I was not sick. Just then, my nurse came in and fed me a line that still gives me fits of laughter, “You can’t go. We were just getting to know you.”
I’m Moving Out….
As I sometimes have the habit of doing, I set about letting some guilt creep in. Maybe “Nurse Dearest” is on the “right track”. Should I stay longer? I certainly wouldn’t want to put anyone out. I could hear my mothers voice saying, “don’t upset the apple cart.” Just then, Scott walked in. “Well, ready to go?” Suddenly, the doctor that was responsible for my floor, showed up. Along with him was my nurse, one other nurse and a couple of aides. Why all of them? I will never know. The doctor made certain to tell me that I was making a big mistake in wanting to leave. “You are not sick”, he proceeded to tell me. By this point, Scott’s head was pivoting as he interjected, “she is sick and I am taking her out of here.” The “good doctor” stressed that he would agree to this if I went by ambulance. Scott would be “allowed” to follow the ambulance to the hospital. I knew that it would be in my best interest to “sit back”, so to speak, and enjoy the ride. After what I can only describe as an endless, bumpy journey, I was back. “Home sweet home.”
