Medical Emergency

Dr. Richard Noonan wanted to know what my book was about. He was in the middle of gathering information for his charts and records, and had been asking my mother about her condition.
“So what exactly were you doing when you first felt the pains in your chest?”
“I was sitting in the chair. I had the phone book and was looking for a number.”
“Where was it located?”
“The number?”
“No the pain. I can see I’ll have to be more specific with my questions.”

I guess he was multitasking when he asked me about my book—mom told him. I am too. Listening and watching to the medical staff tend to my mom while I try to send an email through my wireless broadband on my lap top. The hospital has some sort of force field surrounding it because neither my cell phone nor wireless connection to the Net works. It is now after 11 PM and we are all waiting—mom, dad and me—in the emergency room. Mom is alert, currently has no pain and just announced she is beginning to feel buggy.

Dr. Noonan is related to my seventh grade social studies teacher, Mrs. Noonan. Nephew, I think. She was a high-energy, high-pitched cross between a Carol Burnett and Ann Coulter. She once asked the class for a show of hands in response to how many of us thirteen year olds were going to leave town when we turned eighteen. Nearly all of us raised our hands, including me. She laughed and said that wasn’t going to happen. Most of us would stay here in the area. Maybe fifty miles, tops. I vowed right then and there, I would not live here. What was wrong with my home town? Nothing. But the rest of the world was out there waiting. I had a list of places to see.

On the United States Department of Agriculture’s web site I found every farmers market in the country. Visit www.ams.usda.gov/farmersmarket to find one near you. I looked up markets in the towns I am planning to visit, but I had a hard time matching market dates with book signing events.

Since I have not been welcomed with open arms by the “farmers” of Saratoga, I thought I better call the head of the Cambridge market before I headed out there on Sunday. It is a long ways to go for a rejection.

It took a couple of calls to track down the decision maker (not all the info on the USDA’s site is current), but what personable and helpful person he seemed to be on the phone. “I don’t see why not,” Paul Gowen said when I asked if I could set up. Plus he was sorry he did not know about this sooner. He could have put a notice on the blog, in the newsletter or in the paper. He even offered to make a tent available in case it rained, or just because it is going to be hot. Paul suggested I email Debra and Cambridge Buzz to see if I could get an announcement on the blog. I was in the middle of writing her when I heard mom gagging.

It is disappointing to experience the lack of support in my hometown, but it is nice to know that other places are open to providing venues to authors and artists in order to provide a richer event for their patrons.

My mom’s finger was becoming numb from the clip that holds one of the numerous monitoring wires to her body. When the doctor returned, she complained, and he transferred the clip to another finger. Mom noted the impression left on her finger and complained. The doctor calmly responded, “You can sue and buy your own sail boat.”

Midnight: My butt is sore from sitting here. The sounds from down the hallway outside of the room are chaotic; voices crashing over each other sounding like reckless clatter of dishes dropped in a pile on a kitchen floor.

Later -

Mom did not want to stay last night and I could tell she was upset. She fretted about The Booter, her cat. The Doctor said he could not force her to stay, and she did not want to stay, but to keep her there dad and I left before she was admitted and taken to a room. We got to bed about 1:30 after making sure The Booter was fed.

Enzyme test is not back yet this morning, and I guess that is the tell tale foot print left behind when the heart goes nuts. I still don't suspect she had one, but I can’t tell you what caused last night’s pain. I did cook dinner…

Dad slept well after taking a Tylenol PM and I guess I did too, except I had a ton of dreams I can't remember. I got up early to run when I heard little splatters of rain on the leaves outside my bedroom window. I wanted to beat any heavier rain. It started sprinkling again after I finished my four mile run.

I keep a horsefly kill tally when I run: mild attacks today. I got bit twice, but I nailed five of the little bastards. I have had mornings when the kills have been as high as eleven and I got bit six times. I have to constantly look over my shoulders to ward off their assaults. This distracts my running. Sometimes, I swear they are flying in fighter jet formation.

Anyway, mom will most likely be discharged this afternoon.