Journal of a Living Lady #67

Nancy White Kelly

 

Yesterday was Buddy’s sixty-eighth birthday. A childhood friend telephoned early in the morning to offer his condolences. My husband would need them before the day was over.

 

Other friends and relatives called. The postman personally delivered some nice cards. Charlie and I sang Happy Birthday around a cake with flaming candles. We gave him his gifts, including a hilarious, singing fish from my sister. Charlie gave him a beautiful poster. Besides clothes, I gave him a fly rod and accompanying gear in hopes that he would go fishing more often. Every man needs the solitude of throwing a line in the water and listening to the crickets crick. No clocks. No women. Nothing but man and nature.

 

Buddy spent most of his birthday working on screening our front port, a project he began a few days earlier. By late afternoon, he was tired and flopped into his recliner. When he started to untie his shoes, he felt severe indigestion-type pain. His heart started racing wildly.

 

A similar experience  happened a couple of years ago when he was out walking. A lady at a restaurant called me. She told me Buddy was sitting on the curb in a daze. That time the emergency room doctor stopped Buddy’s racing heart by giving him an injection. In a few minutes his heart was beating normally and we went home an hour later.

 

Buddy has since had several normal cardiograms and a negative stress test. Just recently he had a complete physical with no problems other than a mildly elevated cholesterol level. Buddy is a worrier though. My cancer always weighs heavy on his mind, but so do many other things like the humidity index and the national debt.

 

Buddy called out to me from the recliner, but I didn’t hear him at first. He calls my name quite frequently in a day’s time, so we have an understanding that if he ever really needs me, he is to call emphatically. The urgency in his voice let me know that I needed to immediately stop what I was doing.

 

 Buddy told me to put my hand over his chest and feel the fast pounding. At that moment, the singing fish started blaring, “Don’t worry. Be happy.” I snatched the plug out of the wall.

 

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“Okay. Ambulance or car?”

“Car,” he replied.

 

I went to the door and called for Charlie. No answer. He was still jogging. Not a neighbor was in sight. It was just me and Buddy. I mumbled a prayer as I helped him to the car.  The trip wasn’t going to be easy. Buddy was understandably up-tight.

 

“Don’t drive like an old lady,” he complained, even though I was going 60 mph. I turned on the hazard lights and sped up a little, honking and passing traffic all the way to the hospital.

 

“My husband is having chest pains,” I announced at the emergency desk. I fished Buddy’s back pocket for his billfold with his insurance card. A nurse led him away through the double doors. After signing endless forms, I called the answering machine to leave a message for Charlie.

 

In the examining room, Buddy was hooked up to monitors. A nursing assistant was asking the routine questions. She turned around to tell me a PA was “on call.” This news was not very comforting, but  thankfully Buddy was better now. His blood pressure was good and his pulse was slower. The PA eventually arrived and ordered an EKG and blood work. They were normal also.

 

Charlie arrived just as we were leaving and was, of course, relieved to learn his Dad was alright. I wasn’t going to be a widow that day nor was he to be suddenly fatherless. We both were genuinely grateful.

 

This was much ado about nothing perhaps, but a birthday Buddy will not forget. Now, if  I can just get him to go fishing.

 

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