I’m tired, so this will be short.
Big Edie called Thursday complaining of fevers, congestion, aches & what sounded generally like the flu. I convinced her to call her doctor. He agreed to see her the next morning because, at 79, the flu is nothing to sneeze at. She sent the Italian out for some Over The Counter flu meds and next thing I knew he’s calling saying “She’s bad. We need you now, kid.” Thirty minutes later I’m looking at her in bed. She’s under the covers, looking confused and tired.
There were damp towels all over.
She’d had a seizure. Or she passed out. Either way, suddenly she was gasping for breath, her head lolled back on her neck, her eyes rolled back in her head, unfocused, unaware of her surroundings or his presence. He gave her mouth to mouth. She was out for three minutes, disoriented and confused for another ten. That’s when he called me. Then he washed her down and put her to bed.
He’d seen his wife go through almost the same thing not that long ago, shortly before she died. He was understandably a little freaked, but he did the right things. He called me. He cleaned her up, put her to bed, kept her warm when she was cold and cooled her down when she was feverish.
I slept on the floor next to her bed. I could’ve slept on the couch, but I wanted to be close enough to hear her breathe.
We spent today at doctors. Her internist. And as of today, she now has a cardiologist as well (her heart is fine, her lungs, clear).
The Italian slept in the various waiting rooms while we waited. He’s 87, he’s entitled to a nap.
Then off to his cardiologist for an appointment (we all disliked this doctor and took turns making rude faces behind his back). Back in the car, the Italian reminded her, “Buckle up, sweetie.” She turned to me and said “Sometimes, I just ignore him.” I knew this meant she was feeling better.
Then she feel asleep as we drove.
I picked up his two new medications and threw out her OTC stuff. Maybe the TheraFlu Extreme Cold caplet wasn’t the culprit, but maybe it was. Tomorrow there are more appointments both medical and veterinary and next week, a neurologist.
By the time I left her and the Italian, her feisty was back full on. She’d whipped through some outstanding condo business, reorganized the shoes in her closet, rested, dumped the recycling. He’d moved furniture (he’s refinishing her table and relocating a ceiling fixture), napped, cleaned her kitchen.
I was crabby all week and really looking forward to the farm and the beach house for a couple of mood changers. Nothing like a day with goats and a weekend of sleeping in, sand and porch to really put a smile on my face. Life made other plans for Friday. Right now, I’m up to my knees in grateful that I was only thirty minutes away, that the Italian was there, that what happened may stay a mystery as long as it stays a single event.
Big Edie and her Italian beau