...even though I gave up on yesterday early and tucked myself into bed circa 9:00. I'd had enough, let me tell you.
At 9:15, just as I was starting to doze, the phone rang. It was D., the photographer. Could I drive him to the emergency room? He was having chest pain and an irregular heartbeat.
I was dressed and out the door in minutes.
It's 21 miles from my place to his, and a further 17 miles to the chosen hospital. There just aren't that many ERs around here these days and S., his girlfriend, works at this particular hospital.
All together, I made the 38 miles in 36 minutes.
He was admitted, and I sat. And sat. And sat. Emergency rooms are never fun places, but they seem especially busy on Saturday nights. I have previously managed to avoid sitting in an ER for any length of time. And I don't remember a hell of a lot about my last visit to one.
S. came down during her breaks and checked on him. Checked on me, too, and took me to the cafeteria for some much-needed coffee. D. has had a gammy ticker for years, and is diabetic. His blood sugar dropped while he was under observation; the resulting sweating worried the nurses, as that can be a sign of heart problems, too.
In time, he was stabilized and, when the doctor was certain he wasn't having a heart attack but just symptoms that have become somewhat normal for him, he was released.
It was 2:30. On Sunday-freekin'-morning.
So here I am, back at my place and unable to sleep, though I'm going to try again in a few moments. I'm glad I was on hand when my friend needed me, especially glad that it turned out not to be a serious as first thought.
But I can't help thinking Someone Up There is flinging just a bit too much dung, a wee tad more stress than I can handle, my way these days.
51 minutes ago