Retired people usually stay fairly busy. Some retires say that they are busier in retirement than when working full time. We do manage to over plan or commit, but usually missing a men’s breakfast or a ladies tea is not something that will stop the world from turning. There is one appointment, however, that retired women will never break. Don’t mess with a woman’s hair appointment. Don’t even suggest that to a lady. If you do she will show you a side of herself that’s not so lady like. Other than that most things we plan can be done later.
Thursday morning when I woke I didn’t have a lot on my schedule. But I quickly discovered that I might have to do something I had not planned on doing. I was having severe chest pains. I took some aspirin and ate breakfast. After two hours I decided that it might be a good idea to go to the emergency room. Sherri was not at home, and I knew I shouldn’t drive so I called 919. I immediately got a message, “This is not a working number.” “Maybe I dialed it wrong”, I thought so I tried again. “919”. Same message. I was in terrible pain, and I was wondering if I was going to die because 919 was not working. I decided I had better call Sherri, quick! I told her what happened. She said, “John Paul! It’s Not 919, It’s 911!”...short pause... “Oh, that’s right.” She ended our conversation by telling me she was on the way.
Well, I went ahead and dialed 911. Would you believe, it worked! By the time Sherri got home I had been placed on a cot and was about to be loaded into the ambulance. I was taken to the Heart Care Center in Raleigh. The doctor advised that I needed to stay overnight? I went through several tests that involved putting sticky pads all over my hairy chest. I will note here that those doing the sticking were all women. Some even seemed to find pleasure in ripping off some of those sticky pads that they thought were in their way for the test they were about to administer. Seems like unnecessary torture to me. I had a stress test Friday morning. I passed with flying colors. Around three in the afternoon I was told that my heart was in great shape, and that I could go home. Still, in some pain, I got home figuring that I had gone through enough unpleasant experiences to last a lifetime.
I was worn out. I hadn’t even taken a shower. I hadn’t gotten any sleep. Nurses and aids were coming in all night checking my vitals, giving me pills for what, I have no idea and twice they took blood. The worst thing was that whoever was in the room next door was very sick. The commode was flushing constantly it seemed, and it was loud. Anyone who has to go as much as that person had to be extremely ill!
When Sherri came in Friday morning she ask me, “ How did you sleep?” I told her about my miserable night. I said, “Some poor soul next door was very sick last night. Whoever is in that room was going to the bathroom all night long.” She pointed toward the room, “Are you talking about that room?” I nodded that it was. She started laughing, “That’s not a patient's room. It a public restroom!” I don’t think I’ll ever go back to another hospital. No space for that in my plan book.
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