Unwanted Excitement . . . and the Nature of Friendship

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I’m normally quite a calm person. Not much rattles me. I talk a lot, but I’m pretty private about various aspects of my life, including how I feel about issues such as politics, religion, moral issues. I’m not usually a soapbox kind of girl. A few things do get my ire up to the point that I’ll rant; I suppose the quickest way to get a rise out of me is to show disrespect to or try to hurt one of my friends. Personal loyalty is vital to me, almost as much as love.

My friends who are into astrology tell me this is part of my “Taurus nature”; I feel deeply and strongly, but it takes a great deal to bring it to the surface.

Thus it was startling to my colleagues to see me hopping up and down on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant, screaming obscenities at the sky.

I had good reason.

Rachel’s school called me Thursday around noon, as I was about to join my colleagues for lunch. She’d stopped breathing. They’d called 911. And her nurse Phyllis, who was on her way from Franklin, KY, at a rate of speed I don’t even want to think about. And her doctor. They’d also suctioned her and set an albuterol treatment in play.

She stopped for only about 45 seconds, but they did the right thing, and it made a difference to how quickly she has bounced back.

I have several friends who have left the same offer on the table many times: “If you ever need me, call me.” I seldom do, so some think I may not take them seriously.

Little do they know.

I was at the restaurant without my car; I’d ridden with someone else. So I immediately thought: “Who’s closest?” Probably Michele, since she’s been working on a freelance job near the restaurant. So I called. She was there immediately, dropping everything but the Starbucks to come. I called Phyllis and caught her before she was too far south, asking her to stop at the house and get the Rachel necessities: diapers, milk, medicine, suction machine, music. Especially music. Sunny called, and said she was coming, as did her niece and Rachel’s other caregiver, Kim. Rachel’s principal, Robbie, was there. The Vanderbilt Children’s ER took Rachel in, even though she’s 19, because she’s special needs, still under the care of her long-time pediatrician, Dr. Keown, and they have all her records.

It was a lively hospital room, all of us hovering, to the point that anyone coming into the room had to verify which one was Mom.

But it made a difference. Rachel went home later that day, pretty much back to baseline. She’s still congested, and we kept her home Friday. I may have to keep her home tomorrow as well…haven’t decided yet. Depends on how today goes….

….and today started off with more hopping up and down. Her PulmoAid machine quit; just won’t turn on this morning. Of equal importance to her suction machine to her ability to continue breathing freely, we are substantially dependent on it. So here I am, bright and early on a Sunday, edging close to panic. Where in the world do I get one of these on a SUNDAY morning? Medical supply houses are closed. Doctors aren’t in their offices. Hospitals?…

…Then I remembered that I’d seen one once, a long time ago, at a Walgreens. So that started the round of 6:30 am calls to the 24-hour stores in town, until I found one. I called Sunny, who was the closest to the store where I found one. In the meantime, I gave Rachel some coffee (which will help with asthma), and settled in to pray. Sunny showed up about an hour later, machine and breakfast in tow.

And people wonder why I stay in Nashville.

I’m blessed with a remarkable group of friends who love and support me in ways impossible to name all in one blog entry, sometimes despite inconveniences to themselves. Jamie once brought me medicine at 2am. Marilee stood by me after both my surgery and Rachel’s. Marcheta, Sunny, Jeff, and Michele carted me all over creation when I didn’t have a car. And my church! I wouldn’t have ever made it through five years of nothing but freelance work without my church.

I occasionally read articles that praise the idea that man should be “self-sufficient” and independent of the need and support of other people. I usually just laugh and feel sorry for the author, thinking he’s either a fool, an idiot, or really sad. I, for one, am blessed and grateful that I don’t have to do all this alone. I am certainly saner, and more alive, because of it.

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