The View from Middle Spunk Creek

Perspective

Wednesday was a day from hell.

Chronologically, from 9 a.m.:

Got notice that my medical insurance plan is ending on 12/31 and I need to select a new plan. {I’d rather shove bamboo shoots under my fingernails}. Spend an hour educating myself. Come to conclusion that all options are bad.

Call my brother who got home yesterday after spending a week in the hospital. His wife answers, panic in her voice. He is being rushed back.

Start dialing my other brother to notify him of family emergency, but dialing is interrupted by a call from young friend (three children and a shared business with spouse) who says he’s getting a divorce. He’s devastated. Spend an hour and a half consoling and counseling.

Finally call my other brother.

Return call to an author friend and listen for 20 minutes while he tells me, repetitively, that he feels something I wrote was belittling and demeaning; exactly the opposite of what I intended. I apologize. Repetitively.

Call sister-in-law to get update on brother and learn he is being flown to a hospital in Phoenix for emergency surgery.

Scramble to get airplane ticket.

***

Twenty-four hours later, I am sitting in an ICU hospital room with both my brothers. The one who has survived two surgeries is cracking jokes, notwithstanding his pain, and that the medicos still don’t know what caused a bacteria to infect the soft tissue in his left leg which now looks like one of those exhibits where only the muscle, tendons and bones of the human body are shown.

The surgeons are happy. They think he will recover most of the function in the leg. There will, of course, have to be plastic surgery. Recovery will take years.

Two days later I flew home, comfortable that he was on the mend.

The next morning I get another panicky call from my sister-in-law. He has had a heart attack.

“The day from hell” suddenly has a whole different meaning.