Thursday morning started ordinarily enough. I was playing an
early morning game of Words With Friends
with a woman in Scotland. For over a year we just played. Then about a year ago
we would message back and forth about the words (up until she contacted me, I
thought she was a middle-aged Engineer). In the past 9 months or so, I’ve
learned her husband had a stroke a few years back and his health has not been
the greatest. This past year they have
started assuming the care of their teenage Grandson, who is doing well with the
new structure in his life. The night
before Wendy had asked how my week had been. I flippantly remarked about some
minor annoyances. Thursday morning I
read her next remark. And had to reread it. Several times to ensure I had read
it correctly.
Wendy had risen during the middle of the night and gone to
the bathroom where she found her husband “dead in the toilet.” I reread it several times to see if I could
discern some sort of a cultural thing. Nada. She actually found him dead in the
bathroom. Kind of like Elvis.
I remained in the Death Zone on Friday at work. No one died.
However, I was tempted to kill a few Residents. The Social Worker and I had
worked hard on several difficult discharges and three of our most difficult
cases were falling apart. I looked
forward to leaving early to attend my own health care appointment, and have a
relaxing evening.
As I hobbled to the clinic I passed two cars parked in the drop off/loading zone.
Another minor annoyance, but I was off for the weekend so it didn’t bother me.
As I entered the building the owner of one of the cars was exiting with three
staff members. I overheard her saying she had been driving with her Husband and
all of a sudden “his breathing changed and then he passed out.” Not good. (But
on a personal note, it reminded me, I’m due to renew my CPR Certificate this
month.) Sure enough, they ended up
performing CPR on the gentleman. Right
on the ground outside the building. One
of the staff called for assistance of a clinic physicians, and then 911. Unfortunately, the gentleman did not make it. On the way home, I
stopped at a friends house and picked up
her mail and newspaper so the bad guys
would not know she was out of town.
Saturday morning, I awoke and started in on our normal
routine: I fed Moggy (our rescue kitty) and
took Bandit (my Hairless Chinese Crested) outside to potty. Moggy gets a little time to eat his food in
peace. And Bandit and I have a little
Moggy-less time together. I don’t think he’s really forgiven me for bringing
Moggy into the family. Every once in a while he gives me a look that clearly
says, “Was I not enough?” Saturday, it was a
cool morning and Bandit was very quick to do his business, so I thought
I would drive over to remove the newspaper from my Friends driveway, even
though I was still in my night clothes—which that particular day consisted of
sleep pants and a t-shirt. I figured sleepwear
that can pass for WalMart-ware, would be fine for the country birds I might
encounter. We didn’t see a soul.
After I completed the task, we took a relaxing Saturday
Morning Drive. We ended up in a
neighboring town when my check engine
light came on. Great! My brand new SUV
is dying, I’m in my PJs, I have Bandit with me, and the dealership is only open
half days on Saturday. I raced home,
washed up , changed clothes, unloaded a weeks’ worth of stuff from my car, and
grabbed my wallet and a book—next stop: The Dealership Service Department.
As expected, they were busy.
My normal Service Advisor was off, probably playing with his new
daughter. The other Service Advisor, told me I would have at least a two hour
wait, and he wasn’t sure if I would even be seen. I waved my book at him and said, “I’ll wait. I
don’t want to drive my SUV with the check engine light on—been there, done
that, killed a car.” He checked me in,
while also checking to see if my SUV is
under warranty (it is), and he noticed there are two Factory Recalls out on my
SUV. I knew about one, and had been meaning to get with my normal Service
Advisor, but the second recall was news
to me.
Just before they closed shop for the day, the Service
Advisor came to tell me my problem was a
dead fuel vapor sensor. They of course would have to order the part on Monday
and assuming it arrived by Tuesday, my car would be fixed by Tuesday evening
after work. They would give me a loaner and take care of the sensor and the two
recalls. I agreed.
The loaner is another SUV like mine—but unlike mine, it is without
all the bells and whistles. Tuesday and
the departure from The Dead Zone can’t come quick enough to suit me.
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