I'm a lucky duck in that I have, mostly, a whole bunch of radio friends who have supported me in my trials and tribulations in life as a single woman. Most of them are men, and most are married, but amateur radio is a "brotherhood" of sorts. If someone needs something that someone else has or can help with, we are there for each other. I simply cannot begin to list the number of times when my radio "buds" saved my rear (or my daughter's rear) through the years. I have rarely been called to return the favors...but it did happen this past week.
A week ago yesterday, I got an Instant Message online from one of these friends. It seemed that he was scheduled for inguinal hernia repair at the VA Hospital in Indy the very next morning, but had not been able to procure a ride. In my years of knowing him, he has always done things on the spur of the moment....
Adam has been a widower for probably 20 years. He is an Illinois transplant, like me, with children living in northern Illinois, but he hadn't called them because he just knew that all they would want to do was transport him up there after surgery, and he didn't think it was a good idea. Long story short, the VA will not carry out surgery unless the patient has a driver that will stay on the premises for the procedure and promise to stay with the patient at least overnight thereafter. Could I be his driver??
We moved our conversation to the telephone. Adam needed to be at the VA at 6:00 AM for 8:00 AM surgery. He lives waaaaay down in Greenwood. I wasn't pleased with the idea of driving way down there and way back in the wee hours of Monday morning. To be perfectly honest, I was a little irritated that he had known about this surgery for weeks, maybe even months, but hadn't worked out the details yet. I seriously considered telling him that I wasn't up to it....but then I remembered the time that he gave up a day to babysit me after my aneurysm deal when I wasn't allowed to be home by myself...and remembered, even more, the day when he almost single-handedly moved Megan out of the house in Muncie just prior to divorce, moved her stuff into a storage unit, helped us get the rental truck back where it belonged, then talked a closing Bob Evans Restaurant into staying open for the five of us working on the move who were dirty, tired, and hungry, paid for the meal for everyone, and left the waitress enough of a tip that she kept saying, "Are you sure? Are you sure?" How could I tell him that I couldn't help him out when he had done so much for us??
In short order, we determined that he would come here after he did some things at his workplace on Sunday and would spend Sunday night here so we could launch to the VA at 5:30 AM. Since I didn't have much warning, the house was mostly a mess. I didn't even have a bed prepared for him to stay in, although I have plenty of beds. He stayed on the couch.
Adam came through surgery okay. The surgical team talked to me as a "significant other". Later in the day, they released him after they were certain that he could urinate okay. We stopped for food, then came back to my house where he was ensconced on the couch with his good drugs and whatever amenities he needed. It had been a looooong day!
Adam's original plan was to stay at my house Monday night then somehow find his way home....but his home has stairs...and he was on narcotic drugs that made it not wise for him to drive, even if he could stand the pain. I had no intention of turning him out! His being here wasn't a problem for me, except for the fact that I was keeping different hours than usual. (By Tuesday evening, I was sufficiently tired and crabby that I just went to bed!) Since I hadn't had much warning that I would have a house guest, the place wasn't really presentable, and I was somewhat embarrassed by the fact that all he had was a not-very-comfortable futon couch on which to sleep. But he didn't complain.
I didn't do a thing to accommodate Adam. In fact, I feel guilty about that. I made sure he was taking his meds. I fed him, sort of. I asked if he had been checking his wound to make sure it wasn't doing anything stupid. That's it. As happens, however, with narcotic meds, he became constipated. He weaned himself off of those and was taking all of the stool softeners, etc., that had been recommended, but was experiencing some pain with the "rock" in his gut. Straining was out of the question. I got concerned, envisioning an emergency trip to the VA to relieve him....but....praise God, the dam broke and he got relief!! The very next day--Friday--he decided that he was well enough to go home. I checked on him Saturday and he sounded okay. I am praying that all's well that ends well.
As annoyed as I was in the beginning that he hadn't taken care of business earlier, I came out of this experience happy that I was able to help. We are all called to help one another.
So be it!
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