The Call

A few years ago. These were the words I heard on the other end of an unusually timed phone call. The voice almost a whisper, “Um, son, I don't feel right”, the tone uncertain.

My mother sounded afraid. The hair on the back of my neck raised. That instinctive, involuntary response when your senses pick up on something the brain hasn't processed yet. No chance to say "Hello". A quick breath and a hundred heartbeats, "I'm on my way", and the call disconnected.

By chance, fate, or divine providence, I was already getting into my car to run errands. In the time it took to turn the key, a breath, another hundred heartbeats, the engine started. The drive to Mom's house is only a couple minutes. I don't remember the drive, speed, signs, etc. I did skid some on the gravel paving her semicircular driveway.

I didn't hear any sirens, had she called 911? ... or couldn't call 911?! A dose of adrenaline hit my blood stream. Colors were instantly more vibrant. The hairs on my arms seemed like sensors collecting air speed, wind direction and temperature. The enhanced silence became a pressure inside my ears. The door that always sticks a little, surrendered without struggle.

The woman I expected, whom is a little vain and always dressed and ready to go, was nowhere in sight. The frail grayish figure setting slumped in the chair was barely recognizable. Her hair was disheveled and the lime green t-shirt and pink sweat pants didn't match. She had managed to slip on mismatched shoes. She was weak and incoherent. She was overly concerned about the shoes. The tattered house shoe and white flat seemed to dominated her entire thought processes. She kept asking if the shoes were okay, they didn't match? She could not figure out why. The shoes were upsetting her.

She had not called for other help! This is not my Mother, what is happening? “O God, I can't be her last coherent thought on a phone call that lasted 10 seconds.”

We live in a rural community, she lives a couple miles outside city limits, in the country. The disadvantage of a small town is the nearest ambulance being 25 plus miles away in the next town. Stationed at the nearest emergency room, both of which my mother needed desperately. TIME! DISTANCE! TIME! Another, more potent boost of adrenaline surged through my veins. Without debating my choices, I lifted her to her feet, three steps out the door. I cradled her in my arms, covering the five or six steps to the car. Surely at some time she had carried me similarly. She seemed so light, not that she is large or lifting her should be a problem. She just seemed so light.

Small towns have advantages though; I called 911, the dispatcher (two towns over, covering the county) telling her we are on our way to the Hospital. The dispatcher's name is Nancy. She is the little sister of a friend I went to school with, well for as long as I remember school. She is 5 years younger than I, has two kids of her own and bakes the best fudge brownies I have ever tasted. “You guys hurry, I will let them know you're en-route. Tell Mom to hold on, we love her.” Yeah, she knew my mother. Mom helps with vacation bible school at church every year. Every Mom, Grandma, Grandpa and Dad has something crafty given to them at least once by a child that passed through Mom's class each summer.

Holding the coldest hand I have ever felt. All I could do was drive. I went through town as urgently as possible, yet with calm control. The town sheriff met us just before leaving the city limits. He already had his lights on and siren at full pitch. Stan S., the name carved on the plastic name badge, overtook us waving his arm in a gesture to follow. The hand arm movements was not unlike the gesture he used on the football field signaling for the ball years earlier. Stan is older than me, but close enough in age I remember seeing him play ball. The flashing, spinning lights blazing us a trail. While I resolutely held that tiny hand getting colder if that was possible. The remaining drive was covered in six minutes give or take, yet was an eternity.

The adrenaline seeped away a little as the EMTs transferred Mom from the car to a gurney. There it was again, that small town advantage, the nurse already knew Mom's name. My friend, Kathy, an emergency room nurse. A classmate for 10 years, and friends much longer. The little girl I remember on the swings in grade school. The barrel racer on her horse “Peanut”. The teenager I found crying in my Mom's arms one Saturday evening, Mom of course comforting her like one of her own. The woman that held my hand when our friend was killed in car accident, a sister in life if not blood. She addressed my mother as "mom ma”, confidently stating, “I got you now!"

The adrenaline left, the fuel rods of the reactor were spent. All the power that was generated to coupe with the past 20 minutes evaporated as suddenly as it had fired up. Enter every emotion known to man and those yet fully described. Cue, the overwhelming uncertainty, trembling of fear, abundance of love, pain of regret, light of hope. Hope, hope that the last memory I have is NOT of a hand so icy cold, I shiver in remembrance.

Several 100 breaths and few heartbeats later. The word "stable" being repeated several times became a rock foundation for more hope and much relief. A more organized, 90 minute, ambulance ride to a heart specialty hospital in the “City”. A few tests. A couple of stints. A couple of days later … and … the vanity returned. See, she is always dressed and ready to go. Leaving the hospital that day would be no different.

She insisted on taking a shower, ensuring her hair was well groomed. Her jeans were pressed indicated by the sharp fade lines down each leg. The blouse, brilliant white except for the blue flower pattern dominating the the left side. She was back and in rare form. The only clue she was a patient, the wheelchair. Oh yeah, and the mismatched shoes which has since become a running joke.

We talk most everyday just as before. We enjoy coffee or a meal together as often as we can. My kids love Grandma's house and my wife enjoys partnering with her to beat me at cards. I don't think a week goes by I don't run into Kathy, Stan or Nancy. What I should say is, at least wave in passing. That is our small town, a bunch of wavers. Mom doesn't drive anymore, I do a lot of diving for her now. I do enjoy the warm, I am emphasizing warm, wave she gives as we pass the extended family of our little town.

But, each time caller ID displays her picture and number, the hair on the back of my neck tickles a little.