We had a little scare.
Last night Steve informed me he'd not been feeling well. I asked for details. He'd been having some trouble breathing, sometimes waking up feeling as if Fred (his basset) were sitting on his chest.
Wait a minute: how long has this been going on? About three days? Are you insane? You let it go three days?
I didn't actually yell this at him, but finally convinced him this might be serious. He should get it checked out. Of course, at 8 PM one's options are limited, more so when transportation is an electric scooter with reflectors but no lights, and the nearest medical facility is across an 8-lane highway. Sure there's a stoplight and a center island, but...
Once I finally convinced him that now was still a good time to see what's going on, we discussed options for transportation. The neighbors to either side, whom he knows, hadn't been in residence for days, nor was the lady across the street who was so helpful when we had the water flooding problem that turned into a slab leak. He assured me he'd do something and be back in touch to let me know what was going on.
I was still an hour and a half from home at this point, and I used the time well: worrying. Mom taught me well. I learned from the best. What-if scenarios ran through my mind. I worried about him, about transportation, even about Fred if Steve had to be away for a few days. I'd have to drive down rather than fly if I were needed to go down, since transportation would be needed and last minute airline tickets are outrageous. And if it were truly serious, what would I do without Steve?
Yeah, my mind goes there. As I said, learned from an expert.
Just before getting home, I couldn't stand not knowing any more. I called him. How/where was he?
Fine. And home. He'd called the fire department and they'd checked him out. They hooked him up to oxygen first thing through the door, and the little finger thingy showed his blood O2 levels were at 100% of normal. Their portable EKG showed normal rhythms, and his BP was the envy of a 30-year-old. There was nothing going on that they could find.
Before they left, they imparted a last bit of information. Going to the hospital wasn't an option. They were taking no more patients. The flu is hitting so hard they were packed to the gills, with very sick folks waiting as much a 10 hours just to get seen. So it was a very good thing he checked out as well as he did. He wasn't about to get transported anywhere (though the gurney had been brought in, in case) unless he was dying.
He did decide, however, that he'd sleep that night in his recliner, keeping his head slightly elevated. Just in case.