After that, it
seems to me Stot drove me to the ER. I sat there for
six hours. During this time, a hundred people came in an out of the hospital.
But not one of them was my friend Skim.
Skim was a mile up
the road eating steak. I called her to let her know my dilemma, certain that
she would arrive to keep me company and feed me.
I called her
mobile. She answered. “Hey, Skim, I'm in ER with Stot. I don't know if I'll
make the barbecue.”
I'm sure I told
her of the current events, but I don't recall her response, except, “Oh, that's
too bad. The steak is really good!”
Taking my seat
once again, I sighed, “Sorry. Doesn't look like we'll be eating steak.”
“I'll call Yvette.
She'll bring us some food.” About an hour later, Stot's wife came in with
I was very
grateful, though it just wasn't the same.
“Grand is having a
cookout a mile down the road and they didn't bring us any!” was the first thing
out of his mouth when Yvette came through the sliding ER doors.
“Really? How mean!”
“Yeah,” I said
My turn came and I
was examined. My instruction was to stay off my foot for a week. How was that
going to happen with my family arriving? What about the outing I had planned for my
nephews on the four-wheeler?