Friday, October 8, 2010
My parents came with me to the Soldiers Home twice while they were here—along with a surprise bonus trip to the hospital.
I knew Ray McDade was eager to chat with my mom and dad, so we stopped in his room first both times. No Ray. And I knew Bill Crowell wanted to meet my parents—possibly to ask for my hand in marriage—but we couldn’t find him, either. In fact, the first time we tried, we found an empty room: no clothes, no personal belongings, no name on the door, no Bill. That usually is not a good sign, but I quickly found a nurse, who explained he’d just moved down the hall to a room with a window spot. Whew. But he wasn’t there.
We did find David Fox, though, who said he hadn’t seen me “in a month of Sundays,” but still told my parents I was “all right.” And we found Dorothy, who told me she’d been handling Bingo duty while we were at my son’s golf matches. I told her I owed her treats. (Note to self: Get treats.)
We found Mike, too, and he was thrilled to see us. We chatted about my son’s golf game, my son’s 16th birthday plans, fishing and more golf. But Mike was tired, so we didn’t stay long. We promised we’d be back after a weekend trip to Pullman for a golf tournament.
On our way home over the mountains, my cellphone suddenly found a signal and beeped with a message. It was one of Mike’s friends, who told me he’d been taken to the hospital and was “desperate” for me to know that. This also is not a good sign.
My dad had caught my son’s back-to-school cold in Pullman, so just my mom and I visited Mike at the hospital the next day. He had no memory of what made someone at the Home decide to call an ambulance. But he looked good, and talked for quite a while, and seemed to enjoy the stuffed chattering squirrel we brought to remind him of home. His son had brought him the necessities: his wallet, some books and his trademark “Leave Me Alone” hat.
Mike was alone in a double room. “I hope I don’t get a roommate,” he said. “They either won’t shut up, or they won’t say a word.” Not two seconds later, a nurse popped her head into the room: “You’re getting a roommate,” she chirped. We all laughed.
Mike stayed a few days, then was sent home with some new medication. We saw him again at the Soldiers Home right before my parents flew back, and he apologized for being sick and missing a fishing expedition at the pond. Silly Mike. We’d much rather see him released than a trout.
My parents came with me to the Soldiers Home twice while they were here—along with a surprise bonus trip to the hospital.
I knew Ray McDade was eager to chat with my mom and dad, so we stopped in his room first both times. No Ray. And I knew Bill Crowell wanted to meet my parents—possibly to ask for my hand in marriage—but we couldn’t find him, either. In fact, the first time we tried, we found an empty room: no clothes, no personal belongings, no name on the door, no Bill. That usually is not a good sign, but I quickly found a nurse, who explained he’d just moved down the hall to a room with a window spot. Whew. But he wasn’t there.
We did find David Fox, though, who said he hadn’t seen me “in a month of Sundays,” but still told my parents I was “all right.” And we found Dorothy, who told me she’d been handling Bingo duty while we were at my son’s golf matches. I told her I owed her treats. (Note to self: Get treats.)
We found Mike, too, and he was thrilled to see us. We chatted about my son’s golf game, my son’s 16th birthday plans, fishing and more golf. But Mike was tired, so we didn’t stay long. We promised we’d be back after a weekend trip to Pullman for a golf tournament.
On our way home over the mountains, my cellphone suddenly found a signal and beeped with a message. It was one of Mike’s friends, who told me he’d been taken to the hospital and was “desperate” for me to know that. This also is not a good sign.
My dad had caught my son’s back-to-school cold in Pullman, so just my mom and I visited Mike at the hospital the next day. He had no memory of what made someone at the Home decide to call an ambulance. But he looked good, and talked for quite a while, and seemed to enjoy the stuffed chattering squirrel we brought to remind him of home. His son had brought him the necessities: his wallet, some books and his trademark “Leave Me Alone” hat.
Mike was alone in a double room. “I hope I don’t get a roommate,” he said. “They either won’t shut up, or they won’t say a word.” Not two seconds later, a nurse popped her head into the room: “You’re getting a roommate,” she chirped. We all laughed.
Mike stayed a few days, then was sent home with some new medication. We saw him again at the Soldiers Home right before my parents flew back, and he apologized for being sick and missing a fishing expedition at the pond. Silly Mike. We’d much rather see him released than a trout.
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