|While Scott admired his cattle, I admired the evening sky.|
Phone call from my sister Karen this morning:
“Are you sitting down? I’ve got some bad news.”
My mind races. Who has died? Has my nephew's wedding been called off? What?
“Gary’s had a heart attack.”
Gary, Gary. Do I know a Gary? Funny how the mind goes almost numb. Of course, our sister Joan’s Gary. Our Gary.
“He was in Prince George and he’s in Vancouver now; they did an angioplasty during the night and Joan and the kids and Gary's mom are going out there in two hours. He'll have two more stints put in on Monday.”
I went for my walk, came home and made breakfast and coffee, and called Joan. She’s all right, but they’re driving and she’d like to get there faster, worried he could have another heart attack before she sees him, although the medical staff thinks the major problem has been taken care of.
Just a short while ago he had a complete physical and was told he had an 8% chance of heart problems developing in the next 10 years. Could stand to lose a bit of weight, they said, but gave him a clean bill of health.
How’s that for doctors knowing what they’re talking about.
Gary is only in his mid forties.
And now, I'm off with my former husband to get Emil packed up for Camp Easter Seal.