“Ambulance?” she muttered, incoherently.
“The paramedics will help you get better on the way to the hospital, the way they do on the Emergency Now show.”
“Hospital?”
Stan burst into the room to see his wife splayed across the floor and his daughter placing a throw pillow under Genifer’s head. “Is she breathing, Zoe?”
“Yes and talking a bit, but she’s really out of it.”
“She seemed fine after you turned off the TV, then I saw her face go white and she ....” Aleena couldn’t continue and started to cry. “She isn’t going to die, is she?”
“No, Bean,” Stan said. “She’s just tired and couldn’t stand anymore. Do me a favour and go to the washroom for a facecloth please. Run some cold water over it first. Can you do that for me, kiddo?”
With superhero-like speed, Aleena sprang into action and bolted down the hallway.
“You’re doing good, Zoe,” Stan said to his daughter who was fighting back her own tears. She gave him a frail, yet appreciative smile as he grabbed the phone.
“911. What is your emergency?”
“My wife collapsed and is going in and out of consciousness. We need to get her to the hospital.”
For the second time, Genifer seemed to rouse from her semi-coma state. “No hospital,” she mumbled weakly. “I can’t go there. They’re going to kill that lady.”
“What did she say?” Stan asked Zoe, as Genifer slipped back into unconsciousness.
“It had to do with the hospital. Like, ‘I can’t go there. They’re going to fill that baby.’ What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. She’s hallucinating,” Stan said, shaking his head as he refocused his thoughts to the 911 operator. “How long before the ambulance arrives?”
“I’ve dispatched the first responders. They should be there shortly,” came the reply.
“Thank you,” Stan said, terminating the call. Looking at Zoe, he said, “Can you see what happened to Aleena? Then go into our bedroom for some overnight clothes for your mother – her pyjamas, housecoat and slippers.”
“Will her Minions pyjamas be okay for the hospital?” Zoe asked, thinking of her mom’s favourite gift from the previous Christmas.
Stan smiled. “She’d like those a lot.”
Zoe scampered out of the room, calling Aleena’s name.
Stan sat beside Genifer and stroked her hair, hoping his recent outburst hadn’t played any role in her collapse.
“My dad told me that being a Vikings’ fan would be the death of me, Genifer, not you,” he said half-jokingly, terrified of losing his wife. “Can you hear me?” There was no visible reaction on her face. “Hold on, babe. We’ll be at the hospital real soon.”
With the sound of sirens getting louder outside, Stan stepped away and opened the front door. “They’re here, Genifer. Hold on a little longer.”
Genifer stirred, as sunlight from the open door stretched across the floor and into her eyes. Hearing a stretcher being unloaded from the ambulance, she made a feeble request that no one would ever hear: “No ... hospital.”
***
It had been a long afternoon and evening for Genifer, as hospital staff endlessly poked, prodded and measured her every vital sign, plus a CAT scan. Through it all Genifer didn’t complain, answering every question regarding her diet, sleep habits, headache issues or other health irregularities.
“We may need to call Dr. House in for a consultation,” Maggie, the E.R. nurse, said, referencing the popular television character who specialized in tricky cases. “All your tests were negative.”
Genifer knew they would be, and could have saved the health system a lot of time and money. She was fully aware of what had triggered her fainting spell, but didn’t dare divulge the information to anyone.
If only I had fallen without an audience present, she thought.
Thankful that her children were in the care of her mom and her friend Lisa, and with Stan getting a coffee, Genifer lay listlessly on the E.R. stretcher, jumping whenever she heard an urgent-sounding announcement on the hospital speakers.
“What’s a Code white?” she anxiously asked Maggie, who was examining the heart monitor attached to the wall.
“An unruly patient is causing trouble,” Maggie said.
“And Code pink?”
“That’s a medical emergency dealing with an infant.”
“What if an adult – say, an elderly adult - needs help?”
Maggie adjusted the oxygen mask level and began, “We don’t have different codes for different age groups. An adult is anyone over 18. And if they stop breathing, it’s a Code blue.”
“I heard a Code blue announcement a minute ago,” Genifer said alarmed.
“Oh yes, I heard that too,” the nurse replied calmly, “but it was cancelled.”
“Meaning what?”
Maggie noted that her patient’s heart rate and blood pressure were rising with each question. “Genifer, is there anything wrong? You seem very stressed.”
Genifer took a deep breath. “I have an elderly friend who came into the hospital with a broken hip and I wanted to find out how she’s doing.”
“Let me check. What’s her name?”
“It’s Helga ... Klemens,” Genifer said, not totally certain. If the woman’s house was a regular delivery stop, Genifer would have probably been able to supply more personal information than Helga’s family. Genifer loved the people on her postal route and they loved her. Fun and bubbly, Genifer was often the best part of some homeowners’ day, especially senior citizens who enjoyed engaging in any topic in the short time it took to hand them their mail. Fate had Helga living two blocks north of Genifer’s route, making her a complete stranger until her fall.
Maggie handed Genifer a foam cup. “Drink some of this and relax. I’ll find out what’s going on with your friend.”
Genifer took a sip of ice water, watching as Maggie sat in front of a desk computer and began to tap keys. She saw the nurse’s brow furrow before walking back to the examination room with a smile on her face.
“The computer shows that Helga is in surgery. She could already be out. Sometimes the status isn’t quite up to date.”
“That’s a relief,” Genifer said, relaxing her body into the stretcher. “I was worried something might have happened to her.” Maggie gave Genifer a questioning look. “Broken hips and the elderly don’t make good dance partners. Plus, she lives alone and will need a lot of help
