Why do I ever think a Sunday afternoon nap is a good idea? I made that fateful mistake yesterday and lived to regret it.
And drove 200 miles.
My saga began toward the end of Sunday School with Ben winding up his teaching in the third chapter of Colossians, when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He looked to see that it was Mike (our son, who is away at college with Miss Lovely) and let it go to voicemail. Now, I love to hear my husband teach and normally don't get distracted, but that phone call when I knew my kids should have been at church really wigged me out. In the last two minutes of class I had the following thoughts, in no particular order, sometimes overlapping:
*They've had a wreck.*
*He's deathly sick.*
*OMGoodness, he has no health insurance.*
*Something terrible has happened that will undoubtedly cost us many thousands of dollars.*
Unfortunately, I wasn't too far off.
When Ben finally called him back, we learned that they had been sitting in church when Leah leaned over and whispered, "I feel like I'm going to pass out," and she put her head on his shoulder. In a few seconds, her head became very heavy and she started to roll forward.
Girlfriend, THAT is some POWERFUL preaching!
So Mike thought, in true college-guy fashion, "Oh, crap." He put his Bible on the pew, put Leah's on the pew, scooped her up and walked out. Now get a visual here. They sit on the second row. Mike is 6'4" and Lovely is 5'9". This activity doesn't go unnoticed, and it looks like the Pied Piper with all the folks running out after them, one of which happens to be a doctor.
But back up just a second. Leah says she was not completely unconscious at this point, and she distinctly remembers grabbing for her skirt so she wouldn't be mooning everyone on the way out. Mike says she was dead weight. Who knows what really happened? Those poor parishioners!
So Mike gets her to the vestibule and tries to put her in a chair which she promptly slides out of. The doctor suggests the floor (I'm thinking, "Please tell me they didn't lift her legs with that knee-length skirt on!). By this time she is conscious again and, while the doctor is checking her pulse, she asks, "Who are you?" The nurse (yes, there's one of those too, and a mother. You know the type - she feels it her duty to be everyone's mama - I love this woman) says, "He's Dr. ___________. At this point Dr. Who informs Leah he has already called the rescue squad and she puts up vehement protest. She and Mike both know what's wrong - her blood sugar has dropped. This happens occasionally and they know what to do. But no. Dr. Who is the expert and we will do exactly as he says. The rescue squad arrives, loads her up, checks her blood sugar which is already back to normal (an adrenalin rush will do that - it's the way God designed our bodies) and takes her to the local ER with Mike following in his car.
At this point, I am talking to Mike and we realize Lovely has no ID, no insurance info, no purse (she MUST have been unconscious), no nothing. So I talk Mike through getting her checked in and I get on the road to University-town. I drive two hours over the mountains with no cell signal and when I finally get there, they are being discharged. Lovely is fine, no thanks to the three hours of tests the ER doctor ordered - they can't find a thing wrong with her.
We told you three hours ago what was wrong, and thanks to the large pepperoni pizza Mike had delivered when they first got there, Lovely is feeling like a million bucks. So my insurance company will pay over a thousand dollars for an ambulance, ER doctor, EKG, and bloodwork when a $12 pizza was the cure-all.
I love that college-guy thinking.
Be thankful ~