THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

I was the first child in my family to fly the coop, and the only one to stay away more or less permanently. My mom had a bit of the martyr in her, and liked to play the drama queen if you didn't call enough or come visit enough, and the truth of the matter was, no matter how often you did, it was never enough. So the plus side of living halfway around the world was that it freed me of those expectations. The down side is that, when it's your turn to be in crisis, there is no family to gather around and support you, or to take care of all the secondary crises that pop up on a regular basis, so that you can keep your focus on the primary one. Therefore, you learn to cherish your "family" of friends, and oftentimes, the generosity of total strangers.

My heart is overflowing with gratitude for all the people who have already stepped up to the plate for us, from the friends at Mima's who called the paramedics, moved cars and directed traffic, to the total stranger who volunteered to drive my car over to the hospital if I wanted to ride in the ambulance with John. John's brother, way off in Ohio, got his old college buddy (who happens to be our attorney) out of the shower early the next morning, and put him to work drawing up powers of attorney and medical directives for us, while other friends rounded up mobile notaries who would come to the hospital to witness our signatures. One couple immediately volunteered to drive over to Austin and act as our witnesses if need be, then turned right around the next day and volunteered to come sit at our house and wait for a plumber, when our septic system backed up and flooded all the downstairs rooms with poo water.

The one that really made us laugh was on Tuesday night, when Austin and I stopped in Kyle on the way home for a few groceries, and ended up grabbing a bite to eat at our favorite Tex-Mex spot. John had been asking me to bring him something to suck on, since his throat was irritated from having a tube crammed down it that first day. When I spotted his favorite little lime-flavored mints at the entry, I whispered to Austin "lets each sneak a handful for Dad on the way out." When the time came, I chickened out, and instead told the fellow at the counter about having a very sick husband in the hospital who adores those mints, and wondered if he would be willing to sell me a small bagful. Instead he hands me a giant 2- or 3-pound bag, and refuses to take my money. "Just promise me that, when he gets well, you will bring him back here to eat." I choke up every time I think about it, and it all makes me wish I had been a better friend to my own friends when they were in crisis, instead of shying away for fear of saying or doing the wrong thing.

There is much to be grateful for, not the least of which are the baby steps my hubby is taking towards recovery. He actually picked up the phone and called me first thing yesterday morning, then sent me text messages of encouragement throughout my flooding ordeal, and even joked about my hint of snarky sarcasm when he said it was probably time to get the septic tank pumped out anyway, and I replied "Ya think?!" He also finally felt like eating some of his jello and broth, and never threw up once, though he refused to let us remove that pink plastic pan from his bed "just in case." By the end of the day the doctors "downgraded" his status from intensive care to intermediate care, which is actually an upgrade as far as we are concerned, then moved him to a different unit where the rooms are somewhere in between the ICU and a regular room. I know that's a good thing, but I must admit, our corner room back in ICU felt much safer and more serene. Anywho, like I said, baby steps in the right direction.