Monday, May 16, 2016
I resent when people treat me this way, so I try to do it sparingly. And I have been resisting the impulse to do it to my friend, John.
But I am scared. When I spoke to him Saturday, he admitted that his health was precarious and that he needed a cardiologist's care. He also promised he would go to the ER on "Monday morning."
I thought Sunday afternoon was a better idea.* I told him so. But I also tried to be respectful of his feelings, of his autonomy, of his dignity. So I didn't say, "Don't be an asshole. Go Sunday!"
But then all day Sunday, I could see him dead. Alone in his apartment. I could actually imagine getting the call from his Cousin Lori Monday afternoon. I was regretting my impulse control.
Complicating matters is that John's younger brother has gone all bossy pants, which rattled John enormously. Kid Bro told him things like, "You can't live alone anymore. Get out of your lease, sell all your belongings and move in with us." This frightened and humiliated John. He has a life here in Chicago and he doesn't want to leave it. He doesn't like seeing his life reduced to a spare bedroom with his brother and sister-in-law in Attapulgus, GA (or wherever the hell it is they live).
So this afternoon I called the hospital and received confirmation that he did, indeed, go to the ER and he's being seen by a cardiologist. Now I can stop worrying for a while.
Tomorrow I'll call the hospital to get his room number and talk to him -- or at least a nurse -- in real time.
I don't want to hover.
But I don't want John to be sick, either. I really, really don't.
*If we lived anywhere but Chicago, I would have told him to go Saturday. But Saturday night in a metropolitan ER? With gangbangers and other assorted shooting victims? I agreed he was better off in his own bed Saturday night.