FIRE DEPARTMENT, ALREADY

The Big Transfer back to Becket from the nursing home went swell, thanks to Bonnie and Outside Bob. They'd all been home an hour, tops, when Odd decides he needs the loo. 

My phone rings. Peg.

"Your father can't get off the toilet. He's having one of his breathing things. Attacks." 

"Mother, I'm three thousand miles away. Tell Bonnie to give him oxygen, Maalox, and an Ativan." 


[CALLING] "She says give him a--Ana--[TO ME] What's it called?"


"Ativan. Mother, Bonnie knows what to do."

"Hang on--[CALLING] What? [TO ME] I can't talk, the Fire Department's here."

So. It seems, what with the Becket Fire Brigade to the rescue, Donna the Visiting Nurse who had arrived to do some rehab on Peg, Bonnie With The Ativan, HandiWipes, Lysol, surgical gloves, clothespin for nose--between them, they managed to get Odd off the toilet. And very cozy it must have been in there too, in the loo the size of a postage stamp.  

Odd was returned to his chair in the den, where he felt better almost immediately. The firemen and Donna think the strain of "evacuating" in turn put a strain on his heart, causing the breathing issues. Personally, speaking wholly as an internal medicine expert halfway across the world without having seen the patient, I think my father ate too much lunch and that plus the excitement of being home again, set him off. 

Saint Bonnie later reported that Odd was fine, and napping, that Peg had gone down for hers, and that the loo was once again spic and span.
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I was awake most of last night, on edge, and when not on edge, was having a dream I couldn't get rid of and that put me even more on edge: about CarolAnn the collie breeder arriving in Becket to return the dog and she looked great, as Peg had reported, had indeed lost weight, but her hair was alive with bugs--all kinds--which she kept swatting at whenever one approached her ear or eyebrow, but not mentioning--and instead kept suggesting we go for lunch. I don't know what dreams like this mean.