<h1>Par rump a pum pum</h1>

The phone call I am at home alone when my elder son phones me and tells me my wife suffered an allergic reaction to the chemo she was taking. "She is in the emergency room," he says and adds, "but she is OK. I have G and we are going down to the hospital. Do you want us to pick you up?"

For a second, I am in a state of disbelief. Allergic reaction? That's not that bad, is it? I think she will be home in an hour. "No, Just keep me informed." I tell him.

My son continues, "S (my daughter) is with her and she says it was scary but she is going to be fine."

They must be exaggerating, I tell myself, but I say,"OK, pick me up."

The gate keeper: We arrive at at the hospital. We go to the emergency room.

"Hold on there. Where do you think you are going?" It is the gate keeper, a sturdy lady who obviously has heard and seen it all.

We want to see a patient." T, my elder son tells her and, before the gate keeper can respond, he adds "She was brought here from the cancer unit with anaphylactic shock."

The gate keeper mumbles"Oh, that one." Her tone is softer. She picks up a clipboard and studies it. Her tone resumes its harshness. "All three of you can't go back there."

T takes charge "Understood, but this is her husband," He points to me. I say nothing.

"OK, you can go in. Follow me. You two stay here."

The numbers: The gate keeper leads me through two heavy doors that can only be opened with an ID card. We arrive at emergency and find my wife, looking very ashen. S is standing by by the bed, She is noticably very concerned. A slight sigh of relief lights up her face and she relaxes. My wife is barely aware of me. I take her hand and whisper in her ear. She smiles, sort of anyway. I look at the monitors that are connected to her. Pulse rate is rather high, I think. Blood pressure is....who am I kidding. Those numbers mean nothing to me. S sees me trying to make sense of the display.

"Blood pressure is low but way up from when it almost disappeared. Oxygen level is low. Heart rate's high but within the normal range, I think."

That's all I need to hear. S is very competent and confident. She and her brothers are well on their way to taking care of my wife and me in our old age.

"Where are T and G? she asks."

"They wouldn't let them in," I tell her.

"I will go and get them," she says and she leaves to do whatever she does when she sets her mind to it.

Time is on our side. S returns, followed by her brothers. They greet their mother and reassure her that she is OK. I turn to S and ask how she managed to get past the gate keeper.

"You know those doors that keep people out? The ones that you need ID for? Well I waited until someone opened them and I stuck my foot in to prevent them closing while I motioned to the guys to come quickly. No problem."

My kids constantly amaze me.

It is now about 6pm. S and my wife have been at the hospital since 9:45am. We chat about the usual family matters and laugh at memories. It is time well spent. As a busy agent, T is able to work at his job by text messaging. S gets her phone out and looks for trailers capable of moving 2 kayaks and a canoe to our cottage. What a world! Information is just a button away and my wife is hooked up to Star Wars machines.

Denouement: G left earlier to catch a bus. but before he left, he said he is going to move in with my wife and I (if necessary) and take care of us, (including doing the cooking) for as long as it took (Incredible). S and I linger on at the bedside for awhile longer. My wife has been sleeping for most of the visit. We are told she would not be released until at least 10pm. S drives me home and, almost at 10pm on the button, she gets a call from T to come and pick up their mother, who is pretty near normal. What a day!

What had happened? I will tell you her story as S told us in the first person singular - pretend S wrote this:

:We got there on time and mom was hooked up to the chemo drip. When the initial chemo drip was finished; another bag, with a different chemical was attached. Mom started to complain of itchy palms. Within minutes she was not making sense and then she could not talk at all. She tried to say something and her head fell sideways and she was not breathing. I yelled "Somebody help my mother". A nurse came in, saw she situation and shouted "Call a code blue!" Well those were the magic words as doctors emerged out of the ether and mom was surrounded by white coats. The non medical people were told to leave the room. We did, but I found a place to watch. Moments passed. A women in civilian clothing came out to see me, a social worker I guess. My heart fell. Was she going to hold my hand and tell me the unspeakable? She smiled and assured me all would be good, that it happens all the time and, she added sheepishly

"Is this a palliative situation?" (social worker speak for "Is she terminal?")

"NO! She...It is not." I said, all the while thinking, "Leave me alone." I know she was trying to get my attention away from the code blue, but I wasn't in the mood. I stood silently and watched anxiously. Finally a nurse saw me and told me mom was being moved to emergency where they would monitor her vitals and when appropriate, she would be released to home...

Well, all's well that ends well, particularly if it ends in you favour. My wife is her normal self, thank God.

Kind of puts it all in perspective vis-a-vis slow moving PD,does it not?

I have become a great believer that stress exacerbates the symptoms of PD. That's for a future entry. For now it is what it is (God, I hate that phrase!). Whatever "it" is, it has made us all realize there is an expiry date hidden somewhere among our official records.

Will you be surprised when yours arrives?