“Can you meet James at home?”
That’s the text I got on Monday. The day my bestie and her family were to arrive home from camping. My head is spinning.
After a number of exchanges I learn that Dani woke up with a tiny cut the size of a pinprick on her index finger on Canada Day. She didn’t think much of it and went to the beach. It was there where her finger started to get more and more red. And then the chills started (it’s been +30 degrees all week). Time to go to the hospital.
In the hours that followed the infection spread up her arm. Dani learned that her white blood cell count was low. She wasn’t able to fight off the infection. They admitted her into the hospital and started her immediately on an IV antibiotic.
“Of course I will go meet James.”
I arrive at the same time Jamers is backing in the camper. While he’s holding it together, you can tell he’s a wreck. He’s just left his wife 300 kilometers away in a small town hospital and driven on the 401 on the busiest travel day of the summer with a 5 1/2 year old and 1/2 year old. Yes James, I will have a cigarette with you.
I hear the whole story from his point. Poor Jamers.
We get unpacked and things in order for tomorrow. I sit and have a beer and yes, another cigarette with James after the kids are in bed. I’m exhausted. But not as tired as Jamers is.