Last night my grandma called at 2 a.m. to say she was having trouble breathing. My dad and I drove the car literally 200 feet down the street to her house - I was not allowed to walk there. Why? I asked. Because there might be "lions," came the answer.
Grandma was not doing well. She pressed the button on her emergency wristband and Stanford Hospital Lifeline sent five firefighters with a motorized stretcher into her bedroom. They made her sit on the edge of her twin mattress and attached electrodes to her and brought in giant duffel bags filled with electronic measurement devices. They were so huge and competent, and patient with my uncle's poor translations and failure to follow directions. One of them talked to me in a quiet voice and asked me what medications she took. I had no idea and I hunted around the house for prescription bottles. They initially all looked to me when they spoke because I was the only one of the four of us who spoke unaccented, grammatical English.
She went by ambulance to the hospital with my uncle riding along to provide translation. My dad followed them in the car and stayed overnight at Stanford, then came home at 10 a.m. to sleep for three hours. Then he went back to the hospital.
Grandma's doing okay. She's back at her house now, with nothing immediately wrong with her. I'm really happy about that, but it was a scare. Let us all pray for all of our good health, brainful health, for years to come.
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