...when she fell out the door and into the flower bed. Today was my first experience as a driver for someone who was going to get cancer treatment. Several months in the ordering/making, as I did the paperwork and sent it in weeks ago, probably back in early January. I took the training, spending an afternoon at the local ACS office downtown back in the fall. Then dragged my feet for some weeks before completing the paperwork to mail into the office in Atlanta.
As expected with most anything, there is a protocol even though they say they are desperate for volunteers, and constantly advertising, recruiting for more manpower/drivers. You have to be 'screened', they check your history for criminal activity (where they probably found my 'carry permit', but not much else of prurient interest.) Probably poke around in our trash, and ask the neighbors if I stay out late at night or talk in my sleep.
I remember years ago when my dad had neighbors questioned about his personal habits when he was getting approved for top secret military clearance. Neighbors who lived such transparent lives, they immediately told him people in dark suits and shades had knocked on the front door. He lead such a dull, clear-conscience, blameless life, there was literally nothing to tell. If there had been, in that small town, everyone would have known all his secrets (which obviously means: they would not have been 'secret', right?)
I had my first transport job today. Tried to call to confirm at 8:00 this morning, as she needed to be at the treatment center at 9:00, and her phone is not in service. (Later discovered she has a cell phone, like everyone in North America, who has had land line service discontinued.) So off I went, anxious about where to go, how to find her, getting there on time in traffic I don't usually encounter in my limited travels.
But I did get there, and knocked on her door, waiting on the stoop, when she came out, tottering on wobbly legs, with a walking stick, and wig slightly askew. She some how slipped, or mis-stepped, or got her feet tangled on door mat, and immediately fell into the flower bed. Me, with a painful lower back, could not possibly get her up. There she lay, thankfully in the flower bed instead of on the steps with a cracked cranium. No neighbors to speak of, though lots of houses close by.
I'm getting pretty frantic, as I am sure she is. Desperate to get her up, on her feets, in the car, and to the appointment on time for her treatment, so I won't get fired from my volunteer work. I walked out in the street, planning to go ask neighbors for assistance. And waved down a man in a panel van/work truck. He pulled over, and helped Miss Hattie out of the flower bed, got her in my car. And we thankfully, uneventfully got to the treatment center at precisely 9:00.
She told me her daughter is in the hospital, so when she got done, I left her at the Medical Center, in the care of relatives. Pushing her in a wheelchair into the lobby of the building, where she could go and visit her daughter, and someone else would take her home. The whole experience left me severely stressed out.
And I have to do it again on Thursday morning. I will be much more aware, assistive, hands-on when I go back to get her in a couple of days, super cautious when she steps out the door. And hopefully get her to her appointment and home again without incident.
No comments:
Post a Comment