The Cab Driver, the Hospital, and Volleyball
The car that I had ordered from a car service pulled up in front of the hospital and I got in. Inside it was cool, a relief after the wait in the hot afternoon July sunlight, and smelled like smoke. The cab driver was a hefty white guy, with grey hair, wearing a white short-sleeved button-down shirt.
To be polite, I asked him, "Do you mind if I eat a sandwich?"
He responded immediately: "Go ahead, enjoy yourself."
Then he added, "It must be a long day if you have to wait until you get into my car to eat a sandwich."
It's true, it was four o'clock, a little bit late for lunch.
I explained that I had been visiting my father in the hospital. "You know how it is," I said, "you don't feel like eating in the hospital room."
Then, so he didn't feel too sorry for me, I added, "I did have breakfast at some point.
"I hope it wasn't in a car," he said.
I felt touched by his concern and his matter-of-fact New York way of expressing it. I considered explaining further that I wanted to lose no time in eating my sandwich so I could immediately jump onto the volleyball court after he let me out at the park, and that I was taking car service rather than bus and subway for the same reason, not to lose one moment of precious Sunday afternoon volleyball time. Then I thought, maybe he didn't need all that information. So I ate my turkey and swiss cheese sandwich (on a roll, very light mayo) in silence, happy that I was on my way to see my friends and jump around in the park. (I had made a couple of calls just to make sure they were out there. The first friend didn't answer, which I thought was a good sign, since he probably wasn't answering because he was playing. Just to make sure, I called a second friend. After a couple of rings, he answered the phone briskly, as if he were in his office, except with the greeting "Volleyball!" as in, "You've reached the volleyball court." I said excitedly, "It's me!" but then the connection went dead, so I called again and left a message saying I was on my way. He told me later, when I finally arrived, that he had been in the middle of a volley when he answered, and that the ball had hit the phone, not only ending our connection but knocking the battery out of the phone. But all ended well--he was able to find the battery and put his phone back together.)
To fill in the other part of the story, my 87-year-old father is in the hospital because he fell, in the hallway of his apartment building just outside the door of his apartment, a few days ago, and banged up his face pretty badly. Miraculously, he didn't break anything, but the doctors decided to keep him in the hospital because his cardiac enzymes were higher than they should be, and there is a possibility that he had had a mild heart attack. My father lives alone, and this is the third time in a month or so that he has fallen. And he doesn't always fall when he's alone--both this last time and two times ago someone was with him. I'm not sure what we're going to do, except try to get hime some more help at home (he has an aide who comes once a week) and also convince him that he has to use a walker when he goes out, something he is reluctant to try.
He has been in the hospital since Wednesday. Wednesday my sister and I took him to the emergency room at around 3:30 in the afternoon. I waited with him until 10:30, when they got him into a room. Thursday my sister and I went to see him. (I am on vacation from work this week and next, as it happens.) Friday my sister was working so I went to the hospital (with the idea that I was going to be taking him home but then they decided to keep him over the weekend) and my nephew also came that day. Saturday, yesterday, my sister went and I didn't, so today I went over.
Nothing much happens at hospitals on Sunday, so my father didn't have much news from the doctors to report. I sat with him for a little while, went out at one point and got him a newspaper, and used my cell phone to have him talk to one of his brothers and also a buddy. Then, after a couple of hours, I said I was going to leave but would see him tomorrow (it seems possible although not definite that he will be released tomorrow and I will take him back to his apartment).
I left the hospital, called car service, and was on my way to volleyball with the gruffly compassionate cab driver. As we got closer to the park, I was so excited I was practically ready to jump out of the car.
When I got out, the driver said to me, "Try to enjoy the rest of the day." I said something emphatic in return, something like "Believe me, I'm going to make a point of it."
And I did--played my little heart out for an hour and a half in the brilliant sunshiny greenness of the park, got to see my friends, got totally exhausted, and went home.
To be polite, I asked him, "Do you mind if I eat a sandwich?"
He responded immediately: "Go ahead, enjoy yourself."
Then he added, "It must be a long day if you have to wait until you get into my car to eat a sandwich."
It's true, it was four o'clock, a little bit late for lunch.
I explained that I had been visiting my father in the hospital. "You know how it is," I said, "you don't feel like eating in the hospital room."
Then, so he didn't feel too sorry for me, I added, "I did have breakfast at some point.
"I hope it wasn't in a car," he said.
I felt touched by his concern and his matter-of-fact New York way of expressing it. I considered explaining further that I wanted to lose no time in eating my sandwich so I could immediately jump onto the volleyball court after he let me out at the park, and that I was taking car service rather than bus and subway for the same reason, not to lose one moment of precious Sunday afternoon volleyball time. Then I thought, maybe he didn't need all that information. So I ate my turkey and swiss cheese sandwich (on a roll, very light mayo) in silence, happy that I was on my way to see my friends and jump around in the park. (I had made a couple of calls just to make sure they were out there. The first friend didn't answer, which I thought was a good sign, since he probably wasn't answering because he was playing. Just to make sure, I called a second friend. After a couple of rings, he answered the phone briskly, as if he were in his office, except with the greeting "Volleyball!" as in, "You've reached the volleyball court." I said excitedly, "It's me!" but then the connection went dead, so I called again and left a message saying I was on my way. He told me later, when I finally arrived, that he had been in the middle of a volley when he answered, and that the ball had hit the phone, not only ending our connection but knocking the battery out of the phone. But all ended well--he was able to find the battery and put his phone back together.)
To fill in the other part of the story, my 87-year-old father is in the hospital because he fell, in the hallway of his apartment building just outside the door of his apartment, a few days ago, and banged up his face pretty badly. Miraculously, he didn't break anything, but the doctors decided to keep him in the hospital because his cardiac enzymes were higher than they should be, and there is a possibility that he had had a mild heart attack. My father lives alone, and this is the third time in a month or so that he has fallen. And he doesn't always fall when he's alone--both this last time and two times ago someone was with him. I'm not sure what we're going to do, except try to get hime some more help at home (he has an aide who comes once a week) and also convince him that he has to use a walker when he goes out, something he is reluctant to try.
He has been in the hospital since Wednesday. Wednesday my sister and I took him to the emergency room at around 3:30 in the afternoon. I waited with him until 10:30, when they got him into a room. Thursday my sister and I went to see him. (I am on vacation from work this week and next, as it happens.) Friday my sister was working so I went to the hospital (with the idea that I was going to be taking him home but then they decided to keep him over the weekend) and my nephew also came that day. Saturday, yesterday, my sister went and I didn't, so today I went over.
Nothing much happens at hospitals on Sunday, so my father didn't have much news from the doctors to report. I sat with him for a little while, went out at one point and got him a newspaper, and used my cell phone to have him talk to one of his brothers and also a buddy. Then, after a couple of hours, I said I was going to leave but would see him tomorrow (it seems possible although not definite that he will be released tomorrow and I will take him back to his apartment).
I left the hospital, called car service, and was on my way to volleyball with the gruffly compassionate cab driver. As we got closer to the park, I was so excited I was practically ready to jump out of the car.
When I got out, the driver said to me, "Try to enjoy the rest of the day." I said something emphatic in return, something like "Believe me, I'm going to make a point of it."
And I did--played my little heart out for an hour and a half in the brilliant sunshiny greenness of the park, got to see my friends, got totally exhausted, and went home.
posted by Sarah Sometimes at 9:53 PM
9 Comments:
I am glad you had a good, active volley ball game! I went swimming this afternoon. It felt good to be active!
And a nice lady let me try her swimming fins. Very different- made my legs work harder. I didn't try them for very long and now I am wishing I had.
Joy
Oh, I'm sorry about your father.
But how great that you did get out to play volleyball in the sun!
Dear Joy and jo(e): thanks for the comments and good wishes. Today, Monday, I was at the hospital for 10 hours, and at the end they still hadn't released my father. Maybe tomorrow. I will post again with more news soon.
Hope your father is home by now. Thanks for the great story about the cab driver's compassion. It's a trait shared by far more New Yorkers than most people realize.
Hi Terry--thanks for the comment and good wishes. Today (Tuesday) the hospital released my father and I took him home. So, so far so good.
I think they practice that whole "gruff but lovable" thing.
Glad to hear your Dad is home and doing better.
Clowncar: I think you're right! Thanks for the good wishes for my Dad.
That group of volleyball friends sounds like so much fun. Where exactly do you play?
FA
word verification is : phorted [a verb, meaning in traffic, itching to get to the volleyball game before it rains] ;-)
FA: We play in Prospect Park, in Brooklyn, every Sunday from about April to October (or as long as the temp is above 50 degrees). Yes, the group is a blast--some of them have been playing together for 14 or 15 years. I'm a relative newcomer--only about 8 years under my belt.
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