"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," was the last thing the paramedic said as he and two of his colleagues, three firefighters, and a police officer left our house tonight. For the first time in my life, I had actually dialed the digits that summon such help. Heidi was hypoglycemic and alternating between combative and unresponsive. She had fallen twice, and I had already made good on my threat of using "the big shot". There hadn't been any improvement, though, and frankly, I was scared.
A tear slid down my nose as I pressed those three buttons and heard that iconic answer: 911-- what's your emergency?
My voice trembled as I explained the situation, and we were still on the phone when I heard the sirens wailing. With a start, I realized they were on the way to our door.
Fortunately by the time they got here, Heidi was a little better, and within five minutes, I was able to call from the landing outside the bedroom that what they were seeing was just her regular oppositional personality, not necessarily the low blood sugar. They left without treating her, and as the seven of them tromped down the stairs, I'm sure that my cheeks burned with a little embarrassment. It was a struggle not to second-guess my decision to make the call. I thanked them all for their help, and on his way out the door one of the paramedics stopped.
"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," he said.