It came and went, although not nearly as quickly as I would have liked, unfortunately. First up: My bike got stolen. Since I have moved here in March, it has remained in the exact same spot: u-bolt locked to a clothesline pole in the backyard of our apartment/house. I have rotated it around said pole once or twice for the neighbors hanging up clothes, or for the landlord mowing the lawn. That's it. But alas, I was doing the dishes last week and when I looked out the window above the sink, I saw...nothing. Shocked and angered, I shouted out a hearty "@*%$" and quickly threw my shoes on and stormed outside to find that, sure enough, my bike had been lifted from the backyard, u-bolt lock and all. A few faint footprints were worn in our light dusting of snow, and I followed them to the street where they quickly disappeared. Still shocked, still angry, and now utterly incredulous, I grabbed the phone book, and dialed 911 to have them patch me through to the police station where I made my first, (and hopefully last) police report over the phone. (911 is funky around here, they're more a relay station than an emergency service.) I did get asked "Do you know who took it?" I wanted to ask her, "If I knew, don't you think I'd be calling them instead of you?" In retrospect, I don't miss it, really. I haven't ridden it in 9 months, and when my wife and I finally move, it will be one less thing to haul. But who steals a bike in the Winter? Seriously?
Second, and worst of the big 3 incidents: I had to take my wife to the emergency room. She has suffered from night terrors her entire life, so her freaking out in the middle of the night is nothing new to me. But last Thursday, I was never more concerned for her well being. She was laying in bed, wide awake, and all of a sudden started crying, flailing arms and legs, and muttering barely coherent things over and over again. "I can't...I can't...I can't..." I tried several times to calm her down, and just when she seemed to be making progress, BAM! it would start all over again. Soon seeing that we were getting nowhere, recognizing that I needed some outside help, and scared out of my wits for her, I called 911 (again), and got ahold of some on-call EMTs for the evening, who quickly arrived on the scene. Not daring to risk taking the time for extra clothing, as my Dearest went off even more when I wasn't hugging her or trying to comfort her in some way, I answered the door in my underwear. But I did not care, as I had far more important things to worry about. They came in, took her blood pressure and pulse (which were both astronomical, at a pulse of 168), tried to calm her down and ask her some identifying questions, which she was barely able to do. Her name, where she was, what she had to eat that day, etc. We soon realized that a hospital visit was in order, and also realizing that in her wigging-out condition, there was no way she was going to let the EMTs put her in an ambulance (whether I rode with her or not), I ended up driving her myself. I called her parents, who, bless their hearts, left their house upstate as fast as they could to come help me care for their daughter. I checked her in at the ER, and we got a room. After about an hour, she began to wear herself out, and due to that and a sedative they gave her, she soon got some much-needed sleep. After about another hour, her parents arrived, and when she woke up, she was a little disoriented, but very stable, very coherent, and very much ok. I was so relieved. Things are looking up, and further treatment is currently being pursued. I just hope I never have to relive that again. Ever.
And third on my list of "Big Piles of Crap I Waded Through Last Week" is punishment at work for too many call-ins. I had five on my record, one of which included the aforementioned night of H.E.double-hockey-sticks. I have only honestly, seriously, and technically called off of work once because I wasn't feeling well. Every other time was either an emergency (as per the ER trip), or a scheduling snafu (the computer's schedule didn't match the paper schedule), or the fact that I began to not feel well while AT work, and so I got permission to go home early, but, as I learned LATER, that if I don't work at least half of my shift (which I was a measly hour away from), it's counted as a complete absence. Hey, everybody who ever went to a public school, remember pink slips? Or behavior plans? Or whatever lame-as-crap name your school system had for them? You know, those pieces of paper you got sent home with that said: "(insert name here) was a bad boy/girl, because he/she was caught doing (insert crime here)" and you had to B.S. a sentence or two about how you planned on fixing it? Yeah. I had to do that at work about my attendance. My first pink slip in life comes when I'm 26 years old working for Wal-Mart. Don't you just love corporate rules and regulations?
*Sigh* Whatever. I now have an invisible bicycle (that I never rode anyway); a much-better wife whom I love dearly, who is the light of my life, and who has hopefully seen the worst of panic attacks for the last time; and a permanent record at work. *Shrug* Things could be worse. I'm thankful for all that I DO have, and everybody who helps me get through crappy times like these. You know who you are. Thank you immensely!
