Text by Corey Amaro
Holding a large box of cherries, I knocked on Annie's door, then walked in. When I saw Annie, I knew something was wrong; her usual happy-go-lucky face was not what greeted me. Annie said she felt dizzy and that her heart was racing. She was out of breath. I stood back, puzzled briefly, then plunked the cherries down on the kitchen counter and led Annie to her bedroom.
I grabbed a washcloth, wet it with cold water, and put it on Annie's forehead. That is what I do when someone is not feeling well: Grab a washcloth and add warm water in winter or cold water in summer. Then I took off her shoes and massaged her feet while asking her to tell me exactly how she felt. As she told me how she felt, she told me that she had prepared her bag that morning with all her documents in case she needed to see a doctor. "You see, I didn't feel well this morning, so I prepared my bag. Then I felt better, but then the strange feeling came back."
We called the Doctor and left immediately.
Walking into the waiting room, there wasn't a seat available; nobody budged when we walked in, even though all of them were my age or younger. I was appalled that nobody offered a seat to Annie. So I boldly said that someone had to sacrifice their chair to Annie. Nobody moved, though they uttered their negative grunts. I was amazed at their lack of manners. I said that even though my accent was thick, I KNEW they understood what I was saying and expected someone to give up their sacred chair. A woman my age stood up and said, I am next to see the Doctor, so I'll give you my chair. The other ten people looked the other way.
Annie sat. I stood by her side as she leaned her head on me. I studied each person's face in the waiting room and determined that when I got home, I had to remind Chelsea and Sacha about acts of kindness, of offering your seat to an older person when a chair isn't available.
When the Doctor opened his office door to let in the next person in line, he said, "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I need to see Annie immediately." and led her into his office.
The Doctor said Annie's heart was racing. He gave Annie some medication. Then he told her to go home and that a nurse would come by to follow her that evening. On the way home, I saw the color returning to Annie's cheek. The nurse arrived, and all fell into a safe place.
Later, while Annie sat in the kitchen on her easy chair, I washed the cherries. She said, "You know Corey when I die, don't cry or be sad. I am ready to go home. Not that I want to die tomorrow, but I am ready. At my age, it is normal to think like this. I hope I die after a long lovely day in my sleep."
Tears ran down my face; the thought of Annie dying was too much, even if she was ready. I responded by tossing a cherry at her and said, "Ha, and here I thought you wanted to die in Yann's arms after dancing the Quickstep!"
Annie cracked up laughing. So, I threw another cherry at her and said, "Hey, if you keep laughing that hard, you might die of a heart attack!" Between laughing, she could barely speak, "Forget what I said. I would rather die laughing!" I threw another cherry at her, hugged her tightly, and said, "But not until we make the cherry jam!" She swatted my arm, and I knew she was happy.
Note: We hope to make a cherry jam later this week.
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