A couple of nights ago - I had a heart attack.
Okay ... it wasn't actually a real heart attack, but I did have my husband call 911 because I thought I was having one.
He called.
They showed up at our house at 2:30 a.m. - pulled up into our driveway.
There was a fire truck with lights flashing.
There was a police patrol car with lights flashing.
There was an ambulance with lights flashing.
They rushed into my house.
Two (*uniformed*) police officers.
Two (*uniformed*) firemen.
Two (*uniformed*) paramedics with medical bags full of supplies and monitors - in tow.
I was having a "heart attack", but had enough sense about me to put on some shoes and gather my things and go downstairs. I was sitting on a chair in my living room. I had on my very ugly pink pajamas (top and pants) and my tennis shoes. I had a jacket and my purse by my side.
I was ready to be taken to the hospital.
They crowded around me - the six professionals. They said:
"What's up?"
"What's going on?"
"What's happening?"
"How do you feel?"
"Where does it hurt?"
"Tell us what happened."
"Lift up your shirt."
I said, "W-w-wwhat?" into the face of the one.
The one.
The good looking one.
The very, very, very, very - good looking one, now kneeling down in front of me (Me - the crazy woman in the very ugly pink pajamas with the Keds tennis shoes on her feet, bed-head hair, make-up smeared under her eyes, glasses sliding down her nose - Me, the one that did think to put on a bra under her ugly pajamas - but neglected to imagine that THE GOOD LOOKING ONE would ever see the thing!).
I lifted my shirt and turned my eyes towards the ceiling (to avoid seeing THE GOOD LOOKING ONE turn to stone and then to ashes ... from resting his eyes upon the horrid sight beneath my ugly pink shirt).
But, he didn't turn to stone.
Somehow - he survived.
And ... so did I.
No heart attack - according to the monitors.
THE GOOD LOOKING ONE said:
"Maybe an anxiety attack."
"Maybe stress."
"Everything looks good."
"Good blood pressure."
"Oxygen at 100%."
"Can't find anything wrong."
"We can still take you in, if you want."
"It's up to you."
"Calls us if you need anything."
"Take care."
He was extremely nice.
And ... so easy on the eyes.
They packed up their things.
My husband walked them out.
They turned off their flashing lights.
They backed out of our driveway.
I hung up my coat.
I turned off the lights.
I went upstairs and threw my Keds back into the closet.
And went back to bed.
On the upside ... The next time I have a "heart attack" - I'll be sure to dig through my drawers - find a lacy bra. I know I must have one - somewhere!
(I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay!!)