This evening I get a call from CareLine. Mother has been pressing the emergency button (on a chord around her neck) repeatedly. CareLine phoned her number, but no response, so summoned an ambulance; they’re just letting me know as Next of Kin.
An ambulance – she won’t like that, even if she’s dying. Especially if she’s dying. I rush over.
Outside her housing complex I see the First Responders unit– they’re leaving.
—Excuse me, have you just attended Myra Miller?
—Yes. Don’t worry, duck, she’s alright.
—She couldn’t get her laundry out the machine.
I start to laugh. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s the sight of these two burly blokes bristling with life-saving equipment and the thought that they rushed down the corridor … to rescue wet washing.
—Aye, bless ‘er. Offered to make us a cuppa and a Christmas cake each next year.