My step-dad, Roger, had been out of work for a few weeks, as was typical for a pipe-fitter foreman in the construction trade. He was waiting to hear from his local union about his next project, but for the time being, he was home and could take care of me and my illness. He would drive me into the emergency room at the local hospital to have my rising fever checked out, and he would call Mama if things got worse. Apprehensively, Mama agreed, and reluctantly, she left for work.
I climbed back in my king-size water bed, curled up in a ball, and stared bleary-eyed at the Ziggy calendar on my wall. It was July 10th, exactly one month after I had graduated from high school. I cringed with menstrual cramps while I lay there waiting for Roger to get dressed and take me to the hospital. He and Mama had given me their water bed for my high school graduation gift, because it hurt their backs and they had decided to buy a new mattress and bed for themselves. I thought it was an awesome gift, but it rocked me around that morning while my body shook with chills from the fever.
I still remember Roger coming into my bedroom and leaning over the side of water bed to try to rouse me. He put the back of his hand on my forehead to feel for the fever again. But, not trusting his hands, calloused with years of pipe fitting and manual labor, he put his lips on my forehead instead, using them as a sensor for the heat. His kiss told him I was burning with a mighty fire and he whispered anxiously for me to get up and get dressed. But, I was weak from the rising fever that was consuming me. I was hardly able to move. As I lifted my head from my bed, I swooned and had to lie down again.
Roger asked me what he should get for me to wear, and I pointed to my lavender overalls that were draped over the chair. He brought them to me, along with a pair of shoes and socks, and left me to get dressed. I looked down at the shoes and I knew I didn’t have the energy to put them on. Besides, I had a big blister on the back on one of my heels, so I just slipped into a pair of thongs. Dressing took all of my energy, and by the time I finished, I was ready to fall back into bed. My stepfather had to help me out of the house and into the car.
I remember Roger driving fast. He always did drive a little too fast for me. But this time, it didn’t matter. I wanted him to go quickly. I knew he was on my side, racing to get me the help I needed. My headache was still pounding and my eyes were still sensitive to the bright California sunlight, so I closed them most of the way. I rode reclined in the passenger seat, curled up into a fetal position, hugging my cramps and trying to steady my shaking body from the chills.
As we pulled up to the curb near the Emergency Room entrance, Roger said, “Hon, you go on in and sit in the waiting room. I’m going to park the car. I’ll meet you in there.” But, I could hardly move. I felt as dense and flaccid as a wet rag. I managed to take one step out of the car and then melted on the sidewalk like Dorothy’s Wicked Witch.
Roger cursed at himself as he turned on the flashing hazard lights and turned off the engine. “Shit! What am I thinking?!” He muttered. He knew the car would have to wait. He quickly got out, ran over to me, and practically carried me into the Emergency Room at St. Agnes Hospital.
As he helped me inside, I remember thinking about the times when my siblings and I tried to get Roger’s attention for some thing or another, and in his usual teasing way, he would say, “Is it bleeding? Is it on fire? If not, don’t bother me. I can’t help you.” Well, technically, I was bleeding from menstruation, and I was surely on fire from the fever. And there he was, right there helping me, just like he said he would.
