"Spells Are For Witches"

IMPORTANT DISTINCTION: "Spells" are things witches cast on others. NOT to be confused with anything of a medical nature like a stroke, heart attack, bout of nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, loss of vision, low blood pressure, flu, strep throat, hypoxia, or ANY OTHER ILLNESS.

Today started out like any other day...which isn't saying much, but nevertheless, we were going about our business as usual. Church. In a small town. Many abnormal things were going on already, but that is really beside the point (except for the fact that I should have taken note and expected the weirdness to continue with escalation). Attrition and I had finished our regular gig in the a.m. service and I was aimlessly wandering from the nursery with Squib toward the donuts (Squib lives for donuts). The church secretary found me and told me that the pastor needed to find my father.

OK.

So, I grabbed Squib his donut, snagged the secretary and told her that I was headed toward my dad. She snags the pastor. Pastor meets me in the covered drive and says the following: "Your grandfather called the office and said your grandmother has had a spell of some sort and he wants you all to come home immediately.

A spell. Cripes. This is not her first "spell." Some have been rather scary and had all the signs of stroke including asymmetrical facial expressions and loss of vision. She recovered. Still, this morning, when I was casually informed that she had a "spell" I immediately shifted into overdrive. I tucked Squib under my arm like a football and began dragging him from person to person. These days there is one hour during the week when all the healthy people in the family are away and all the cancer patients and invalids are at home. Sounds terrible, but, alas, true. You guessed it. This was that hour. And this was the third time something medically untoward had taken place.

So, we blasted out of there like our tails were on fire. Only to find that the "spell" in this case was a bout of nausea. Maybe low blood pressure. And the import to our returning home was that grandpa was freaking out.

Spell.

Needless to say, we have been undergoing some medical language reeducation this afternoon. "Spells are for witches." That's a direct quote from my father. (There was snickering from the peanut gallery). At that point, I interrupted with a bit of a sarcastic "oooh-kay" and took over from there being careful to warn against the use of "episode" and "fit."

Yeah, spells are for witches. Apparently heart attacks are being passed around freely like the flu. I know I've had at least one, maybe two today alone. A myriad of wrinkles, a fresh shock of gray hair. And...probably a few years shaved off my life.

I need a nap, an anti-psychotic, or a very, very strong drink. I'm gonna sit...for a spell.

Scat