My wife Janice’s tough old Uncle Pasquale is in his 90s now, still living at home with his wife Theresa in Philly. She phoned Janice last week to tell her that Uncle P. had been taken to the hospital.
Here’s the account as Janice related it to me.
Last week Uncle P. was sitting in his big recliner when he starts shouting, “Eh!, Theresa … my ass burns. Terry, I said my ASS burns. Yo!! My ass burns, my ASS BURNS! She comes trotting in from the kitchen in her jeweled red slippers, looks at him, goes, “Oh, awright,” and dials 9-1-1 Uncle P. is screaming now: MY ASS BURNS! MY ASS BURNS! …ooow ….!”
Before long the Geezermobile pulls up the drive, lights all a-flashing. Two paras come in to see this angry bear of a man grinding his teeth, eyes like burning embers. They look him over while he starts muttering “My ass burns…my…ASS burns….” One of the attendants smiles down, “What, your …ass… burns?” ehhh, oh, no….”
At this point, Aunt Theresa, who’s been silently hovering, says, “Um, excuse me, but I tink my husbent may be having a haught attackt…” As they start moving him over to the stretcher, one them goes, “Hey, look there on the floor.” It’s a small bottle of those blue Bayer ‘Low Dose’ aspirins.
Just as they’re putting on the safety belts so he won’t fall off, the EMT looks down at Pasquale and, using his best bedside manner says, “Sir, we think you may be having a heart attack. We’re taking you to the hospital now to be examined. They’ll take care of your … rectal issue once you’ve been admitted.”
With that, Uncle P’s eyes bugged out, and his head snapped up off the pillow. “No shit, Doctor Kildare! Where in the FUCK did you two go to medical school?” I’m certain that, had Uncle P. not been in restraints, he’d have grabbed the kid by the throat, maybe even killed him. Then they gave him a needle and rolled him out into the long driveway.
They let Auntie T. ride in the back to try and keep him calmed down.
After about two hours of ECGs, RMIs, and DVDs, the ER decided he had not had any ‘cardiac events’. The Emerg doctor scheduled an appointment with a cardiac specialist and advised Pasquale to learn to relax — he’d been letting legal entanglements with his former business partners, the police, and the judiciary branch get him stressed out. He did not want to be incarcerated at 90 years of age. They also prescribed some pills for Theresa to take whenever Uncle P. starts to get excited like that.
Before he was discharged they tried to tell Uncle he had to remember to start referring to the aspirin’s as ASA tablets
That’s the story of Janice’s Uncle P. and Auntie T.