The public side of Attack Receptionist's last round of medical problems was frighteningly short though evidently she had been suffering at home for several weeks before her husband persuaded her to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital revealed all sorts of things wrong and shutting down and otherwise precarious and soon there were questions of a ventilator and then increasingly frank comments about the expected course of things. Mr. Attack Receptionist requested privacy. Then there was a late-night email marking the last transition. Then there have been an email or two, laconic, about next arrangements.
Attack Receptionist has a devoted husband, Mr. Many Volunteer Titles. He appears to be devastated, proud of all the fights she put up with and just numb. Attack Receptionist has a mother who wants her daughter buried close to her, but over the mountains from Attack Receptionist's husband. Attack Receptionist has supporters who want to send remembrances and maybe attend a memorial and so far there is silence about some questions.
In general, Attack Receptionist had so many medical problems her medical problems had medical problems. Attack Receptionist smoked and needed to be reminded to stay hydrated and to eat regularly from the list of things she could eat. Attack Receptionist needed a liver transplant. As sometimes happens, if one is sick enough to need a liver transplant, one is too sick to qualify to be on any kind of waiting list.
Attack Receptionist also has plainspoken, tell a little too much of the truth groupies such as RantWoman. But let us back up a few steps. Attack Receptionist was, until recently a very faithful volunteer at the den of computerized insanity RantWoman calls The Friendly Neighborhood Center for Extreme Computing. At her best, Attack Receptionist was stable, faithful to her volunteer commitment, generous and adaptable about many different kinds of services, technical issues, and other questions.
Even in the piquant traditions of RantWoman's experiences with Quaker memorials, none of the above is how Attack Receptionist came be to be called Attack Receptionist. Attack Receptionist could be thoroughly competent one minute and then cling with a death grip the next minute on some or another item from her job description or the tasks she assumed. Attack Receptionist could be a fearsome presence though some of her bluster clearly helped other people stay in the paths they needed to manage their own tough circumstances.
When RantWoman first came to live in the vicinity of the Friendly Neighborhood Center for Extreme Computing, RantWoman was grouchy and frustrated and stuck a lot on her own issues. The mere fact that Attack Receptionist got up and went to her volunteer work every day was a pretty direct kick in the rear to RantWoman to just get over herself and be grateful for many things and put one next foot in front of the other and keep going. Attack Receptionist was definitely not the only person in whose presence RantWoman did not want to linger, but over time RantWoman came to appreciate many things.
Attack Receptionist shared RantWoman's need for clothing of certain proportions. Attack Receptionist worked much harder than RantWoman does at looking feminine but it was really sweet sometimes just to be able to chat and compare notes about our respective tastes.
Mr. Attack Receptionist also volunteered and still volunteers at the Friendly Neighborhood Center.... This circumstance sometimes multiplied the dysfunctions of the death grip on certain areas of turf. It also led to delicate spousal moments, for example after Attack Receptionist cursed one too many times at the new coordinator and finally had to be relieved of some needed tasks she really had not been doing for several months. The hard realities of this had to be explained to Attack Receptionist and then again a couple times with different variations to Mr. Attack Receptionist.
Mr. Attack Receptionist has his own fearsom list of horrible medical realities. At one point, Mrs. Attack Receptionist was in one hospital and Mr. Attack Receptionist was in another hospital on the same bus route at least. Somehow Mr. Attack Receptionist had his wife's cellphone and RantWoman volunteered to hop the bus, pick up the cellphone and deliver it to her. That day was one of many bad days, lots of pain, cognitive issues, all kinds of difficulties. But when Rantwoman arrived with the cellphone, Attack Receptionist immediately put aside all her frustrations du jour and called her husband and they shared a long spell of very, very sweet but not very articulate spousal sentiments.
RantWoman has been thinking of that phone call and of all the indications of how much the couple meant to each other. RantWoman has been seasoning what to do with some stray thoughts that have washed up in her own churning heart and RantWoman is VERY grateful to have known Attack Receptionist, grateful for her service, and very humble also to be glad to have only her own problems.
God rest you Ms. P
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