Gary was just crawling into the guest bed where I was for a little cuddle when his Blackberry rang in the other room. It took so long to extract himself, crawl over me, avoid the picture frames and the dog steps that he missed the actual initial call.
"It was Saint Luke's Hospital." he said grimly, after the call-back.
"That is Not Good."
"Just a recording that said it was the hospital, leave a message. I'm calling my parents." He was standing at the foot of the bed. I got up and stood close.
"Mom? Dad?" (The in-laws screen their calls.) "Is anyone there?" He looked grim. "No one's - Ah! There you are! Are you okay? We just got a call from Saint Luke's."
I hugged him and sat down.
"You're right. I'll call Karen."
I stood up. I didn't even think about Karen or her husband, who just had surgery last week. More hugging. More dialing.
"Karen? Are you and Gary okay?"
They were fine.
"Wrong number," Gary finally decided. There should be something that makes it so you CAN'T CALL A WRONG NUMBER FROM A HOSPITAL. Like, you have to enter the number twice or something. We went to the other bed to cuddle. We were there for five minutes, actually cuddling, I'm not being euphemistic or coy. It was Shades of Mom, when you get a phone call that turns life utterly upside down.
Suddenly Gary sat up. "It could have been a Saint Luke's in Kansas City," where his other sister and her family lives. Happily, no, it was a 314 number.
I suggested his boss might be calling him to alert him their office, which is in West County, might have exploded and he was in the hospital and would need Gary to man the Disaster Aftermath, which seriously? Gary would be so good at that. He dismissed my fears, but when we're out today I'm going to make him swing by work. Just to see.