I don't know why I expected the big truck to have a smooth ride. Just because the cab was larger than a yacht didn't mean it would be comfortable and it wasn’t. We jolted along the highway and the hot coffee Mary had bought me spilled on my hand and shirt cuff.
Mary guessed I was flat broke and she was right.
“I‘m a monk,” I said.
“How long has it taken you?” she asked. I was surprised she put her question that way, and realized it was exactly the response my statement should elicit from someone familiar with the contemplative way.
“Almost forty-five years,” I said.
"That's a long time," Mary said.
"I'm a slow learner."
Mary gave her attention to passing a slower truck in front of us as we started up a long hill. The directional light clicker was the loudest I've ever heard, no doubt designed for noisy environments. She glanced over my way, checking the rearview mirror. I presumed she was watching the end of her trailer dutifully follow her out into the passing lane. From my seat I could see nothing but the running lights down the side of the trailer.
"Where ya headed?" she asked after a few moments.
For some reason I was having trouble with the word. I couldn't say the name of the town. Then I realized I couldn't remember the name.
"Sausage," I finally said.
"Sausage?" she asked.
"Sausage and cheese," I said, knowing that wasn't right.
"Are you saying Saugerties?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice.
"Yes," I forced a laugh, "just a nickname."
And as this conversation took place, I hoped I'd feel better in the next two hours before we sped down the Hudson Valley to my destination. My left arm felt dead asleep and I was getting dizzy.
We sat high up off the road, probably a good six to eight feet in the Freightliner's cab. A couple of hours later the sky began to darken in the east, and the outline of the Catskill Mountains loomed ahead of us up against a lighter sky to the south and west. Darkness was creeping across the valley that lay before us on either side of the endless strip of four lane highway, lightly crowded with cars and trucks and buses. Where are all these people going, I thought? They can't all be commuting home from jobs. Maybe the New York State Thruway these days was used as a local expressway in the Hudson Valley.
Mary seemed unusually quiet. True, I'd only known her for two hours and most of that time she had appeared lost in thought. I suppose truckers aren't very talkative, until they reach a point where they talk to themselves from sheer boredom. And then I suppose they tire of listening to themselves and quiet reigns in the cab for many hours. And then they're bored again and ....
"What?" she said. "I can't hear you."
I looked away from the side window I'd been gazing through and
brought my eyes around to her.
"You were mumbling something," she said.
"Oh, sorry," I answered.
"Are you OK?" she asked.
I gave her question about 3 seconds of thought.
"Well," I said, "I'm not sure, but I think I'm OK."
"Uh huh," was her only reply.
"I've been feeling a little spacey lately, but I think I'm OK now," I said.
"We're ten minutes from Saugerties," she said. "I'll pull off and
take you into the McDonald's where I can get a good look at you."
"Are you a nurse?" I asked, ready to start an argument.
"Yes," she replied, "for forty years before I became a trucker.
Just my luck, I thought. Help when you don't want it.
Mary walked behind me as I entered the McDonalds. As I aimed toward the counter to order another coffee, I felt her grab my elbow and pull me hard to the left toward a booth in the back of the restaurant. The place was practically deserted at this hour after dinner, before kids began to drop by for a mid-evening hamburger and a milkshake.
My new nurse sat me down at the end of a booth with my legs facing out into the aisle. She pulled a backpack from her shoulders and plopped it on the table, then unzipped it and brought out a what appeared to be a huge wrist watch.
"Blood pressure," she said. "Roll back your shirt cuff and put it on. I'll show you how to hold your arm." Out of the bag came a stethoscope and small bug-like device that she clamped over my finger.
“Look, just call my Brothers down the road at the … at the modal, the motor, and they’ll come and get me.
"Open the neck of your shirt," she said.
I complied. "With such low overhead here, you're not going to charge much, are you?" I asked.
She ignored me, placed the stethoscope inside my shirt and when I made to speak again, told me to shut up. I complied.
She took a good look at my eyes and then put her tools away, motioned me to slide deeper into the booth and sat down next to me. I had no doubt she was blocking me from leaving.
She began to ask me questions a doctor might, but I made light of them.
"Listen, Bub," she said harshly, "I'm trying to save your life. Don't give me a hard time."
"It's my life," I replied. I did not want to be sick or to die, but I had convinced myself I'd get over whatever was ailing me. Don't we always get over it? I suppose there will come a time when I won't get over it.
Mary reached in her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. She dramatically placed it on the table for me to see.
"I have cards in my wallet identifying me as a nurse. I don't need to be wearing a uniform to call for an ambulance and have you taken to the ER, with or without your permission."
"Oh, come on," I said, hoping to stall the inevitable.
"If you give me any trouble, I'll have the police come along and I'll tell them to take you to a psych ward for your own protection," she continued. "Either way I'm going to get you medical attention," she said. "You're either having a stroke or you had one."
I thought she was lying. I could tell the policeman I didn't know her. She's crazy, I'd say, I never met her before she walked up to my table and stole my French fries. I don't think a nurse can walk into a McDonald's, pick out someone and have the police take them off to the loony bin. I didn't buy her threat. But of her sincerity I had no doubt. She thought I was in serious trouble. I probably was.
A believable episode.
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