Isn’t it ironic…or not?

Like the lyrics of Alanis Morissette’s song, what follows is not ironic. But maybe it’s situational irony. Whatever it is, it is a two part story.

Part One.
We went to Shelly’s youngest for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s about 50 miles from our apartment to Eric&Ashton’s place in Ava. We left at about 4.
The crowd: her three kids, their spouses and their 6 kids; the father of her kids; his mother; his brother; his sister and her husband. Nineteen of us.
Our conversation on the drive jumped from topic to topic. And then I said this: “I got the notice from my life insurance company that my term policy terminates in February, so if I don’t kick the bucket before then there won’t be a check for you from Northwest Mutual!”
Shelly is always kidding about me “spending her inheritance”…and I always remind her that my philosophy is to Live Rich & Die Poor. Then we both laugh.
She didn’t think my comment about kicking the bucket on 11/22/18 was all that funny.
(She doesn’t think it’s funny when I say “I’m gonna blow my brains out” either…and she knows that means that I’m pulling out the bong. She has no problem with my fondness for being herbalized…she just hates the phrase.)

Part Two.
I learned a new word on Thanksgiving.
And I gave several people a “remember that Thanksgiving at Eric’s when….” story.
The word: Syncope.
The story: Eric came out to get something from a car sometime after 8 and came back in and said: “I think something is seriously wrong with Steve!”
He found me collapsed on the driveway, between 2 vehicles with my head resting on the back of his truck.
When I came to, Shelly was slapping me around and Jordie (her son-in-law) was supporting me from behind. I was dazed and confused…and a shade of gray.
EMTs arrived and checked me out. Vitals were all normal. No cuts or bumps or breaks. After a show of hands I gave in and let them take me to the hospital for overnight observation.
They think I might have been dehydrated, or maybe it was a “vascular event.” We’ll never know why, unless it happens again.
Doctor’s orders: just keep on keeping on…and drink more fluids.

The situational irony:
On the drive down we talked about lapsing term life insurance, cremation, a raucous wake, and spreading ashes.
On the drive back to Springtown, I was on a stretcher in an ambulance hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff. Shelly was following us, alone in her car, with lots of thoughts running thru her head…including death, cremation, a raucous wake, and spreading ashes.

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