The morning had begun peacefully enough. I was up early and well on my way into Cook Street Village by 9 am. By 9:30, I'd answered an email, and sipping on an iced mocha, half-listened to the piped-in music as I arranged my journals ready for tackling.
That's when the phone rang.
Elder daughter had been ambushed by a major crisis at work, and had phoned me to vent, given that she has an open invitation to do so. I pushed aside my journals. While I was listening intently, I heard a beep that indicated another phonecall, something that almost never happens to me, as most of my communication is through texts and emails. My FitBit is linked to my phone, and it told me that the call was from Double Leo Sister in Prince George, whose calls are as rare as hens' teeth. Elder daughter understood the implication immediately, and rang off.
DLS was succinct - also unusual for her. The Lifeline people had called her, she said. They believed Demeter had fallen, and, as no designated neighbours had answered their calls, they were summoning an ambulance. I threw everything into my packsack, and fled north towards Demeter's condo, a five-minute walk, shorter if one is in a controlled panic.
It was 9:50. As I race-walked uphill, my phone rang again. Resident Fan Boy had been contacted by Lifeline. As I struggled to get my packsack centred on my back, and give a coherent answer to the RFB, a faint question was in the back of my brain: Why hadn't they called me?
However, all my thinking space was consumed with nightmarish scenarios and keeping myself calm.
Jigging from one foot to the other. Change, light. Change! No sign of an ambulance. I fumbled with the fob, eschewed the elevator to dash up the stairs, concentrated on getting the key in the door, and nearly fell in. My heart sank. Much of the apartment was dark.
But the kitchen light was on. And there was Demeter, fixing breakfast, and unaware of my precipitous entrance because she had not yet put in her hearing aids.
She started telling me what happened. On the fourth of each month, she presses the Lifeline button to check in with the call centre. Usually someone responds, Demeter reports in for the month, and that's it. It's the monthly test to ensure the line is open. This time, however, the phone rang and rang.
I was gesturing at my ears: "Put your hearing aids in!"
My phone rang. It was Double Leo Sister. As soon as Demeter could hear, I handed her my phone, and heard the rest of the story. Apparently, Demeter decided to call the local Lifeline office. A man answered and immediately asked if she needed an ambulance. She said she did not. They told her that her phone was off the hook, she insisted that it was not.
DLS rang off and I suggested that Demeter contact Lifeline to see about getting her machine reset; it was still blinking in alarm mode. I grabbed the opportunity to speak with the Lifeline gentleman and ask why I had not been called.
"Your number has been disconnected."
"Excuse me?"
He read off the number. It was our Ottawa number. I was flabbergasted. When Demeter went into hospital briefly last June - that's a year ago, folks - Lifeline called the Resident Fan Boy when I took her Lifeline pendant home from the hospital, because the knocking of my bag set it off, and made it appear that she'd had a fall. He gave them my cell number, and I told them what had happened, that I now lived in Victoria, that this number was now the correct one, and asked to be moved to the top of the contact list, as I was now the closest available family member. I guess that must have been the main office in Ontario; clearly the information had not been noted in the local records.
I consoled Demeter by telling her that this had been an excellent drill. Almost immediately, the phone rang yet again. It was one of the designated neighbours, who must have been out and come home to see the message.
Oh, well. You can't say there's no back-up. As calm as I thought I'd managed to be, when I went to leave, I noticed I'd failed to shut the apartment door.
Curfew shall not ring tonight ---- I think....
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