Hangin' in There

August 6, 2018

Monday – 3:00 p.m.

“Let's get those hearing aids in so you can hear the doctor.”

“Why? I can hear just fine.”

“Well, let’s put them in anyway in case you need then.”

“I can hear just fine. I don’t need them.”

“Please, Bob, please. Just once do as you are asked—just once.”

I hated putting in Bob's hearing aids. I couldn't get them in right and, usually, when I turned my back, he would take them out. I was already overwhelmed trying to get him ready and arguing was not on my list.

“And please leave them in,” I pleaded. “They won't do you much good if they're not in your ears.”

“Okey-Dokey!” Bob smiled as he saluted me.

Okey-Dokey was one of two favorite phrases Bob used to pacify me. I wondered if it would be a good day or one where he would put me through hell again.

“Where are we going?”

“I just told you—to the doctors.”

I prayed I didn't have to repeat it again and again, especially since I had been repeating everything since early morning. I was getting markedly more frustrated every moment.

“Put your glasses on and let's go.”

“So, where are we going?” Bob asked again.

“To the doctors, and please don't ask again.”

“Okey-Dokey!”

I just bit my tongue and got in the car. Bob followed suit. Before I could even back out of the garage, he asked again, “Where are we going?”

I took a deep breath and shook my head. Bob was my life and I wasn’t going to let some lousy condition ruin our marriage. I turned to Bob and saw the same handsome man I married fifty-six years ago and smiled. “I love you, Bob.”

“I love you, too. Where are we going?”

“We have an appointment with the heart doctor. He hasn't seen you since he cleaned out the artery in your leg. It’s a checkup to see how you are doing. I don't know why I was explaining everything. I knew within three minutes, he wouldn't remember anything I said.

“Okey-Dokey.”

Eight minutes later we were in the parking lot where the wind began to pick up. Dark, heavy clouds permeated the air. You could hear the distant rumble of thunder as the sky began to light up. The darkening sky and smell of humid air harkened the inevitable approaching rain soon to hit Las Vegas. My skin had that clammy feeling that I only got during the monsoon season. With no rain for 128 days, we really needed it, but I hoped it wouldn’t be today.

I parked the car and we walked quickly to the building where we took the elevator to the third floor and walked to Room 306 to see Dr. Sheen. No one was waiting, so I figured we would get in and out quickly, hoping to miss the storm. I signed Bob in and then sat down to read a book on my iPad. I hardly got started when the nurse called for Bob.

“Why are we here?”

“Remember . . . to see the doctor.”

“I don’t want to see the doctor. I feel fine!” Bob was getting agitated and that was bad news.

“How ‘bout you do me this one favor and go in and see the doctor. It’ll only be for a few minutes. You can tell him you are doing fine. Then we can go out to eat.

“Okey-Dokey.

I worked hard to stay as calm as possible and keep Bob calm. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he easily forgot.

We followed the nurse into the room where she took Bob's vitals. “Oxygen 98, blood pressure 116 over 75, and the lungs are clear. Let's get your weight. Come over here and stand on the scale. Hmm . . . your weight hasn't changed since the last time you were here. Still at 165 pounds. That's good. Please wait here and the doctor will be in in just a moment. He has one patient ahead of you.”

There wasn't a window in the room, so I didn't know if it had started raining or not. I hoped we didn't have to wait too long for the doctor. I didn't want to drive through any raging water on the way home. Nevada is notorious for fast flooding and torrential rains during the monsoon season. To refrain from more worry, I got the iPad out again and began reading where I left off. I got through about ten pages when the doctor came in.

“Hello, Mr. Carter—Mrs. Carter.” He sat down and opened Bob's medical folder. “Looks like everything is good. Have you had any pain in your leg?” He looked at Bob.

“What did he say?” Bob looked at me. He looked back at the doctor. “I don't hear very well.”

I knew it . . . Bob had taken the hearing aids out again! I raised my voice an octave and looked at Bob so he could lip read what I was saying, “He asked if you are having any pain in your legs.”

“No,” Bob answered in the negative, although, he would answer in the negative even if he was dying of pain. He wanted everyone to think he was still strong and healthy at eighty-seven years old. That's why it was always so difficult to determine if he had health problems or not. You just never knew until something serious happened and he ended up in the hospital.

The doctor checked Bob’s leg. “Well, I think it’s safe to say the artery surgery was a success. However, I want to keep a close eye on him because of his age.” The doctor looked directly at me, and I could feel some concern in his voice. “I'd like to see him in six weeks for another follow up.”

“Sure, thanks. I'll make an appointment.” The doctor left and we proceeded to the front desk. After making the appointment, I asked the receptionist, “Is it raining out yet?”

“That lady sitting near the door said it was thundering and lightening and raining really hard a few minutes ago. We haven't had a storm like this in quite some time. I hope you brought your umbrella.”

“Umbrella,” what's that? We hadn't used an umbrella since we left Michigan eighteen years ago. “Nope, don't have one–just have to weather the storm.”

We thanked her, turned, and headed out the door to the elevator. I looked down the far end of the corridor and could see it was raining very hard.

I pushed the elevator button. The door opened and Bob entered. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around.

“Looks like quite a storm! Better drive carefully.”

I turned to answer the man, but he disappeared.

3:55 p.m.

In a flash—Boom! Tumultuous thunder rolled in followed by scarlet lightning. All the lights went out and everything turned dark except for the fading light from the sky that was seen through the three-story windows at the end of the hallway. I pushed the elevator button to open the door. I pushed it again . . . and again. Nothing! Nothing happened. I yelled, “Bob, are you okay?”

In a faint distance, I could hear him say, “I'm hangin' in there.”

That was Bob’s second favorite phrase.

“Just stay calm. I'm going to get someone.” I saw a security guard come by. “Sir, my husband is caught in the elevator and I need help.”

“Is anyone else in with him.”

“No, just him.” I was scared. “What if he panics? What if he gets frustrated or worse yet, angry. What if . . . what if—so many thoughts going through my head. What floor is he on? What if he is between floors and the lights go on and the door opens, what then? All unanswered questions.

The Security Guard must have sensed my panic. “Stay calm. I’ll get some help.”

I waited while Bob stood in some dark, dreary elevator alone for what seemed like hours but was probably only five minutes or so. The security guard came back with a guy who looked like some sort of technician. He looked at the elevator, pushed the elevator up and down button several times (Duh, I already did that.) and said, “I don't have any key or tools to open the door. I'll have to call the fire department. They do this all the time and they have the right tools. Just wait here. It should only take a minute.”

Like I am going to leave. I don't think so. My husband was caught in some unforgiving elevator and there was nothing I could do about it. The rain was waning, but the electricity was still out. They needed to get Bob out before he panicked or did something we'd both regret. It was dark in the elevator, and he didn't have any means of light.

4:15 p.m.

I waited for about twenty minutes for the firemen to show up. In the meantime, I prayed, called out to Bob to make sure he was okay, and prayed again all while the storm was escalating and waning, and escalating and waning. I knew I had to keep him calm. I didn't want him to panic.

The firemen showed up with bags full of tools to open the elevator. They spoke to the security guard first. “Do you know if anyone is in the elevator?”

The security guard said yes and motioned for them to speak to me.

“Ma’am, do you know how many people are in the elevator?” one fireman asked.

“Just one, my husband.” I tried to be calm, but I knew this could quickly turn into a disaster.

“What is your husband's name?” Another fireman inquired.

“Bob—Bob Carter.”

“Does your husband have a cell phone or tablet with him . . . something that produces light?” The first fireman continued his questioning.

“No, he has no clue on how to use technological devices. He eighty-seven years old and has problems with short term memory.”

I didn't want to tell them that he not only had short term memory problems, but he could get very restless and also had some anger issues . . . all symptoms of dementia. I didn't want to admit that he was seeing a neurologist for the dementia symptoms. I wanted him to keep his dignity.

While one fireman asked me questions, the other firemen were working on opening the door by using tools that they anchored to each side of the top of the elevator and then to the middle.

“Have you ever known your husband to be claustrophobic?” The first fireman spoke again.

“No, but you never know what he might do or try to do.” I felt they needed some hint that he might get excitable.

The firemen were finally able to raise the door about two feet. But, no Bob! A fireman got on his knees and looked through the small opening at the bottom. “All I can see are the large cables and the top of the elevator.”

I moved forward and looked. The huge cables and apparatuses reminded me of a computer server room. My worst fears were coming to life.

One fireman yelled, “Can you hear me, Bob?”

“Yes.”

“How are you doing?”

“I'm hangin' in there,” came a laid-back response from Bob.

“That's his favorite line,” I remarked. “Well, I guess that answers my concern about whether he might panic or not."

Finally, they were able to move the elevator enough to see the opening at the top. “We're going to close that inner door right there for a minute and leave it closed for a short time. Then we're going to move the elevator to get you out . . . okay?

“Okey-Dokey.”

“Another of his favorite responses.” I shrugged.

Let’s get you some light?” The fireman reached in through the small opening and handed Bob a flashlight.

I tried to see what they were doing, but now there were five of them all trying to determine the best way to get the elevator to the level in which Bob could actually walk out. From peering between the men's legs, all I could see was the top of Bob's head and that was only because they were flashing light in the elevator. He wasn't panicking, but I was beginning to think they would never get him out. Panic was beginning to be my middle name. I began to pray again.

I was worried that Bob would get frustrated and his ability to understand what they were trying to do for him might be buried in all the turmoil. They moved the elevator some and then opened the door. Now, all I could see was his knees to his toes.

“Hey, how are you doing, Bob?” the tallest fireman spoke. I believed the firemen sensed he might panic and wanted to keep him as calm as possible.

“I'm hangin' in there.”

“Just keep hangin’ in there, and we'll get you out.” They closed the door again and moved the elevator. This time, all I could see was Bob’s torso.

A fireman came over to me. He must have determined that I was getting very nervous.

“Don't worry, we'll get him out. It just might take a little more time.”

The five men began to talk a little softer. I strained to hear what they were saying. People were walking by talking loudly trying to make their voices heard over the heavy storm. It became more and more difficult to hear the firemen clearly. Finally, the noise level lightened up a bit, and I heard one of the firemen say, “Can you do it from the third floor?”

“I don't know; these floors are pretty tall. I'm going to the first floor. You can close it up and meet me there,” another said.

I think that was the head fireman speaking. I couldn't really tell.

The fireman picked up their paraphernalia and headed down the stairs. I followed them the two flights down to the first floor. They put their tools down and proceeded to unlock the elevator door. It was more difficult to see what they were doing because they were working body to body and they kept their voices in a low tone. I moved closer. They flashed the flashlight into the open door and all I could see was an elevator shaft, just like you see in the murder mystery movies when someone is pushed into an open shaft. I kept worrying about how they would get Bob out.

Three firemen peered inside the shaft with their flashlights. They scanned the shaft from top to bottom and side to side with their light. “We have to lower the elevator and make sure the cables on each side are level.”

“Exactly, but there is no power.” The middle fireman answered. “It's good that we have a double door here. We can keep the inside door closed while we lower the elevator manually.”

“When we lower it, we need to make sure it's not too fast.” Their voices were blending together.

“How you doing, Bob?”

“I’m hangin’ in there.”

“So, Bob, we are going to lower the elevator now. Please step away from the door.”

“Okey-Dokey.”

The lead fireman spoke. “I'm trying to lower it, but it's stuck again!”

The other two looked at each other in disbelief.

They tried again and again. The elevator went up a little and on the next try, it went down a little, but not enough to get Bob out. Kind of reminded me of when we stayed in New York at the Intrigue Hotel and we actually had a man who sat on a stool at the inside front corner of the elevator and manually controlled the elevator making it go up and down. He never seemed to get it just right and we always had to either step up six inches or step down six inches. We thought that was fun then, but now, it didn't seem like so much fun.

About the third or fourth time, the elevator moved up significantly and then stopped.

“The opening is big enough to get him out,” said the fireman nearest the opening.

“Just be careful,” another remarked.

5:18 p.m.

Okay, Bob, there's about a ten-inch step down as you come out.” The taller fireman took Bob's arm to help him out of the elevator.

As Bob walked out of the elevator, he turned and looked down through the opening in the elevator shaft. “I didn't know it was that far down there.”

The fireman smiled and said, “Glad to have you back, Bob! How are you feeling?”

“I’m hangin’ in there.”

I could see the look of relief on their faces. I wondered if they really thought they would get him out without harm.

Bob started to walk toward me when the security guy reached out his hand to Bob. “Well, Mr. Carter, I’m Dave, the guy who made the call to the fire department. How are you feeling that you're finally out.”

“I'm hangin' in there!”

I was shaking and almost in tears of gratitude as I thanked each fireman individually and the security guard and technician who all stayed to make sure Bob got out of the elevator safely. It could have turned out really bad, but it didn't. I looked toward the large window at the end of the hallway and saw that the rain had stopped and the storm had ended. The clouds were moving out and the sun was shining.

The fireman standing nearest to me asked, “How do you feel now that your husband is finally out of the elevator?'

I took a deep breath, “I'm hanging by a thread, but I'm hangin' in there!”