There seems to be a “bug” going around in Vegas recently, causing a short-term illness rather than the extended one which plagued us in the winter. They are calling it a 24-hour flu virus, but it usually floors you for three days. The first day you just feel bad and don’t know why. The second day you are flat in bed in-between the bathroom trips on which you don’t know which end has a more pressing need. On the 3rd day, the frequent bathroom trips are over, but you are so sore and exhausted you think you were run over by a semi.
I just finished with my three-day ordeal and feel okay, but Brad’s hit him when we were at Ellis Island this evening. He had been dragging all day and had felt a little nauseated but ate some chicken noodle soup and said he was feeling a little better. So we decided to do our monthly play because Sunday is a 6X point day. After about 20 minutes, Brad suddenly jumped up from his machine, took two steps, and then crumpled to the floor in silence. I was sure he had suffered another heart attack. I yelled for security.
Then the most amazing thing happened – nothing. The customers kept playing their machines. The dealer at the empty craps table just looked at him … like … people lying on the floor of the casino was just routine … like … “Oh, just another Ellis Island drunk.”
After a minute Brad did get up on his own and recovered enough equilibrium to stagger to the restroom. I went to the pit where I finally was able to find a couple of security guards — with no help from the crap dealer who was still just standing guard at his empty table. The guards were efficient. One went to the restroom to see if Brad was doing okay while the other helped me gather up my belongings –- and the couple of thousand dollars I almost forgot to punch out of our machines.
By now I was pretty sure Brad wasn’t having a heart attack but had probably caught the same “bug” from which I had just recovered. The guards said he was finished vomiting but too dizzy to walk so they brought him a wheelchair. They gave me his keys, one guard escorted me to the car, and then I drove around to pick him up at the door.
I had driven a car my whole adult life, but when Brad retired 19 years ago I rarely took the wheel; he was a willing chauffeur wherever I needed or wanted to go. It’s our joke that Brad has to be dying to let me drive. I hadn’t been behind the wheel for years when in 2003 I drove him to the doctor’s office where he was found to be in the middle of a heart attack and was sent by ambulance right to the hospital.
Anyway, I got us home all right – so I guess I haven’t forgotten that skill. Now I will get a chance to polish up my nursing skills to help Brad through the next couple days.