The trouble with the world today, it's plain to see WHO Myra Hughes OT August Miller WHAT Catching up with an old friend WHERE Brooklyn, NY WHEN September 15, 2016; 9:30 AM RATING G (for now)
There were times Myra couldn’t stand trying to work within the VA system - like when she’d spent the better part of three days trying to schedule an appointment with her cardiologist. But then there were times she was immensely grateful for it, especially when it meant providing her a place to stay the night before her appointment, so she didn’t have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to get into the city on time.
She’d actually managed to sleep last night, and got up early enough for a run before her appointment first thing in the morning. Halfway through she’d had to come to a rest, bending over with her hands on her knees as her head started to spin, her chest heaving as she felt like she wasn’t getting enough air. It had been happening more and more frequently over the past few months, part of the reason she’d moved up her regularly scheduled check up. Deciding to take it a little easier, she walked the rest of the way back to where she was staying, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths the whole time. After a quick shower, she was out the door to her appointment, where her doctor looked concerned as she told him about the recent problems she’d been having.
“That valve we put in should have been able to last you most of your life,” he told her, his brow furrowed as he flipped through her chart. “Let’s get you scheduled for some tests, just to make sure we really know what’s going on in there.”
Of course, the first openings they could get her in for weren’t until the next day, which meant she had a free day to explore the beautiful sights of Brooklyn. One thing was for sure, she wanted to get the hell off the VA campus for a while. She set off randomly in some direction, sending a quick text to her dog sitter to alert them to the delay in her return, and then kept an eye out for someplace she could finally grab some breakfast.
She found someplace that looked decidedly hipstery, but seemed to have a robust enough menu that she could get something with more nutritional value than a croissant. It was busy, but not overly crowded, and the line moved fast enough that she didn’t feel like she had to wait an eternity to place her order. As she stepped aside to wait for her latté and breakfast sandwich, she saw a familiar face out of the corner of her, and turned in surprise to make sure it was actually who she thought it was.
“Auggie?” she asked. “Auggie Miller? Is that you?”