This Better Be Good

by Brian Fahey
New York, USA

While taking care of one of my bee hives on Easter Sunday, 1980,  I was stung on the temple. After finishing my task, I took a pill for the sting and forgot it. Bee stings are common to keepers, and this one was mild.

At 2:00 a.m. I woke up having trouble breathing. Turning on the bed lamp, I was dismayed that the bulb had blown out. I trundled over to the hall light outside my bedroom door, but it, too, was out. Thinking the power had gone out, I got out the old standby candle and match. Lighting the match, I instantly knew I was in deep trouble. I couldn’t see the flame.

I took stock of my situation and realized I must go to the hospital immediately. The bee sting had caused my face to swell, and my eyes were tightly closed. My breathing was a little troubled. I figured I’d call a friend to take me, never considering an ambulance — they were for people with serious injuries. But I couldn’t think of a friend who’d be in town for the Easter holiday whose phone number I had memorized.

Then I remembered Rae. Rae was more of a customer than a friend, but through shared interests, we had become acquaintances. I knew she’d be home at 2:00 a.m. She lived about two miles from me, and I knew her number.

Rae answered “Hello?” and I began, “Rae, this is Brian.”

A long pause. “This better be good!” she said sternly.

“Rae, I was stung by a bee; I’m having trouble breathing and can’t see, can you take me to the hospital?”

Rae must have driven like a woman possessed because she was at my door before I managed to find it. Thank goodness she was fast because the bee venom was making breathing difficult.

Seeing my melon-bloated face, she whisked me into her auto and zoomed off to the hospital. Although it was only three miles, I began to gasp for breath.

When we arrived, Rae pulled me out of the car and half-carried me into the Emergency Room. She barked orders like she was in charge, and the staff hopped to. I was quickly given a shot and (much-needed) oxygen.

After I was released from the hospital, Rae took me to her home, and she and Carol Ann took care of me until they were satisfied I was out of danger. About noon Rae drove me home, and thus began a true friendship.

Twenty years later, I looked out from the church organist’s loft at over 400 people gathered for Rae’s funeral. Listening to their testimonies, I realized for the first time how many lives she had touched. Rae had been generous with help even while she demanded everyone excel.

I could hear Rae in my head as I began to play: “This better be good.” It was good. Thanks, Rae, for a life-saving ride, and inspiration I still hear today.

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