She would be okay. They said
TUESDAY, December 29 – We’re home. Sander is lounging on the couch. Eamonn is in his room, busy with his toys. Bodhi the cat has been fed and is looking for a warm spot. We’ll pick up our dog Elsa tomorrow. The central heating is on. I’ve had my coffee. The suitcases are unpacked, and the washer is going. The pile of mail, which is largely Christmas cards, I go through quickly and then discard.
I pay considerably more attention to the statement from my insurance company, addressed to The Heirs of J. M. Nolan. Transport by ambulance on October 22, 2009: cost € 755.30. The amount has been paid in full. I remember the ambulance driver, a woman with long blonde hair, who treated her on the spot and then took her to the hospital. She made a point of coming by at the Emergency Room waiting area where I was pacing nervously back and forth. Things were looking pretty good, she said. According to her, everything was going to be all right.
Looking at the bill, that moment came back to me, in all its intensity. The overwhelming relief – since everything was going to be fine.
Diary of a Widower 