I have the best support group of my entire life.
My “Girls' Diner Club” (nicknamed by Becky Nappi when she did an article on us for the Spokesman-Review in 1993) has a phone tree that is efficient, speedy, and totally there for you at any given moment.
. . . . Like, during the Dishman Hills fire, when Jill watched the fires slowly but determinedly, climb Park Road toward her house, taking out million dollar homes below her. She was lucky – just the weekend before, she and her husband had slaved on the brush and undergrowth below her house. Her house was saved – the one just below hers was not. And the phone calls began – first one friend, then another, all reaching out to her to make sure she was safe, out of harm's way.
. . . . Like, when Kathy, who has Parkinson's, suddenly realized she was blind in one eye – a piece of plaque had broke off from an artery in her neck, and landed at the back of her eye. Jackie started the phone tree, letting all of us know she was in surgery, she was fine, but now blind in one eye. She's adjusting as valiantly as she always does – but first and foremost – she is rallying because of her four Best Friends Forever standing at her side. And also, her hubby paid for a gift of a permanent eyeliner tatoo – which she proudly displayed at our last dinner.
. . . . Like, when I let them all know I would go on dialysis the next day, a mere two weeks before we were planning on going to Disney World – plane fare, hotel fees, and park tickets all prepaid. The calls started coming in from each friend, supporting me, going all the way for me, preparing to cancel our trip – until my doctor, now my fifth best friend, making arrangements for me to have dialysis in Orlando.
Have an emergency? Just dial 9-1-1 Girlfriend.