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I called Paul back. He had not found any Benadryl. His conversation was quite pleasant and articulate.

I kept asking questions. Finally, Paul admitted that his hand was feeling funny, too. Realizing someone should check on him immediately, I asked Paul for phone numbers of his closest neighbors. He joked about not being good with phone numbers, but was able to give me the first and last names of a few neighbors, even spelling their last names. I hung up and snatched my phone book from the drawer.

I flipped through it as fast as my trembling fingers could turn the pages, looking for numbers. At the first house an answering machine clicked on.

My pulse racing, I scrambled to locate the second number. When a woman answered, her voice was like salve on my anxious heart. I poured out the story, and she agreed to run over to Paul's house right away. Thank you, Lord, I prayed silently. And please let Paul be okay. Those boys need their daddy.

Just to be sure help had arrived, I called Paul's house again a few minutes later. The neighbor I had contacted was there with another neighbor who was a nurse. The nurse brought some Benadryl from her house and coaxed Paul into swallowing it, while an ambulance was on its way. Less than ten minutes elapsed between the time Paul told me about the bee sting and the time the neighbor administered the Benadryl.

The next morning, Kristin told me the complete story. She and her oldest son came home after his soccer game to find a group of people gathered in the driveway, while neighborhood wives watched the younger boys in the house. After my call, the neighbor had found Paul slumped in an easy chair, too weak to walk or lift his arms, with his face so swollen his eyes were barely visible. His hand was swollen to three times its normal size.

Why hadn't Paul told me how ill he was feeling? I wondered. I apologized for not immediately calling 911 and silently chastised myself for not instantly recognizing the severity of the situation. Kristin assured me Paul had a long-standing habit of downplaying any illness, even when he had a terrible case of the flu.

"I think he's learned his lesson this time," she said with a chuckle. "Luckily he had you for a guardian angel."

"Well, it's a good thing you guys don't have an answering machine," I said, "or I would have just left a message days ago instead of calling last night."

"Oh, we do have a machine," Kristin assured me. "But it broke last week."

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