BREATHING IN Faith
I KNEW I MUST have looked bad if even Bob was worried. My boss at the truck shop was a gruff man, the kind whose philosophy was, “If you ain’t dead, get back to work.” But, when I went to see him two hours into my shift to tell him I wasn’t feeling well, he called over my supervisor, Ed. “Drive Jon to the hospital,” he said. “Now.”
On the way to the hospital, I thought about how the pain started. I was moving a Ford Ranger off the jack in the garage to park it in the lot outside so its owner could pick it up.
