The next morning, Tuesday, of our trip (no pun intended), would have been day seven of our vacation. However, no one was calling this a vacation. Somehow Bob had sleep and I finally fell asleep only to be awaken at 5:30 by an alarm clock. I guess the previous guest wanted to see the sunrise, and yes; the water bottle urinal had come in handy during the night.
Betsy and Bill brought coffee and explained they had attempted to check out and told; NO ONE EVER GETS A REFUND.She had asked to speak with the general manager and told, he wasn’t in.
It felt like salt was poured into our wound.
Meanwhile, Daniel came by, and asked how we were doing. On the verge of tears, I explained the no refund policy, and said, “I know it’s not the hotel’s fault Bob fell, but it feels mean., really mean.”
His eyes expressed sincere regret.
Shortly after I received a cell call from the general manager informing me, we would receive a refund.
Daniel returned and assisted Bob into the car. No one wanted a repeat of last night.
And so, the 571-mile trek back to Fort Collins had begun. We may have stopped at McDonald’s for fish sandwiches, I can’t remember. We stopped, but. . . Bob didn’t get out of the car. He was unable keep down any fluid, There was no voiding.
On the way I phoned Southwest. “I have a medical emergency and will need assistance,” I said.
They switched our return flight to the next day, and assured me a wheelchair would be waiting.
. . . just saying
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