“She’s done it again.”
“What’s she done this time?”
“She was supposed to have surgery this morning, right? The doctors said she needed it or she could lose that kidney or even die.“
“So, what happened?”
“She told him that she saw Jesus at the foot of her bed during the night and he told her she was healed.”
“Jesus! She’s crazy.”
“I know. That’s what I said. This is so embarrassing. I told her I wouldn’t be a part of it. I walked out.”
“Did they cancel the surgery then?”
“They had to. She refused to get on the gurney. She got dressed, signed herself out against medical advice and took the bus home.”
“Can she do that? I mean she was in so much pain when I saw her the other day. How could she even get on a bus?”
“She did it. She came home and washed some things. I watched her hang them on the line, then – you’re not going to believe this — she went out to meet Mrs. Dipple for tea. She said not to worry, she’d pick up something for supper while she was downtown.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
“I’ll probably have to drive her back to the hospital.”
“I don’t know…”

This is a conversation I overheard when I was a teenager.
Grandma was fine. She lived another twenty years, worked as an international tour guide until she was 81 and never had another problem with her kidneys.
Well, I’ll be.