A sweet old lady telephoned the hospital. She timidly asked, "Is it possible to speak to someone who can tell me how a patient is doing?" The operator said, "I can, what's the name and room

A sweet old lady telephoned the hospital. She timidly asked, "Is it possible to speak to someone who can tell me how a patient is doing?" The operator said, "I can, what's the name and room..."

...The sweet old lady paused, then in a conspiratorial whisper, she said, "Well, darling, his name is Frank Miller, and I believe he's in Room 302."

The operator, a seasoned veteran of late-night calls, typed away. "Alright, just a moment, ma'am. Let me check for you." There was a brief silence, punctuated only by the soft clicks of a keyboard. Then, the operator's voice, now a touch more formal, returned. "Mrs. Miller, I have an update on Frank Miller in Room 302. He's had a good day. His vital signs are stable, and he's responding well to his medication. The doctors are optimistic about his recovery, and they anticipate he'll be discharged in a few days. Would you like to leave a message for him?"

There was another, longer pause on the other end. The operator could hear a faint chuckle, then the sweet old lady's voice, now a bit louder and full of delight. "Oh, that's just wonderful news! Absolutely wonderful!"

The operator, sensing a shift in the conversation, asked, "So, you're Mrs. Miller, his wife?"

The sweet old lady chuckled again, a warm, hearty sound. "Oh, bless your heart, no, dear! I'm not Mrs. Miller. I'm Agnes Peterson, his next-door neighbor! I just moved to this new area, and I don't know a soul here. Frank's been in the hospital for weeks, and nobody on our street seemed to know how he was doing. I was getting terribly worried about his garden, you see. It was looking a bit neglected, and those prize-winning petunias of his were starting to wilt."

The operator blinked. "So... you called the hospital to check on his garden?"

"Well, indirectly, dear!" Agnes chirped. "I figured if he was well enough to worry about his petunias, then he must be doing alright himself! And now I know he's coming home soon, so I can finally stop watering them for him and get back to my own knitting!" She paused, then added, "You know, this new digital privacy thing is just a nightmare for nosey neighbors, isn't it? Had to get creative!"

The operator, for the first time in a long time, actually laughed out loud. "No, ma'am," she said, still chuckling, "I suppose it is! I'm glad we could put your mind at ease about Frank... and his petunias!"