In Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Lenora Mae Fitch, 84, died after falling in her kitchen and pressing the medical alert pendant she had worn for six years. The pendant had been pressed accidentally so many times that the monitoring company called her “frequent activation,” a phrase her granddaughter found in the account notes and has asked us not to repeat after tonight.

Mrs. Fitch pressed the button by mistake while gardening, while changing sweaters, while hugging a tall nephew, while leaning too close to the sink, and once during a dream in which she said she was being chased by a woman selling magazine subscriptions. Each time she apologized to the dispatcher. Each time she said, “Not yet.”

Tonight, at 8:09, the call center received an activation and spoke into the kitchen speaker. They heard the television, a dog barking somewhere outside, and Mrs. Fitch breathing. The operator asked if she needed help. Mrs. Fitch said, “I suppose I do.”

The operator, noting prior accidental activations and unclear distress, attempted call-back protocol before dispatch. Help arrived twenty-six minutes later.

Lenora Mae Fitch is survived by two daughters, five grandchildren, a sister in Davenport, and by a red notebook in which she recorded every book she finished after the age of seventy. The last title was written down neatly, though the author’s name was wrong.