I've been thinking about it since I posted my message, and I've decided you're probably right--at least about the first phone call. I've remembered a frantic 911 call I once made on Father's Day, with my children screaming and weeping in the background. It was a Sunday, and the only address I could think of was our post office box, but of course the post office was closed, and that address was useless anyway.
I tried to give 911 the location of our private road where it intersected with the highway, but I babbled so badly that a few minutes later, I ran out to the car and sent it roaring down our long private gravel drive. By the time I reached the end of our drive, I heard sirens screaming down the the highway, but the first ambulance streaked right past me and the second EMT was close behind. I was so crazed that I laid on my horn, turned on my headlights, and fumbled for the car's emergency flashers.
The second EMT driver noticed, slammed on the brakes, and turned straight into me, while the rest of the emergency vehicles piled up behind him, lights flashing, sirens screaming. Belatedly, I realized I needed to back up immediately to get out of their way, and in that moment of demented terror, I forgot the difficulties of backing up down on a narrow road. I threw the car into reverse, slammed on the gas, and shot 30 yards backward without so much as a waiver or tiny swerve.
Even so, I became a widow that day.
For all of the above, I'm really enclined to give our MR some leeway for not knowing where he was at that moment. Heck, I couldn't even remember my own physical address back then.