(no subject)

I had thought it was funny that Arthudo didn't seem to be taking in any dinner last night, but it was only on the margins of my mind. Now I understand that he must have had another one of those five o'clock dinners, perhaps with Lorie. As I told the paramedic this morning, "I warn him about these early dinners, but he is his own man. He won't listen to anyone." He nods emphatically. It's probably not an unusual story.

When I got up at a little before eight to take care of the trash, I could hear a loud and odd sort of 'snoring', or maybe a snorting. It wasn't very healthy sounding. I went in and tried to wake him up, asking the familiar question, "Are you okay?" shaking him by the shoulder, "Are you okay?" but he wasn't responding. For the second time in one week, we had the paramedics come. This time they took Arthudo with them.

I think the paramedics are expecting me to follow suit. One tells me, "You don't need to hurry. We want you to be safe, too." Heh, you don't have to worry about that. I'm not going anywhere - no driver's license, general uselessness. Jack first popped into my mind - who to call? I worried about him and his clan taking over the house. I've tried to call Lorie's cellphone, but I cannot reach her. I've thought about calling Kay, but she is not so mobile herself and is farther away. If Arthudo comes to, he can figure it out and call. If he doesn't come to, then it doesn't really matter.

(no subject)

Whoa, was that really Jack?? It had been probably about ten years since we've been face to face and exchanged any words. For the first three-quarters of our brief exchange, I was wondering if it might be a friend of his. I mean he doesn't even look like a white man anymore. And he's bloated up a bit. The especially odd thing, what really took me aback, is that he looks so much like Arthudo. It felt more than a little as though I was looking at Arthudo's face, just younger and healthier and a bit lighter, whiter. Seriously, I think he really might be his son, after all. Wouldn't that be wild? Before this encounter, I was under the impression that he was still pretty much like his twenty-something self. Time really is harsh, on everyone. But how in the world did he get darker and more mexican-y??

It was Lorie who called him. I was afraid she might do that, but it looks like Jack is happy just to get his hands on the car, at least for now. The doctors need to know Arthudo's medications, and the easiest way seemed to be to just hand over a bag of all those pill bottles. Jack picked them up, along with the car keys and Arthudo's wallet. Apparently, Arthudo's condition is not as good as Lorie first thought. He isn't stabilized yet. He has pneumonia and is infected. Anything can still happen, I guess.

I am a little scared. I am not fully ready to die myself. Maybe if my own physical health were another fifteen-percent off, my back acting up badly or if my vision was dimming down another couple of notches, it would be another matter. But I'm feeling pretty good. I just don't have any money. As for Arthudo, even before this collapse, he has been so enfeebled by old age, and the days are such a hard struggle for him, that it is easy to think that death really would be a mercy.