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Mr. Brown
His was a fiery and arrogant soul, and he seethed in furious rebellion against the intolerable position into which Fate had manoeuvred him. He even went so far as to give the front door a petulant kick.
-- P.G. Wodehouse
Thursday, April 29, 1999
One year ago: Missed a Meeting
When I walked into my building this afternoon, I saw that my cross-the-hall neighbor, Mr. Brown, was getting ready to go somewhere. He had a bag sitting by his front door, and was bringing out some garbage. He seemed to be breathing rather heavily (he's an elderly man) so I offered to take the trash out for him, rather than him having to schlep it out while trying to prepare for where ever it was he was going.
When I got back from the first trip, I could see he was confused, which isn't his normal state. He was bringing dishes and silverware out into the hall, not just his kitchen trash can! And he was breathing heavily. I got him to come back into his apartment, and talked to him for a few minutes. It turned out that the cab that I'd seen pull away from the front of the building when I'd walked in had been one that he'd called. He had wanted to take a cab, first to the bank, and then to the HMO that is in our neighborhood. It seemed he'd been there earlier in the day for some lung treatments. I guess the cab driver hadn't been able to sort out what Mr. Brown was asking him to do through the intercom, and had decided that this fare looked like trouble and vamoosed!
I was really concerned. What Mr. Brown was talking about didn't make much sense. He was wearing a tank top and boxers, not his regular clothes. He was putting a random assortment of clothes in his bag, then taking them out again. Thank heaven my neighbor Mike happened to come in the front door! I flagged him down, and he made some phone calls to the HMO while I chatted with Mr. Brown and kept him calm. The pulmonary care nurse that he'd seen earlier at the HMO told us to call an ambulance, since she thought the lack of oxygen was causing his confusion, and he might need more care than they could give there.
Mr. Brown was upset by this, and especially by any talk of confusion. "I'm not neurotic!" he repeated.
The paramedics and firetruck came in just a few minutes, and Mike and I brought them up to speed. I really liked their calm, pleasant style, as they talked to Mr. Brown and checked his vital signs. "He's not a good historian," one said to another, which I thought was a good way to say that his confusion meant you couldn't get a reliable medical history out of him. When he'd been talking to me earlier, he'd been connecting a tooth problem on his right side with the lung problem on his right side, so I knew what they meant.
One of the paramedics was in training, so it was interesting seeing the mentor point him to a test that he hadn't done yet (blocking a neck vein, stripping it down, then seeing how fast it filled up from the bottom) which would be good evidence to give the doc when they called in the case to justify the need to take Mr. Brown to the hospital.
And that's what they did, and Mr. Brown cooperated with them, thankfully. I hope he's OK! His apartment looked like he's been maintaining on his own pretty well, though one of the front rooms is so filled up with furniture that you can't get into it. I don't know of any relatives close by. But the clutter made me all the more determined to get my place cleared out, and improve my housekeeping discipline.
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I went dancing tonight at the Russian Center. I used to be there every Thursday, when I was taking dance class with Jen and Chris, but if I'm not already there, sometimes it's not so easy to drag myself out of the house, and some Thursdays I've been busy doing other things. The last time I went was in February, according to my records!
I walked over to the community center. This is such a pretty time of year with azaleas and clematis vines all in bloom, and the houses in that part of Capitol Hill are old Craftsman and Victorian style -- lots to look at -- so the walk was very pleasant.
There was a good crowd, but it wasn't as jam-packed as the last time I was there. I think this was because there was a swing dance with live band on the U.W. campus, but Jen said someone had been there and told her that there weren't many dancers there either.
It was good to see some dance buddies that I haven't caught up with in a while, like Sterling. I had fun, but I felt my dancing wasn't quite my best. I was just slightly off, not quite in the groove. We'll see how things go Friday night!
* * * * * * * *
I bought a P.G. Wodehouse book the other night when Jack and I went to Half-Price Books. I've been reading stories from it every day at lunch. The book is Tales from the Drones Club, a collection of short stories. Wodehouse was so prolific that I know I haven't read everything by him, even though he's been a favorite author of mine for years. This book has some classics, like "Goodbye to All Cats," and "Uncle Fred Flits By."
Wodehouse is a master of farce. In his best stories of that kind, he sets his characters up and sends them on a downward spiral of disasters (but never life-threatening) with perfect pacing. His prose style is funny in itself, and the quotes and literary allusions make it hilarious if you've read the originals. I wonder if it's not so funny to those who haven't? I love this page that translates some characteristic phrases for Japanese Wodehouse readers.
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