Text 31090, 98 rader
Skriven 2015-09-20 14:41:08 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: AU 255
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I accompanied him to the clinic, where he was seen right
away and given a prescription for Keflex, which we filled
at the discount pharmacy down the way for a few dollars,
then went on home to find other things to nosh on.

Chris' spicy capsicum dip was actually somewhat spicy,
but not so much that it would war with Wolf Blass
Eaglehawk Merlot, a new cheap product that I was
unfamiliar with - it was okay, sort of halfway between
real wine and the Berri Estate Traditional Dry Red
Cabernet-Shiraz box plonk that costs $2/L when bought
in bulk. Actually, I'd kick neither out of my glass.

I took the smoked sirloin steaks and cooked them
perfectly rare for me perfectly medium-rare for the
others. They were very good, beefy in a grass-fed sort of
way, with a mild smokiness that was pretty moreish.

After supper, Glen started in on his antibiotic
regimen, washing his first pill down, defiantly, with
a glass of that Berri Estate stuff. Within minutes
he had gotten sick and had urped up his wine, his
medication, and his steak. Within a few more minutes
he had gone into convulsions. There was not much to
do unless we called the ambulance, which he was
conscious enough to be horrified at the idea of, so
he bundled himself in his greatcoat and went to bed.

Though he survived the night, he looked pretty peaked
in the morning, and Lilli and I leaned hard on him to
call the clinic back, which gave him a Sunday appointment.
He told us to take the bus cards and enjoy ourselves in
the metropolis, and he would see himself to the doctor's,
but being untrusting, we said we'd accompany him, which
we did. The doctor gave him a new prescription for
erythromycin and a note to be presented to the emergency
department at the hospital if he didn't get better
straightaway. We accompanied him to the now-familiar
discount pharmacy and then homeward, though he kept
telling us he would be all right and to go enjoy
ourselves (and leave him be).

We had wended our way to within a hundred feet or so of
the house when he got all wobbly, and then, after giving
Lilli a cheese-eating grin of incomprehension, toppled
over. I have some small experience with older persons
toppling over, so my shoulder took the brunt of the fall
- better than his head, though I was sore for a couple
days afterward. We got him situated - by now he was
fully unconscious, and the main things were to not let
him get injured thrashing around and not to drown in his
drool, so I put him on his side and frantically flagged
down passersby. Number one, in a car, took a look and
then roared off not to be seen again; number two, also
in a car, came out to assess things, didn't have a
telephone, so he said he was going to find his mum's
and roared off to do so. Number three was a woman
walking along minding her own business; she had a phone,
and shortly we were in touch with the paramedics, two
sets of whom arrived within ten minutes of the incident,
not too bad considering. Suspected diagnosis: stroke.
The first two paramedics were gorgeous ponytailed blondes,
and Glen would have been pleased to know that he was
being well handled in the manner to which he has become
accustomed. Unfortunately, though Lilli had her camera
phone, she decided to be discreet and not do the obnoxious
21st-century snap snap dance. Later the consensus among
Glen's son and daughter and Leonore was that he'd have
loved to see his adventure documented. The second set
of paramedics came by to help load him in the van, and
then a supervisor (small car with a big sign that said
supervisor on it) gave the order to send him to the
Royal Adelaide downtown. To give him credit, number two
came by to check on things and to report that by the
time he'd gotten to a phone, the emergency personnel
had been summoned already, presumably by number three.

We were dismissed (the pros said we should have a cup of
tea before trying to see Glen in the hospital) and prayed
that he hadn't set the burglar alarm before we had set off.
At the end of all this the lady in number 8 popped out to
see what was going on. Edna, as it turns out, had been shown
the wound a couple days before - Glen had been parading it
around the neighborhood, but nobody else had seen fit to
tell him to go see someone. She seemed to appreciate all
this drama happening on her doorstep but a little
disappointed that it hadn't been a bit gorier.

We extricated ourselves from her and went home, discovering
that the alarm had not in fact been set, and we rummaged
around and found Jason's phone number and reported the
damage to his voicemail. Shortly we got word from him that
Glen was in intensive care and he would be with him all night.

We were exhausted and made a supper of leftovers (for me)
and cheap wine (for her) and collapsed into bed.
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