Called the Firemen

About 1:00 AM I saw the light on in M's room. I was up late making red sauce, so thought I would check in on him.

He was on the floor, next to the bed. He could have reached the ringer, but I had told me not to bother me unless it was important, and he can't distinguish between what is important and what is not.

I managed (although now I realize I should not have) to get him most of the way into his lift recliner. But about 7:00 he decided he wanted to get into bed, did not ring me until he was already on the floor.

I called 911, because I learned they will come pick people up off the floor, and not insist they go to the hospital. They sent a big fire truck with sirens (why else would one become a fireman?), and a couple of medics, 5 guys in all. No wonder taxes are so high.

They were very nice, got him into his chair (where he now decided he wanted to go).

I went back to bed, told him not to try and get up without ringing me. He wanted to know what time I wanted to get up.

His OCD is so bad it is like living with Monk. And even though he is exhausted, he still must have things just a certain way.

I gave him an Ativan after the firemen came, hoping he would sleep for a while, but at 9:10 he rang me wanting to get in the wheelchair, which we managed, and just now into the recliner in the living room.

I think the main problem is his left ankle got hurt. That's another story.

Every day I look at him and wonder if he will die today. He is so very thin, and not really eating.

But, he just keeps going.