Mate
Welfare check. The superintendent lets us in. The apartment is a poor man’s hoarderville, open boxes and dirty clothes stacked as high as the unwashed dishes in the sink. The man is sitting at a table with his head in his hands; a chess board in front of him. For a moment, I fear he is not breathing, but when I nudge him he moves. He turns slowly and stares blankly at me. I ask if he is okay, but he doesn’t answer. I nudge him again but he is out of it. I try to get him to squeeze my hands, but he doesn’t follow any commands. Still, he has a decent pulse and his breathing while a bit slow is even. His medications are on the table alongside the chessboard. I read the labels. Metoprolol and HCTZ for hypertension, furosemide for CHF, simvastatin for high cholesterol, coumadin for atrial fibrillation and blood clots, allopurinol for gout, metformin for diabetes, oxycodone for pain, colace to soften his stool. As I reach for each ...