On Empathy
By: Taylor Scheinblum
Tags: Addiction, Empathy, Neighbors, Hot Shot

Wandering Mind #009

The paramedics came to my neighbor’s house again today. I could see the firetruck lights flashing outside my living room window, but the siren was thankfully off. They had come last week as well, and a couple weeks before that. I heard a woman come out of my neighbor’s house and speak to the paramedics. He’s fallen, she said calmly. He’s not hurt. I just can’t get him up. The paramedics looked at each other.

My first thought was, why hadn’t he called me? I didn’t know the woman, she was the new live-in helper I suppose. But Frank had my phone number. I guess Frank is stubborn, and might feel like he’s already been a burden to me. Or maybe he forgets.

I see Frank many times each week while I’m out walking my dog. He also walks his dog, a little old chihuahua named Hot Shot. Frank has to ride on his electric scooter while taking Hot Shot around the neighborhood. I stop to chat with him, and he tells me stories of his life, of when he used to buy and sell real estate, of his vague connections with the Italian mob, and of when he was a competitive swimmer. I enjoy the stories, and I think he really needs someone to listen.

Some days Frank tells me he’s 89 years old, and other days it’s 92 years old. I’m not sure whether he increases the number when he’s looking for more sympathy, or whether he just forgets.

One time, he told me about how he saw a fire truck coming through our neighborhood, and paramedics coming out. He rolled his scooter up to chat with them, and asked them where they were going. They told him an apartment number. That’s my apartment! he exclaimed. Apparently he had accidentally pressed his life alert button, unknowingly calling in the cavalry. He gave a big, glowing laugh as he told me this. Another time, I helped him set up a What’s App account so he could talk to his family in Italy. It took about three minutes of my time, and he was so grateful, joy beaming from his face.

Frank has several teeth missing, a bald head, a round belly, and a bad back. He brings up his back pain a lot. He has an opioid prescription for it. At first, I thought, why not? He’s in his nineties (or so) after all.

But Frank takes his pills too fast, and he runs out before he can fill his next prescription. One day he asked me to drive him to a doctor’s appointment. He was in a lot of pain, and had run out of pills. This doctor would give him something to tide him over before his next refill, but he couldn’t drive himself. He was a little shaky, and spoke in short, sharp sentences.

I drove Frank to the doctor, but it turns out he actually didn’t have an appointment. The receptionist said it would be a couple of hours. Frank started moaning about how he couldn’t wait that long, tone alternating between irritated and desperate. There was another guy in the lobby with a lot of tattoos wearing a jersey and backwards hat. He told Frank he could cut ahead of him. They went out to share a cigarette while I sat in the lobby, reading a book.

Finally, Frank was called to the back. The nurse handed him a urine sample cup. He told her he didn’t have to go. She told him he could come back anther day then. He got an angry look on his face, and went back to the bathroom to try. After several minutes he came out, saying he couldn’t go. He whispered to me, maybe you can take this back there and do this for me? gesturing at the cup. I told him I couldn’t do that. We waited until closing time at the clinic, and when he still couldn’t go, we left and went home. He was quiet in the car.

Later that evening I got a voicemail from Frank. He asked if I was going out and, if I was, could I maybe buy him a pack of cigarettes on the way. The cigarettes take the edge off the pain, and he was in a lot of pain. I didn’t say much to him, but I went out and bought the cigarettes. I left them on his porch, knocked, and went back to my apartment before he opened the door.

A week later, Frank caught me walking my dog again. He apologized profusely, telling me he didn’t know what had come over him. Can you imagine, me dragging you to the doc and having you buy me cigarettes? he said. I told him not to worry about it, it was fine. He sat slumped on his scooter, looking at his feet, as Hot Shot tugged at his leash. The pain, you know. When I run out of pills, I just become a different person. I know, Frank.

Since then, he doesn’t stop to chat with me as much. He waves and says hello, but quickly scooters on his way. I mentioned earlier that he has a new live-in helper. The last one was Frank’s cousin. I didn’t see her much, but I remember her describing Frank as difficult. Then one day she left. We haven’t heard from her since.

I’m going to try to be there for Frank as best I can. But I also know Frank is an addict. I don’t always know what to do for someone like that, but at least if he calls, I’ll answer. And after that, I’ll do the best I can.

Links this week

Now for something a little more light hearted. I recently stumbled across the beauty of short animated films on the internet. Here are two of my favorites recently. The first, Less Than Human, imagines the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse where some of the zombies are “rehabilitated” back to their human personalities (warning: some gore, but no violence). The second is called REBOOTED, which stars an animated skeleton as a has-been action movie actor facing a world where he is being replaced by technology. Enjoy!

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That’s all for this week. If you found any of this enjoyable, I’d be grateful if you shared it with a friend. Until next time, stay curious and take care of those around you.

Taylor

Originally published at www.taylorscheinblum.com

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