This Side Up

Being your brother’s keeper

By John Howell
Posted 11/24/15

Lynne Taylor didn’t have to tell me she was concerned. Lynne has worked for the Beacon for more than 30 years and only a few times have I seen her look as troubled. Something had to be terribly …

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This Side Up

Being your brother’s keeper

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Lynne Taylor didn’t have to tell me she was concerned. Lynne has worked for the Beacon for more than 30 years and only a few times have I seen her look as troubled. Something had to be terribly wrong.

“Can you check on the man in the parking lot. I’m afraid he might be dead.”

The words sent a shudder through the office. People stopped what they were doing. There was a silence.

I immediately understood why Lynne was worried. A car was parked almost in front of the door. Inside a man was slumped over the steering wheel. The windows were up and his head leaned on the wheel, his face down.

“He’s been here for quite some time,” Lynne reported.

She wasn’t the first to notice him. Others in the office had spotted him and rapped on the window. He told them he was waiting for his wife and they assumed that was the case.

Now, however, he was no longer sitting up straight. Had he passed out, had a stroke, or was it something even worse?

I knocked hard on the driver’s window, not expecting to get as much as a twitch from the figure before me. Then came the surprise. His head popped up and a smile spread across his face as he recognized me. In his lap was a cell phone, which, I assume, he had been using.

Ken (not his real name), who is in his 80s, said he was pleased to see me because he had some papers he wanted to drop off. He reached over to the passenger seat and opened a manila file. He pulled out clippings from a 1927 copy of the Providence Journal. They were stories about a ballplayer, and he wanted to make sure that I got them to somebody I knew. He couldn’t remember the name of the person, so I suggested a few names. Nothing clicked.

Meanwhile, Lynne and others who had come out to see if they could assist went back into the office.

Ken was animated and appeared alert, although confused as to whom I was to give the papers. Finally, I suggested he give me his phone number – he had no problem with that – and I would call that evening and we would see if we could straighten it out. Ken agreed to the plan, and I went back inside expecting he would drive home.

A half hour later, one of the employees from Ocean State Center for Independent Living, whose offices are a part of the complex, reported “the man” was still in the car and he was lying on the steering wheel. I went out again, but now Ken’s story had changed. He insisted he was waiting for his wife, not making mention of the papers that were still on the passenger seat. I asked where his wife was. Ken wasn’t sure.

I thought of suggesting she was home, but then wondered if it was wise he be driving.

I went back inside and dialed the number he’d given me. There was no answer. I tried the Pilgrim Senior Center, but wasn’t able to reach anyone.

Was I witnessing a case of dementia or early stages of Alzheimer’s?

Many years ago, my late uncle experienced something similar to this. He had set off for work in the morning, but by mid-afternoon he hadn’t shown up. There were frantic phone calls, and finally police found him in a parking lot to a building that had been closed for some time. My uncle seemed perfectly coherent. He questioned why no one had shown up for work. That was the last time he was allowed to drive, a privilege that was not denied without protest.

I knew if I called rescue there would be a scene and Ken would be transported to Kent for evaluation. He probably would have been there for hours, and one wonders whether the experience might have been confusing and debilitating.

Instead I called Capt. Joseph Coffey at Warwick Police and described the situation. He asked some good questions. Was Ken combative, was his speech slurred, did it appear that he might have had a stroke?

Soon thereafter, two officers arrived.

I wasn’t there to see it, but Lynne and others said they were compassionate, and in a matter of minutes Ken was in the cruiser and they were driving him home. He had been in the Beacon parking lot for more than three hours.

That evening, Ken returned, and while I didn’t see or connect with him, he drove his car home.

Everything worked out, but the situation could have been handled differently.

I believe the answer lies with us. Calling others in situations demanding a level of expertise, such as medical assessment or intervention, is appropriate. But assuming the fabric of community support systems always has the best of answers is fallacious. While posing an inconvenience and certainly not part of one’s plan, assuming responsibility would have been the best course.

It’s what I’d want if it were to happen to me.

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