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[Odler]

http://www.jeanlouie.com/

March 20, 2004

Mr. RP died yesterday. It was 11:10 A.M. when I received the call from the office of the medical examiner.

Why did this Irish man end up being my patient never became clear to me. He came to my office a little more than two years ago. He was tired, trembling, and breathing heavy. His problems held in one small word (and many gallons): ALCOHOL.

By the time he saw me, he had stopped drinking for years. However, ethanol (the active substance in whisky, vodka, rum, and other margaritas), had already produced its permanent damages: his hands were shaking, his liver had shrunken, his belly was full of water, his feet were swollen, his language was pasty, his balance was precarious, his blood pressure was too low.

He was a 60-year young man, with a big nose. He was a good patient, very compliant, very faithful, but he was too far gone for any complete recovery. The fire of alcohol had destroyed his body.

His office appointment was on Tuesday. His hand tremors and his insomnia had worsened. He could no longer keep his balance. He asked me for a cure, I offered him remedies. I felt sorry for him, but some roads are only traveled one way.

Mr. R.P came 60 years ago. He worked and drank his way through life. He was found dead in his apartment on Friday. He lived alone; he had no friend; he had no fortune; he had no family.

Why did he come? What was the purpose of this life?

http://www.jeanlouie.com/

(OdlerRobert Jeanlouie, Saturday, March 20, 2004)