Tuesday, 17 April 2012

A LAST RIDE HOME.

I hurry myself to my window and pull the curtains apart with as much strength I could gather. Getting to the window has always been a struggle for a seventy year old me. By the way they say I'm in my early stages of my dementia, I am ready to live with it and I don't moan and groan due to this, but if I had the chance, should I put it to my doctor that, possibly I failed that mini mental exam just because failing my exams is what I do best, hence dropping peacefully out of school. Dear me, I can't read and had to sit a memory exam and just like a piece of log I had to answer stupid questions about myself, the world and annoyingly about events I never associated myself with, because I never bothered to care.
If I could read things would be much different, much better as I gasp for air. Through my windows, behind the glass that protects me from the atrocities of this unfaithful world, I peer and stalk every moving thing. I'm like a king in my own world, I rule my own PEACE and love getting on the phone to whisper to the police, what I thought inappropriate and feel like a hero or just saving the world out there, and I did a lot of heroics even to the risk of testifying in court. Amazingly I had never been able to watch an ambulance approach or pass by, I shudder and coil into my shell should an ambulance interfere the street I live. A carer once had to call the police to help me down from my attic, all because I hate to admit that I admit the fear of a siren approaching. For goodness sake I have always lived outside the world of an ambulance, though not a day past without a health professional poking a nose into my affairs, I wish not to see them because my carers do enough for. I worry sometimes when my CARERS are not around, as of last night fear gripped me by the neck and I needed a comforting hand, just a carer to stop this repeated nightmares. Night after night I find myself strapped to my bed and wheeled into a crematoria furnace, I always escape back into this world with clumsy asthmatic attacks.
But all the world and it's entities matters no more, for I fear it's but my Ides of March. I could feel my airways exploding with airless pressure, for I fear no evil but I could clearly imagine an extremity reclaiming my last breath.
I managed to reach my inhalers but the empty canisters put some bravery into me, just encouraging me to face death like a soldier as cowards die many a times before their final destinations.
I hurry myself to my window.... All I could do was just to stare down the road and pray for angels to descend, it seemed like forever, forever for the ambulance to appear and when it did there I was behind the same window slipping in and out of consciousness, my goodness , it took them forever to break down the door. Great, just wonderful to see the paramedic faces right up on top of me, all that I could here is let's ride him home. Dear oh dear, I just hate this ambulance ride. It makes me feel it's too late and I don't wanna go, not yet, don't take me home.