Adventure 436: The Story of George, 13

Masaki

Real time was a little fuzzy for George today. His grandson, Masaki (Judy's youngest), drove over from Gig Harbor where he lives and works as a specialty carpenter. George didn't recognize him, nor did he recognize a picture of Judy (His daughter). Masaki kept producing the pictures, including one of him and George the last time Masaki visited. Finally, George put it together, which is a good sign. However, the signs are clear that his cognition is failing. He continues to forget to take his night time pills. We'll go over and check again tonight. We've considered the possibility of him taking all of his pills in the morning, but that may be too much for his system. And, since he's been improving every day, it's entirely possible he'll return to his status before the UTI infection. I'm amazed at the power of that infection, and it's highly possible we'll see another before long since a permanent catheter lends itself as a excellent petri dish. Bugs just can't wait to climb the ladder. But no matter, he's doing pretty well.

I was a good swimmer in my youth. In my older state, I prefer floating, buoyed by something such as a "Sea of Cortez" seat with a cold beverage in both of the drink holders. I can still swim, but nothing like I could as a youngster. I've already mentioned a trip to the Snake River. In those days before the dams slackened the water, the Snake River and the Clearwater River (which meet at Lewiston) ran with quite swift current. The current was so swiftl that if a person pushed out from the shore softly, the current would quickly carry him back to the shore. In my youth, I wasn't bothered by the current. I'd swim up river, up and out to the middle and allow myself to come back down river before I would stroke strongly for the shore line. Though dangerous, I thought nothing of it at the time. All this is to say that George taught me to swim when i was five years old. He did it the Navy way. We went down to the local swimming pool where he grabbed me by the one arm and one leg. He swung me around in sort of a cowboy dance move and launched me into the pool. I burbled up, not quite coughing. He yelled from the pool deck, "Use your arms; kick your feet." I'm surprised I wasn't traumatized by the event. Instead, I merely survived. To this day, if I close my eyes, I can remember George grabbing me, lifting me, and launching me. Burble. Burble.