He Died Like Elvis

He Died Like Elvis.

We got a call to one of those high density public housing buildings... I am always nervous in these joints.  The lifts are too narrow to fit the stretchers in, and the bulk of these patients are either mental health patients or badly managed chronically ill.  They tend to have an apathy for life that is hard to understand... I find they are unwilling to fight for anything.. let's just say, they are the 'passive people' of society. 

The last time I had been to this place, I had attended a young lady who kept a pony in the living area of the flat.  It was really, a full size pony... and there was pony poo everywhere... but I digress...

Today the call was for an unconscious man of unknown age.  For the first time in a long time, we had someone from the 'office' to accompany us to the patient.  This almost never happens, and it seemed odd at the time.  As we made our way up in the lift, the staff member shifted from one foot to the other... uncomfortable, uneager.  I told him he didn't have to come in with us if it made him uncomfortable, but he stoicly opened the locked door of the flat and entered before us.  

We looked around, looking for the patient. The flat was tidy, bare and dust danced lazily in the sunlight coming through the sealed windows.  We were directed to the tiny bathroom of the flat, and there, half sitting, half leaning on the wall was a dead man.  He died in the same way Elvis had.  On the toilet.  Pants down.  But this man had been there a while.  His feet and ankles were swollen and purple.  His head, touching the cold wall, had turned black, and his glassy, glassy eyes, half open were no longer shiny marbles, but flyblown and unseeing.  It made me sad to think that he had died this way, and no-one had known for days, maybe weeks.

I turned to the staff member, suddenly realising his discomfort.  He had known in the lift, but couldn't say... and you know what?  I was okay with that.

As we left, without touching anything, within minutes of arriving, I noticed something sitting on the bookshelf near the window.  I walked closer to it and realised it was a small birdcage.  It wasn't until I was right beside it that I could see the green budgie, stiff, legs in the air in a final salute...  I thought about that budgie for ages... it bothered me.  I imagined the little feller chirping for food for days before his body finally gave up.. just as his human Dad's had.  But do you know what I thought about more??? 

 What if the pony owner had died without anyone knowing?