Wednesday, January 02, 2013

Like a Bigfoot sighting.


On Christmas Eve, we got a phone call out of the blue from one of my mom's many, many cousins who live down by Milwaukee.  He's an EMT, and while on duty that night, they got an ambulance call for a guy who'd fallen on the ice outside a bar and cracked his head on the ground.  When her cousin heard the guy's name, he asked, "Wait, are you from Moquah?  Is your mom's name Rosie?"  Turns out his patient was my mom's brother Charlie, and he'd slipped outside the VFW post across the street from his apartment building after having "a few" too many.

Anyway, long story short: this led to a lot of phone calls back and forth to Milwaukee, where my mom eventually got ahold of Charlie at the hospital.  He'll be okay -- he rattled his head quite a bit and was apparently pretty drunk when they brought him in, so much so that the hospital thought he was a homeless person because he wasn't making any sense.  Charlie's got a history of head injuries and seizures, so any whack to the head is a bad whack to the head, but it sounds like this one left a little bleeding in his brain that meant he had to stay in the hospital for a few days.   And, well, from what we understand, they're putting him through some kind of detox program, too.  He's absolutely positively not supposed to drink, ever, because of his medical history and seizure meds, but he's been doing it since before I was born so, well, no one was shocked to hear that he's still at it. (You haven't lived until you've seen my mother attempting to google "what are the dt's?")

Meanwhile, being practical types, we made a list of things to check up on for Charlie since he'll be out of commission for a few more days.  Was his rent paid for January?  Did he have a way to get his cell phone charger from his apartment?  Did his workplace know where he was and that he wouldn't be in?  Even with only a few clues to go on, through the magic of Google I managed to find his landlord's name, his boss' phone number, and...this.  The scene of the accident.

Like a Bigfoot sighting.

And there's no way to ever know for sure, but I swear to god, that's Charlie crossing the street between the VFW and his apartment building.   The beer belly...the posture...the hat. If it isn't him, then we must have another cousin on the loose in the neighborhood. 

Thanks for the laugh, Google Maps.






No comments: