Friday the 13th- A Very Lucky Day

I work in Los Angeles, 6500 Wilshire Blvd. It's a busy place, part of the Miracle Mile. Among the cars, the cabs, the professionals, the buzz are the less fortunate. People who live on the street, pushing their grocery carts full of plastic bags, newspaper, and a whole assortment of free commodities. Similarly are the panhandlers. Unlike the street people though, the panhandlers will nag you constantly for a dime, spare change, whatever - anything but a job or a professional opinion. I made a conscientious decision the first week out here that I would not buy into their collective guilt trip. In fact, I even came up with a snappy retort "I gave at the last intersection..."So assisting total strangers, that was not part of my M.O., nope not in this city; until last Friday. Something happened that I think I'll never forget.

I was returning from lunch to my office in the 23 story golden glass building. An elderly gentleman, small frame and wearing a plaid coat, carrying a satchel motioned with an arthritic hand and got my attention. I obliged to stop and listen. In broken English and an accent that I would later learn to be Greek, he caught his breath and tried hard in a soft voice to tell me where he was parked. "I was at doctor and parked" he muttered over and over. "I was at doctor and parked".

"Hmm. You were at doctor and parked. Is the doctor here in this building?" I asked.

"No" he responded.

"Are you in the parking lot next door" I pointed guessing maybe he couldn't see the lot.

"No" he said scratching his head.

"Would you like to use my phone" I asked. "Is there anybody you can call?"

"Yes. My wife. " He called out the number. I dialed it. Soon he was speaking to his wife. "I was at doctor and parked....I was at doctor and parked"

He hung up, with no plan or decision that I could detemine from his wife. We didn't seem to be getting anywhere with this.

I escorted him into the lobby, away from the noise of the six lane boulevard. "Do you need help" I asked. "Do you need help finding your car?"

"What kind of car do you drive" I asked taking a look at the vehicles parked on meters just outside.

With a deep sigh, he started rubbing his forehead, and tried to speak, tried to remember.

"It's a B..., ugh a B...." he blurted with frustration.

"A BMW" I guessed trying to help him finish his thought.

With another deep breath and a swell of relief as if a confession, he replied "No. I have to tell you someting. I have Alzheimer’s."

"Oh no." My mind changed gear immediately. Helping this man solve his problem might take a little more than I first thought.

"I had the papers in here" he said opening up his briefcase to show me something that might be of benefit. The satchel was empty.

I called back the same number I had just dialed and introduced myself to his wife. "I think your husband is lost, but I will help him. We are going to try to find his doctor's office. Do you know where his doctor is located" I inquired. "No" she said. "I will have to go see if I can find that on his desk. I will have to call you back."

"So you were at your doctor's office? Did you make it to your doctor's appointment?"

"Yes" "It was doctor, uh, doctor ..........." then realizing he had something of significance in his pants pocket, he reached and pulled out a well folded piece of paper. It was a prescription.

Glancing it over I saw the man's name Bret, Aristed, his birthdate-11/1925. And the name of the Doctor Jamie Mariguchi. No address was listed. I called information.

"Dr Mariguchi's office, may I help you?"

"Yes, did you see a Mr Bret this morning?"

"Yes we did."

"Well I have him with me, but he is lost. Where are you located?"

"Oh my" said the receptionist in a Mexican accent. "We are at 8562 Wilshire. At Wilshire and Ledoux. Thank you very much helping him."

"We will be up there shortly" I told her.

That's four city blocks, and two really big intersections. My new found friend was quite a ways off track. At 86 years old, a walk back might be too much for him. I was surprised he had made it this far without getting hurt. So I called a cab.

Entering the lobby of the clinic Mr Bret immediately had his bearings. As I escorted the old man into the doctor's office, six people working behind the glass all glanced up with expressions of real gratitude and smiles on their face.

"We will call his wife. Thank you so much for helping him. We will take it from here. You are a Good Samaritan" the receptionist stated. "A Good Samaritan."

"You are going to be alright" I told him shaking his hand and headed back down the elevator.

I trembled a bit and almost came to tears walking back to the office, thinking about my mom and dad, and my own pending old age, if this disease should ever strike. Would someone be there if we lost our way?

Alzheimer’s is a frightening condition. But it was an honor helping that man out.