Many of you may remember Jeff Mullen, who occasionally posts here. A series
of stories were posted about him a year or so ago, referring to him as The
Prophet of the First Church of Fritzianity; a title of friensdship, not
derision. Tonight Jeff is intensive care at a hospital near our home, and the
outlook is not good.

Of course the senior nurse wouldn't tell us jack, not even when I tried to
play the minister's card. (I am an ordained minister and the closest to
clergy Jeff has.)  A good nurse, this lady; she was doing what the state
requires and I won 't fault her, though she confirmed that cellulitis was
part of the problem. She was flabbergasted when Louie and I told her the rest
of the story: Jeff had been exhibiting signs of manic-depressive behavior for
months; not following a diet advised for type-2 diabetics; has a history of
chronic cellulitis that had gotten him admitted to hospital four times at
least; and as recently as last week called to apologize for wrongs done me in
the past, and saying he was thankful Louie had done something for me that
Jeff could not, that is to say gotten me treatment for my own volatile mental
illness. He had the air of a man who waas ready to commiut suicide, or die,
and was trying to make peace before his final trip.

We ran into his parents coming in as we were leaving the ICU, and learned
more about what was up: Jeff had collapsed at dinner with his folks last
Friday. He was to meet us to go singing, never showed up; and when I called
Saturday morning I got his father, who was taknig care of the cats. They told
us today the reuslts of the testings Jeff got: pneumonia that's filling up an
entire lung; cellulitis that had erupted into ulcerated sores over both legs;
and the cellulitis or accompanying infection has gotten into the bloodstream
and made him in effect systematically septic. Critical, but stable, they call
it; whatever that means. He'd been bitching about an ann oying cough for a
couile of months, attributing it to a min or bronchial bug or allergies.

Why in the name of all that is holy did I not call the ambulance Thursday
when I was talking to him?
My friend had a computer job for him, a routine fix. I called and he kept
fading, sounded like he was confused or stoned. He said it was the allergies,
nothing to worry about; allergies and an increased level of ozone that had
been bugging the area recently. But he lives out in the country and smog
wouldn't affect him so badly. And he said I was being a nag, an asspain, he
was okay, let him sleep, it would right itself in the morning. He could have
been having a little sugar trouble too, so we thought; that had been going on
more than usual in recent months. Like he was trying to eat himself to death.
He called early to make sure we were still going out after dinner with his
parents and did sound better. I just hope we weren't too late for him.

Please sent a few spare purrs toward my friend, The Prophet Jeff. And for
those cats who love him, that they know he always did his best for them. Jeff
is one of the few who stood by me wh8en I maried Louie, who didn't give a
danmn abouit race and culture. (Brandy is here putting her two cents in, and
for Jeff's sake I'll leve in those typois because she knows what she's doing.)

Blessed be,
Baha