“The Moving Finger

Writes, and having writ moves on.  Nor all thy piety or thy wit, can un-write one single line of it.  Nor all the tears in all the world” etc ….. Omar Khayyam was generally obsessed with women, red wine and the passage of time.  I can relate to that.  A few hundred years later Macbeth wondered “Can such things be, and o’ercome us like a summer’s cloud without our special wonder”.  Shakespeare also muttered something about “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”.

Which all goes to show that life can turn to shit in an instant.  I had such a moment about a week ago.  I was standing at my bedroom window at half an hour past midnight coughing violently in the hope of expelling heavy mucus from the lungs in a desperate attempt to prevent choking to death.  My dear, treasured grandson had spent the previous week with me on a visit from Darwin.  In the festering tropical wilderness of the Top End, he had brewed up some respiratory super-bug capable of  reducing the rest of the family to bed-ridden coughing wrecks.  My eldest daughter, her partner, and toddler were also laid low.  So horrible the symptoms, that it was only the hope of dying that kept us alive.

Meanwhile back at my bedroom window, my violent coughing momentarily loosened my grip on the windowsill.  I exploded backwards to land very firmly on my butt.  Phew, I thought, very lucky not to have bashed my head on the dresser.  Then I though about getting up.  The very thought sent spasms through my back that left me writhing on the floor.  Oh fuck, I have slipped a disc.  I have done so before 25 years ago and the exquisite pain was instantly recognizable.  Any attempt to use the back results in the muscles going into protection mode and contracting to the ‘lock up’ position.  Which isn’t good as it grinds the vertebra together without the protection of fluid discs.  You probably know that the spine is the superhighway of nerves, feeling and pain.  When it goes wrong, you get pain.  There is hardly a motion you can make that doesn’t involve the back.

So I crawled the few meters back to bed and waited the night out, trying not to breathe, and especially not to cough.  I had guests here, but there was not a lot they could do for me.  Having endured the night, I knew it was time to call for help.  I thought to keep to reasonable hours so the ambos could have a normal life.  In the event I needn’t have bothered as they were up all night anyway.  It appears that emergencies are not confined to business hours.

So I very slowly crawled the 4m to the phone and back again.  It took about half an hour of spasmodic pain and gasping.  I called 000 to be interrogated by a very brisk women primed with the latest checklist demanding the most important information.  Like where are you.  I deliberately didn’t mention Possum Valley as Google has me in the main street of Ravenshoe 25 ks away.   Google used to have me in Tumoulin just 15kms away, but a few years ago ‘adjusted’ me according to post code.  So I gave her my rural identification number (RID) which is 356 Pickles Rd.  This is not a street address as nobody else lives along this road.  Ah, she said Rock Rd.  No! No! No!, not fucking Rock Rd, that is another Google mirage which has 3 Rock roads, 2 of which don’t exist and the one that does exist is in another shire.  Then there was a list of questions to ascertain my condition.  Was I bleeding, what medications , allergies etc.  When I managed to get a word in, I suggested the ambos might need a 4WD.  I got a rather frosty reply that she had already dispatched an ambulance and would have to make other arrangements.  7.30 in the morning, and already I had ruined her day.  Half an hour later the ambos arrived banging on the doors until they heard my plaintive cries.  A couple of big blokes arrived and plugged me into their suitcase equipment.  I gave them my self-diagnosis of a slipped disc that I was sure would render me virtually paralyzed for at least a week.  They suggested I get up and get dressed as I was stark naked.  Good idea, totally unrealistic.  Then they gave me what I think they called a green pencil.  Well it was green, but much thicker than a pencil.  Suck on this.  Wow.  I did not think it possible, but a minute later I was vertical and they were helping me get some clothes on.  I have not required assistance getting dressed since I was 3.  About 62 years ago.  These guys were not phased, I guess they have seen everything.  With assistance I was able to hobble out to the ambulance.

At Atherton hospital they took some observations every half hour, and after the doctor prodded my back to confirm a slipped disc, the nurses gave me various injections and pills that were probably muscle relaxants, pain killers and other stuff they had received by mail in recent promotions.  Whatever, I was able to walk out of there, slowly and stiffly the same afternoon.

I am pleased to say that although I have a little stiffness in my back, I have made a full recovery.  Much quicker that I expected and much quicker than 25 years ago when I spent a week in bed, occasionally crawling to the loo which was a very painful expedition that took about 45 mins.  Maybe the drugs have improved.  I got some strong pain killers to take home, but only used two doses.

I am so fortunate to live in a country where such swift and expert help is available, first from the ambos, then doctors and nurses at the hospital.  And nobody even mentioned money.  I have been to Africa for instance, where most of the population cannot afford even the most basic care.  There is nothing fair or just about the distribution of wealth and opportunity in the world.  And of the two, opportunity is the most important to lead to a happy rewarding life.  Wealth is just a useful tool for broadening opportunity.

Speaking of wealth, I am reading the epic “Extreme Money” by Satyajit Das.  Basically, the financial system has become a bloated parasite full of toxic poisons, and sucking the blood out of the vanishing sector of people who actually do something useful.  I may post my next blog (rant) about the out-of-control financial system.  Don’t expect a happy ending. Perhaps titled ‘Wealth is a Cheese Sandwich’.  In an attempt to return to reality.