The Long Way Home - Chapter 12 - Gladstone Day 10

The results of the first of the barrage of tests ordered by the doctor on my visit is finally in and i have been summoned to the medical centre to discuss them. I can see it now, your LFTs are alarmingly high, your cholesterol is on the high side etc etc. 

The LEFT’s I suspect will be normal for me. One of them does not like life. Instead of being in a range of 50 -150 it is often around 400, but the others are always in the required range. When the discussion turns to cholesterol there will be the debate over statins versus this LFT because in the past any attempt to medically reduce the level has resulted in a corresponding increase in the LEFT marker. My last visit to my family doctor suggested we do nothing, the cholesterol level was not “ridiculous” and my blood pressure was 130/85.

The markers around the errant numbers were fine.

The mere fact there has been cause to call me in suggests there may be more. I still am yet to get to the radiologists for the elbow or heart scans. Not that I have not tried, you just cannot get an appointment. My elbow still aches incessantly but until the doctor knows more from the test he is unwilling to proffer a course of action. So we put up with the discomfort, immobilising it with a support brace and keeping on keeping on. 

Although my right hand is dominant, I rely on my left for so many functions. I can bat, bowl, play tennis and write left handed, which I have had to do at various times due to other injuries. Reaching for the water bottle from the fridge is automatically done with the left hand and causes pain, as does lifting the shopping into the Cruiser or seeking the hand held drill from the back area to replace a tiedown anchor.

In my youth I never studied for tests, relying on my memory and general knowledge to get me through. The cop out was firstly I was the brightest kid in school and there was always too much else to do, especially at home where if the chores were not done, the whip encouraged completion.

At high school my friends and I were misfits. All out of towners, all blessed with either a stronger initial education or simply of better stock. To be bright and male in the times of my secondary education was seen as a weakness. Exceeding in cricket and football or any other sport only partially made up for it. During my secondary school years I represented our school in eleven different “sporting” disciplines.

Yes it was a small school by big town standards (250 students, kindergarten to year 12 under the “one roof”), but having said that I did make the possible and probable for the Western Division Rugby League squad and was selected to play for Western Division Schools in the state cricket championships in year 12.

Because I had modeled my writing style on the pre-cursive era, I was often asked to sign permission notes on behalf of students who had forgotten them. I wonder if their parents ever wondered if the school simply took their children on excursions as part of normal educational practices. One child in particular always seemed to be at me for his mothers signature. The only reason he ever had to treat me as an equal.

By the end of year 11 most of the town male youth had dropped out of the school. What had started as a cohort of 64 in Year 7 was now down to less than 20 with the majority being girls. 

It was a time of turmoil in the Banks family as well. The decision had been made by the three brothers to sell the farm and an interested buyer was in negotiation. Mum and dad had even looked at a piece of land at Manildra to purchase once the sale had gone through.

All this was happening around the time of selection of school captains for the ensuing year. Any chance I had of ascending to that lofty position was thwarted by my sister, on election day, racing around to all the classes to suggest I was ineligible as I would not be there next year. We will never know what might have happened. 

My best friend Tom, quite rightly became school captain and did a marvelous job at it. Both he and Jenny, the girl captain hailed from the same small school.

For me, I was the only male who entered year 12 without a “political” position, but having said that was called upon on a number of occasions to put forward the position of the students, especially when the local member came to the school looking to reduce the pressures the growing population was having on the school premises. 

That was a “funny” day. He immediately, totally disarmed the situation by agreeing with the assembled crowd of teachers, students and family members right from the start. Our prepared speeches were only “preaching to the converted”. True to his word, though, remedial and capital works started very soon after.

I very rarely did the set homework. If it couldn’t be done in the classroom, because I was speeding well ahead of the others, it didn’t get a look in at home, except for once. Back in Year 9, Mrs Burgland, our geography teacher, set us an assignment which I decided to give the full effort to. I spent several hours on this one assignment, thoroughly researching, collecting and reproducing diagrams (no opportunity to scan or even photocopy in those days) and presented it to her with a sense of pride.

I received it back in due course with a 9.5/10 with a note saying it was the best she had ever seen delivered on the topic but her edict was never to issue a 10. 

I never did another assignment or homework outside of school hours again.

There were glimpses of “brilliance” that stunned teachers, but all knew I could do better but were unable to motivate me beyond the sporting arena. I never had the football coach Mr Arkin as a formal teacher which was probably a good thing. A country representative rugby player he took a ragtag team of students to the pinnacle of schools competition winning the East West or Cook Cup as it was then for the first time in the school’s history.

It was he who recognised with a little directed training I could add significant pace to my already representative sprinting ability. That with a state ranked runner inside me in the back line made the striking power lethal. Add to that a forward pack that played like a brick wall in defence and you had what we were in 1975 – my year 11.

But that’s a story for a different day – it’s now time to go and get the results and continue the debate over health.

The results are actually better than  expected. Driving around Australia obviously agrees with me. Whilst the cholesterol is not “perfect” no medication is warranted. The LFT;s are actually better than they have been for some time. There is the obligatory dietary discussion, less potatoes, more salad but otherwise the meeting is positive.

The recommendation for the elbow at this stage is physiotherapy. That and deep tissue massage. Luckily I have one of those with us we use for back pain, a consequence of an injury in my youth breaking horses.

The pain is not something that will stop me doing things, just a hindrance which needs to be mitigated if I am to fish and do other strenuous things. Pain meds are good for that. An investigation via Mrs Google reveals deep tissue massage is an approved remedy for the ailment. Given we have a mechanical one of those, I can start treatment immediately.

Throughout the afternoon I struggle with the veracity of the internet. Often while I am trying to upload mountains of data the net drops out, leaving gaps in the uploads. This effectively kills the work, needing a new start each time. This happens a number of times, frustrating me.

By the time the sun begins to set we have been able to upload significant numbers of photos, nowhere near an optimum level but a satisfactory number. As the day ends the phone begins to ring. Friends looking to catch up, my friend who I rang this morning only to have the call curtailed due to a rod screaming calls with laments about pulling hooks. Another friend who I had seen through a tricky business purchase prior to Christmas, gave me an update on the performance of the new business.

It was good to hear the latest purchase was performing better that expected. There were times when this deal all but fell through but his persistence won through. Working with his now accountant to ensure his structure was financed to ensure the purchase was protected, he has just rung to say thank you, wondering if we can get together on say the Gold Coast before we finally return home. He has a chance to be on the Coast towards the end of January. We might be able to meet but the timings will be difficult.

While I make and receive these calls the lorikeets are nesting for the night, There is a cacophony of noise and the parrots seek refuge in the trees for the night, that all but drowns out conversation.

Whilst making dinner Robyn receives a call from a friend who is only interested in her own life, and although Robyn is going through her own issues all the conversation centres around the friends issues. Thankfully dinner is ready at such a time to curtail the call, freeing her from the frustration of having the life of another thrust down her throat. We all have “friends” like this one who seek to suck the goodness out of any part of the relationship whilst still believing they are being a great friend.

Robyn is too nice a person, with this one and several other “friends”, all attracted to her kindness who see her as a repository in the form of her large heart to soak up their woes. Keeping her away from these heart suckers has been the bane of my relationship with her.

She struggles to say no. I wonder where she sees that happen??