Читать книгу Forever Baby: Jenny’s Story - A Mother’s Diary - Mary Burbidge - Страница 12

I can’t believe the power of the written word. Only yesterday I posted that letter to Terry Laidler, he can’t have got it until this morning. And by this evening he'd not only taken the idea on board, he'd implemented it. Not exactly a regular segment on Disability Issues, but the broad idea of presenting disabled people in a positive light – he had people from 'Back to Back Theatre', the Director and one of the intellectually-disabled actors, talking about the company and their productions. Thanks, Terry.

I went to the surgery this morning and saw loads of patients. Pearl Hartford wanting a check-up — she’s having ’turns' again. Not like they were, not bad, not very often, not for very long, no pain, not even discomfort, more a 'feeling' that comes over her and sometimes when she puts her hand on her chest to check her heart she can’t feel it. Mr Connell had 'feelings' too, not feeling quite right. His 'feeling not right' was more alarming. A big man, 109kg, with black mountain-range eyebrows and intense eyes, he’s diabetic and had triple by-pass surgery last year after his second heart attack. A month ago he was seconded from his job of ten years to another post, where he has to develop some scheme for the government (Kennett, I suppose) over the next six months. Since this pressure started, he’s reverted to his old habits of late nights and heavy drinking (three bottles of red wine and two whiskeys after getting home from work!) and he thinks the job is too stressful. Yes, tell them you can’t do it, I say. I did, yesterday, he says, I have to see the Minister tomorrow. Well, tell him he'll have to get someone else if you drop dead, so he can just get someone else now instead, I say. I will, he says. Sensible man. I've never seen him before — must be some job, having to see the Minister himself about pulling out.

Wheezy kids, vomitty kids, alarmingly overdue smears, the weeping mother of the runaway again (at this stage my sympathies lie rather with the runaway — talk about punitive, blaming, criticising, hostile, guilt-laying attitudes as the underfelt to a carpet of spoiling, loving, giving-in and dependence, and deaf to any counselling input. She just wanted to tell me all about it. Come again if you need to talk some more, if it helps), sore throats, sore legs, swollen feet, smelly wee, snoring. They kept me going until after half-past one. Just time for a bite to eat and a quick floss and brush before fronting up to the dentist. He and his nurse made wise-cracks about chomping on lollies and talked about birds and he smoothed the tooth off for no charge. No wonder my tongue was sore — the piece that felt like a jagged pinnacle in a rugged mountain range (that’s the second mountain range simile for the night, I should change one of them. Eyebrows like a breaking wave up-side-down, eyebrows like ski jumps, beetling eyebrows except I don’t know what beetling means) was in fact one of the metal pins he'd inserted last time, left exposed as the filling crumbled around it, like a column of sand turned to glass by a lightning strike which becomes a geological wonder when the desert sand all blows away. Come on now. Aren’t we a touch picturesque for a decrepit tooth?

Alright, alright. So I went to work, except my mouth felt so good it wanted to see action and made me drive to Lygon Street for cakes. While there I looked in trendy shops for a present for Jen. No luck. "Can I help you?" "Why, yes, I'm looking for something for my daughter’s birthday. She'll be twenty-one, so it will need to be strong and very durable, able to be thrown and banged and chewed, preferably something that vibrates or plays music but with no moving parts. What do you have along those lines?" Cheery, hopeful smile. I don’t think so. "Just looking", more like. Andrew’s going to see what the sex-shops have in the way of vibrators. That should be fun. Maybe I'll get her a nice jumper.

I can’t say I did much at the Unit. Sylvia’s in the throes of organising another big project Nick has given her (getting up a funding submission for getting GPs to come and watch us in action at WRHC) and I was able to use my data base to give her the numbers of clients from the Western region. She was impressed. It would have been easier to do it by computer though.

I wrote a cheque for the Easter trip ($335) and discovered a cheque I wrote for Les weeks ago still had no money to cover it. I hope my trusty bank didn’t bounce it. Steve Farish’s Statistics & Computer lectures are mostly at 4.30 — bummer of a time. I might ask Nick if I can work Thursday afternoons instead of Wednesdays so I'm not getting Jen minded four afternoons a week. It mightn’t suit Julie though. Botheration.

Jim was home tonight, with a ring through his eyebrow. It’s the 'in' thing, body piercing, and there are many more potential sites. Think of the most unthinkable, horrendous possibilities and you won’t be far wrong. But if it’s the 'in' thing, well what can you do? Resist, resist, my soul screams out, it’s the path to Hell.

Annabel had been and left a note to say she was staying at Sarah’s again, that she’s still in turmoil. Andrew worked back late and missed his train. He’s using all that data for an article and is also finalising budget arrangements for the secondment deal. He found out tonight that he (and his crew) came third in the championships - what better reason for ringing Lynda!

Elizabeth and Rosemary had an indifferent day shopping for souvenirs but completed the sale of their car. Jo is just home from Viv’s, $25 richer for her child-minding efforts. She'll meet Jen’s bus for me tomorrow instead of staying at the 'No Fees' protest rally — “’I’ve paid your fees! If anyone needs to protest it should be me!”