Bad News

When I got home last Wednesday evening there was a message on the answering machine to ring Mary Kelly. Immediately I suspected bad news. Mark and Mary are longstanding friends. I met Mark playing football at Greta, Lib and Mary trained as nurses together beginning the same year, and worked at Wangaratta Base hospital. But it was always Mark that rang.

I rang back. Mary told me Mark was in a bad way. "His heart?" I had often thought that Mark may have heart trouble, there was family history (his father died young, leaving Win with 5 kids under 10), and he loved his beer. Since the operations, unsuccessful, on his crook back, he'd put on a lot of weight and couldn't do much physical exercise.

"No, his liver went toxic, his kidney's aren't functioning properly. He's in a serious condition in the Western General Hospital in Melbourne."

I thanked Mary for letting me know. There was not much to say, she didn't elaborate and I didn't like to press. I told her I'd go to see him as soon as I could.

I drove to Footscray the next day, after buying a citylink daypass and studying a new 'Melways' in the newsagency. It was hot day. Traffic was heavy on the freeway. Grass everywhere had browned off, and dust and litter blew up with the north wind. I had the van widows down to get air moving through to cool me down. Exhaust fumes were poisoning me slowly and noise from truck engines destroyed all chance of peace of mind. The news and discussion on the radio was all doom and gloom; economic downturn, water shortage, strafed super funds, unfair carbon emmission targets creating unemployment, loss of business overseas.

I thought of Mark as a 21 yo when I first met him 30 years ago. A fit,strong, country boy who played centre half back or back flank, he loved to run hard and straight through whatever was in the way. And always quick to help a teammate.

I left the freeway at Racecourse Rd. Passing Flemington racetrack I could see sprinklers spreading water onto the course, the only green grass I'd seen since leaving the hills. The huge grandstand stood empty but I imagined the colliseum effect it would have when filled with people. Melbourne, the 'big event' capitol.

Pulling into the hospital carpark, relieved the 'Melways' map in my head had worked as effectively as a GPS, a sandwich board met me "SORRY CAR PARK FULL." I found a park in the street 5 minutes walk from the hospital, pumped some coins into the ticket machine, and took a big swig of cold water from the bottle in the cooler bag, before heading off into the fumes and heat on foot.

I found Mark in the bed in room 15 where the nurse at the desk told me he'd be. His face and arms were yellow. His hands and forearms were swollen, almost bloated. There were plastic things strapped to the inside of his wrist, presumably to hook up a drip to. His arm and hand shook badly as he put it out for me to shake.

Conversation was difficult, it's hard to find the right words. He coughed badly every few minutes. The nurse asked me to go outside while she removed his bedpan, which he was lying on unknown to me, when I arrived. "If it hasn't happened by now it probably won't this time," she said, as she filled in the chart.

When she called me back in she asked me did I have time to help feed him. It was roast beef, potatos, sprouts, cauliflower and gravy. He ate only a few very small mouthfulls. He wheezed and coughed and winced. The pain was in his legs he said. His sister told me on the phone that night that his legs were swollen, black and horrible, the toxins had been leaking down into his legs. Mark told me he'd gone from 105 kg to 173 kg in a short time.

I was there about an hour. He thanked me for coming. I told him I'd see him Saturday if I could, if he wanted visitors, maybe Lib could come. He said he'd love to see us Saturday, "Give Lib a big kiss for me."

It was a sad drive back to Emerald. I made it in time for the monthly museum meeting starting at 3.30pm. The president read her report formally, saying she was resigning as of now, explaining that burnout and ill feeling on the committee were her reasons. The secretary then spoke glowingly of the now ex president, then also resigned, not just as secretary, but from the committee too. The treasurer, a 90 yo gem of a man, then spoke, saying it had been his intention to give his resignation today, but given the circumstances that had just unfolded, he'd hang on till end of term if necessary.

The vice president, who was at her first meeting for some months after 'a break', and who had been involved in the 'ill feeling on the committee', reluctantly took the chair, humiliated. We stumbled through the meeting and set a date for a December meeting. That gives us some time to try to sort out something. Just what I don't know, but frankly, after visiting Mark, possibly on his deathbed, the politics of the Emerald Museum Committee are of little consequence to me personally.