Dinglabedinga!

It was my second trip for an appointment with my neurologist, in the western suburbs of Adelaide.

I was driving solo and against his advice.

Upon my first visit he had told me categorically, “You are not to drive! If you do, you are breaking the law.”

“Bullshit!” the voice in my head replied.

So, there I was, feeling lonely and folorn, driving through Port Augusta, on a dreary day in late winter, behind the wheel of my old 4WD utility, stubborn as ever, independent, resentful, feeling sorry for myself and generally down in the dumps with, what I perceived as, the shitty hand life had dealt me. There was no poker face either! I was bleeding out fast. The wounds were deep and raw.

My ute had been my transportation device through yet another bleak and nebulous period. Yet another relationship done and dusted! When the first ended, my bleak-mobile had around 80 or 90 thousand on the clock, now it was closer to 250. This time around, I had two houses, purchased nearer the top of the market, both with hefty mortgages. The mortgage on the first house had been maxxed-out for a deposit on the second house, which I’d purchased just 160 clicks down the road, in Port Lincoln and now, just to cap things off, I’d been unemployed for seven months.

If you’re looking for an investment strategist, I’m your man!

“Bite size pieces”, I reminded myself, trying to make the right noises, but a louder voice was asking, “Why bother? Just how much of this shit can you swallow?”

The next morning I went into the city for the first of several MRI’s of my oversized, under-performing cranium over the next couple of years. I don’t remember where I stayed, or who with (probably my little brother, Andy), or driving my bleak-mobile into my Wakefield Street appointment. Not only was the pleasure centre, my substantia nigra, not producing the goods, my amygdala definitely wasn’t encoding and storing much to the hard drive, but that first MRI will be etched in my mind until the day I die.

Just when you think you can’t be any sadder…. there I was. A single white male of 50 years old, with no prospects, trying not to move. As I lay there, a set of headphones played easy listening tunes, when I’d specifically asked for triple J’s avant garde alternative.

If I could have, I’d much prefer no tunes. The mechanical droning and whirring of this horrible monstrosity buzzing my head, would be much better. Of all the bloody songs! Not this one! Please no. Don’t cry. You can’t. IT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE!

Really? They’ve got me listening to Don McLean’s Vincent!

A_n_d there it is! Just as those beautiful lyrics hit my ears, “Starry, starry nights…”, so the liquid comes pouring out of my eyes, running effortlessly and copiously down the sides of my face.

Emerging, unable to hide the evidence, clumsy, flustered and embarrassed, my escape cannot come quickly enough.

Somehow, I don’t know how, I ended up here. Waiting for my early morning meds to kick in. Doing laps of our downstairs, open plan kitchen/dining/living area. Hoping that the impulses under my skin will go away, so I can go back to bed, listen to the rain and drift off into a deep slumber.

At least, when I do sleep, the dreams are in vivid colour – and memorable! Such as the time I was enjoying a few convivials out the front of the Franklin Harbour Hotel and suddenly, from another dimension, hoards of warring Zulus appear! The ensuing fray resulting in the bedcovers being kicked mercilessly. Poor little Marz. What she endures for me.

I walk away from my stand-up desk, take a sip of sparkling mineral water, from the recyclable plastic bottle, which will no longer go offshore for processing. Another fine example of “my generation” stuffing-up the planet. I’ve tried to give up. I’ve tried drinking tap-water. It’s nothing to do with the taste either. Over the years I’ve drunk gallons of the stuff. It just doesn’t quench my thirst like the fizzy version. Bubbles seem to break the surface tension of the fluid and coat the lining of my mouth, keeping it moist, countering the effects of my meds. It’s just easier to swallow, with my under-performing upper and distal oesophageal shpincters (throwing in a reference to my medical condition here, assuages my guilty conscience).

Contemplate. Walk. Write. And sip.

It’s been a busy couple of months, not without it’s ups and downs. The Mike ‘n’ Marz show rolls on, stronger than ever. We’ve both got our mortgages, but on the upside we’re moving into a beautiful little character home soon! Single storey, which is something that I know Marz has done for me. A couple of 50th celebrations marked with some of our amazing family and friends. Regular catch-ups with loved ones who live closer and special catch-ups with loved ones from far away places. They’re all special really. I don’t take much for granted. After a month of unemployment I know that I need to get back to work! Not just for money, a little for my state of mind too…..but mostly for the money.

The above pics were taken last October (2018) at Dinglabedinga. To use “liney speak”, Barnesy and I were changing a pitchfork arm off a ladder, as the terrain was not suitable for a two-wheel-drive truck. Hence, we didn’t have the luxury of a bucket to work out of. We stood either on the pole-top itself, measuring approximately 150mm x 100mm, or on the steel tee-off arm positioned below.

Lowering the old arm myself, by rope, was a little testing, as there were some wires below and the pitchfork seemed to be attracted to them, wanting to entangle itself. Of course, we’d left the old porcelain insulators on, just to add a bit of weight. For younger me, it would have been a picnic, but time isn’t always kind. As can be seen in the images below, of my right elbow.

We got the job done in good time. My ascent and descent were performed with feline grace and agility.

I was feeling very happy that day. After I’d been “managed out” by my previous employer, it was kinda like giving them “the bird”. Take your “independent” medical assessment, with your lawyer’s loaded questions and shove it fair up your arse! But, as fate would have it, I find myself contemplating, yet again, another set-back.

This time, brought on by the cyclic nature of our industry.

I don’t care about your political persuasions. I’m certainly in no position to lecture anyone.

There’s been quite a few drinks and quite a few bad choices in my past.

All I know is, that since the end of June, me and many of my ex-colleagues are out of work. The small division of the corporate giant I was working for, lost it’s contracts with SA Power Networks, another business closed it’s doors all together and another shed over twenty staff.

Thanks SAPN! Thanks Li Ka-Shing! I wish you good fortune and hope that you don’t choke on your rhino horn infused green tea!

Where do I go from here?

I think Dinglabedinga is the work equivalent of my Carribean dream. Getting paid reasonable coin and doing a job I enjoyed.

But the reality is, because of an increase in symptoms – bradykinesia, rigidity, dystonia and deteriorating balance being a few – my last appointment with my neurologist, saw a marked increase in medication. The toughest symptom at the moment is a side-effect of the meds, dyskinesia….

It is exhausting and I have to face the fact that I may not be fit enough to work in the role I have so loved.