This may seem a strange subject but there are a couple of tales that involve Dads false teeth.
Oddly younger sister Kathryn likes these stories and often asks that I recount them.
A little bit like small children who ask again and again at bed time tell the story about. . . . .!
I guess this is what happens when you have a career working with small children - a career that I was unfortunately not allowed to follow. But that is even another story of how I declined an offer to follow a vocation in the Catholic church. The uniform was nice but the conditions a little odd.
So there father and I were, on a balmy summer afternoon in Coffs Harbour Plaza, Dad in a wheel chair with me pushing.
We had done our various tasks and had enjoyed a nice lunch in one of the many outdoor cafes and were walking back to the trusty Toyota Dual cab that was parked some distance up West High Street.
I was in a hurry as there was an afternoon storm about to break and about half way back to the Tojo the early spots of rain started. Around about this time Dad announced he was not feeling well. In fact he was feeling bilious and had pains in his chest. He looked whiter than normal and was starting to sweat.
‘Bugger’ I think to my self. What to do??
Obviously I need to get Dad to the hospital as soon as possible. But do I opt for an ambulance or bundle him into the Tojo and make a dash for Emergency and hope for the best. The latter option was chosen.
Now I don’t run very quickly at the best of times and even slower with a wheel chair in front of me. So I decided to leave Dad on the corner under cover while I sprinted up the street and roared back in the mighty Tojo to get Dad.
I get there and he is now quite white, shaky and still reporting pain in his chest. So I bundle him into the passenger seat, throw the wheel chair in the back of the dual cab and set course for the Coffs Harbour Health Campus.
Back to the storm. By now it has arrived in full force and it is fair pissing down. Hard to believe I know but the Coffs CBD becomes grid locked as the Tojo wipers beat helplessly.
I can‘t see a bloody thing, visibility is bugger all and the humidity in the cabin of the Tojo is soaring rapidly.
As I try to navigate the grid lock, adjust the air conditioner, get the fan on max and aim the air vents in a vain attempt to improve visibility Dad decides its time to help.
From deep within his solar plexus Dad produced the power chunder of all time.
From the corner of my eye, I see a disassembled hamburger with both top and bottom false teeth attached go flying forward with amazing speed, hitting the windscreen and leaving an ark in the condensation before the teeth separate and ricochet backwards some where into the depths of the dual cab.
I think to myself ’f****n hell Dad you sure know how to help‘.
By now I have got to the highway and am heading south. Things are not pleasant in the cab and I decide speed is of the essence and decide to engage high beam, warning lights and sound the horn. None of there things make the Tojo resemble an emergency vehicle but on we push.
Eventually we get to the Coffs Harbour Health Campus and I realise that if I head to emergency we will have to go through triage and the associated bullshit. So with regurgitated hamburger strong in my nostrils I boldly follow the signs that say in big imposing letters “Emergency Vehicles Only’.
This worked a trick as Paramedics in force exploded from the building yelling stuff at us.
I yelled back ’Ive got a 90 year old man in the car who has chest pains and has just thrown up’. Maybe I said billious. But it did the trick.
Triage can be done very quickly under some circumstances and in a flash a trolley appeared and the old fella was whisked away in through the great white doors with an army of clinicians in tow.
A very helpful paramedic came back with an armful of towels and said “it’s a real bastard cleaning up chunder mate but see if ya can find his teeth will ya”.
‘Yeh, thanks mate’ I said.
After a quick clean I found the teeth under the back seat and made my way into the Emergency Department (ED), got past the front desk to find Dad propped up in bed with all sorts of expensive medical stuff hanging off him.
Without telling of all of the trips we had to ED with Dad it is necessary to say we had form here; serious form; we were well known in ED.
Therefore I will amalgamate the tales to give you a picture of what generally happened when Dad arrived at ED , was diagnosed and finally released.
Generally we went to ED with Dad having all the indications that death was imminent. Not all trips involved an award winning power chunder but it’s a hell of a way to start this story.
When we arrived in ED Dad always played the part, looking the cute harmless old man that any self respecting clinician would love to take home. Much the same look that gets the old mongrel dog out of the pound. They look cute and harmless.
That’s how it always started, Dad looking like death was on him and looking cute. I am buggered if I know he did it but he was bloody good at it.
Once inside ED the symptoms were always non specific such as stomach pain, temperature, throwing up, feeling bilious, sweating, not feeling well and or any combination of the above.
‘I’m feeling bilious’ was generally a favourite.
This was the standard modus operandi except for the time when he did a reverse double pike with twist, degree of difficulty 3.5, which was performed from a chair at Kathryn’s just as Christmas dinner was about to be served. What a bloody disaster that dinner was - full on burnt offerings.
However on this particular occasion we had a real injury and real blood as he split his head on the door jam. Blood everywhere, very spectacular with Mum running around pronouncing him dead. Great theatre but somewhat painful resulting with numerous stiches in the already well scared old noggin.
After this event he perfected his technique and simply went for the non specific problems listed above.
Whenever we arrived in ED, he was whisked away dressed in a theatre gown laced down the back to give a great view of his old baggy green strip undies that he was particularly fond of and a pair of well used legs that I am still trying to erase from my memory.
By the time I generally got past the administration nazis behind the “oh so” friendly glass wall at the entrance to ED Dad would be hooked up to all sorts of medical equipment. On most occasions the equipment was accompanied by an army of young cute female nurses and doctors.
Although there was the one occasion when a young gay and quite camp doctor asked my permission to do an internal rectal examination on father. Without a moments hesitation I said yes. It wasn’t often I got to win a point and its good to look decisive in ED.
I quickly excused myself for a good laugh in the garden as there are some things a caring son should not witness.
I can still clearly recall the pleading, bulging blue eyes staring up from the trolley but I had made up my mind and ED is not a place for recanting or for laughter.
So after a barrage of tests and the continual taking of observations “obs” to use the medical jargon we would sit, wait and watch some of Coffs most unfortunates file through ED.
I would fill in my time racking up my mobile account calling the family with continual updates.
There was one time where they had connected Dad to an automatic blood pressure monitor which regularly pumped itself up and did its thing. It took a while for me to correlate Dad yelling that he was dying and the grasping of his chest with the timing of the pressure monitor. It was all a bit melodramatic and embarrassing.
Other than this excitement generally the hours ticked past and he would slowly come good. The biliousness would dissipate.
Regularly a cute nurse or doctor would come past and enquire how he was going. This was always an opportunity for Dad to exercise lines such as:
Clinician: ‘Mr Harvey you have very cold hands’.
Dad: ‘Yes and you have beautiful eyes’.
Eventually clinicians would pronounce the all clear and we could go home as soon as Dad could demonstrate he could stand up and walk ok.
On one such occasion Dad was being held by the hands by yet another cute nurse as she walked backwards helping Dad shuffle forward in his revealing theatre gown.. Dad shuffled closer and started pulling the nurse towards him. She said ’Is there something wrong Mr Harvey’.
‘No’ he says “I’m just trying to get close enough for a cuddle’.
This was always the signal to “take him home”. Even cute mongrel dogs can wear out their welcomes.
Once back at Mater Christi all and sundry would be waiting to welcome their favourite resident home and make sure he was comfortable, clean, fed and tucked up in bed.
‘Anything you want Gordie?’
‘Any thing we can get you Gordie?’
‘Are you feeling better Gordie?’
“Jesus Terry you smell like chunder - bout time you pissed off home and had a shower’
I am not fussed on ED.