Chapter 49 : “Don't give up your day job.”

Reprinted exactly as printed in "The Mercury" newspaper

According to a recent article in this paper, “Talking Point: Retirement blows Sunday clouds away”, work is evil or bad. It has to be endured until you retire and then suddenly you have choices about you do. When retired you can choose to what do. And you only do what you enjoy. Retirement contrasts with your working life when you always have to do what you don’t want to do.

It is not the way I have lived my life. My life as a working and retired person. I worked for forty years and about a year ago I suddenly and abruptly entered retirement land.

I think of work as a stage I was going through. My life began with a stage of pre-school life followed by a stage when I was a student. Both of these stages came and went. I never looked back on either stage as being perfect and as something I long to return to forever. When at Uni I never dreamed wistfully of my years at primary school and wished I could return. I thought one stage had ended and had been replaced by another. I took the same attitudes, friends and beliefs from one stage to the next. I was the same person doing different things. Different challenges, goals and activities.

My working life. What can one say? I never hated, dreaded or despised it. I never sat around dreaming of retirement. I just tried to do my best. I always tried to learn. To know my subject better. I always tied to relate better to the people I encountered. To get to know the people better.  I tried to get pleasure from it. Or to find out why I wasn’t getting pleasure from it.

I confess I had bad days and good days. I had times when I succeeded. Times when I achieved my goals. Times when I failed. Times I was proud. Times I was embarrassed. Times I thought about changing jobs. Times I loved my job. I ran the full gamut of experiences. In fact I could write a book about my life working. You couldn’t separate my work from me. It was my life. My life would not have existed without work. I can’t imagine my life without working.

About a year ago I suddenly retired. It was unplanned and unprepared for. It was a different stage I had entered. It was not days of continuous bliss. It was not a time of sadness either.  It was a different stage I had entered.  A lot of the things I did were the same. I was the same person. I believed and behaved the same. I reacted with people I met the same. I continued my interest in gardening, sport, writing and my family. In fact playing tennis some evenings, people have been surprised I am retired. They have given me   a slightly strange disbelieving look. Which sort of proves I am the same person.

Since retirement I have experienced various emotions. They have been the full range of emotions and strangely they have been exactly the same emotions I experienced when working. Though now, if I disappointed, it is more likely to be with the choices on the menu in the cafe.

I have not celebrated my retirement. I have never spent time wishing I was back where I used to be. I have just accepted everything I have been dealt and got on with it. 

When you are retired one thing that happens is you don’t get days off. You don’t look forward to the holidays or the weekends. All days are of the same importance. There are no special days to look forward to. And you are not allowed bad days[i]. You are not allowed a day when everything goes wrong. A day when you can rale about life, the traffic, the crowds, the receptionist, the checkout chicks and telephone marketers.  If you are having a bad day there is no one to criticise. Nobody to blame. You can’t go home and throw darts at a picture of your boss. You can’t get on Facebook and rent your spleen about management and their stupid decisions.

Many people don’t retire. Artists, musicians, writers, poets and people who have an occupation which is more than just a job, never retire. Rupert Murdoch is working many years past the age at which he could financially retire.  This is great. I love a businessman who enjoys his job so much he continues. This is the way I would prefer everybody to be aiming. Aim for an occupation where you don’t want to retire. Aim for a career that doesn’t bind you or restrict you. A career where retirement is not thought about. This is what you should aim for.

And back to the important issue. Can you do what you want when you retire? Of course not. I am a social animal.   Everything I do involves other people. Everytime I do something involving other people I must consult with them. I must consider their feelings, attitudes or them. Now that I am retired I have not suddenly become an island that exists without needing or helping other people. In fact the opposite could be true.

 I know retired people who become more engaged more connected. One way is via doing voluntary work.

A large number of retired people do volunteer work. Do voluntary work and you can regain a few of the things you lose when you retire. You belong to an organization that has a goal. You have a reason for living. You are responsible for something.  You are included in notices, messages, emails, the tea room and Christmas parties.  It will be noticed if you don’t turn up.  You have somebody to talk to about good days and bad days. 

The idea that adult life consists of two completely separate and distinct halves is a dangerous myth. The attitude that work is to be endured until you retire is very dangerous. The attitude that retirement is a reward and consists of unbridled bliss is very dangerous. For both working people and retired people.

For working people the attitude is that work is to be endured and consists of putting up with your boss, boredom and enslavement. A period of servitude will eventually be followed by a reward.  This myth stops people from living their lives in the moment.  It is as distorting of the truth as the myth that a man in a sleigh flies the earth delivering presents. 

For the retired person the myth is that you have reached it. You are now in paradise. You are going to enjoy everyday and everything.  It is a dangerous belief. Because reality will intervene. One day you will realise that your life does not match the perfect image that you were told about. And what happens when there is a difference between reality and the myth in your head? That is the question.

Alan Carlton is a former Hobart dentist. He was retired medically in October 2015.  He know spends some of his time running, playing tennis, gardening, with his family and writing for his blogs.   

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[i] Apart from bad hair days.

Chapter 48 : The end of perfection

In October 2015 after playing tennis I went home and went to bed.  Two weeks later I slowly woke up. Sometime when slipping between sleep and comatose I had been reclassified. I was now a patient.
As I began to wake and emerge from the unconscious land I inhabited I tried to connect to a world I vaguely remembered. As I did this I realised I was wearing a label. A label which said “patient”.  I had been classified and put in the box that said “patient”.   My family were called “carers”.  We had all entered a world we had only ever seen on TV. 

The carers had a role to play. They had to care for the patient. They had to do things for him. To look after the patient. They had to protect the patient. They were never to complain. They were always to help. They were never to ask for help.  They were always to expect stability or constant change. They were never to be faced with unexplained or random changes.

And the label above me said “patient”. That was my role. A patient is always compliant. Always sits or lies on a bed. A patient always waits patiently. He depends on everybody. He waits for everything. When he has an appointment he says thank you. He is always gracious. Always accepting. And everybody asks him about himself. And he always answers politely.

Well a year later.  How did we go?  Did I play my role well? And the others, how did they go? What did the critics say? How many stars did they give?  Did the show should finish with everybody having learnt their lesson and having a laugh together followed by the credits.

In the hospital I was surrounded by nurses and other paid carers. Lying in bed I always tended to classify them as being good or bad. To be efficient at following the rules, to know something about the medications, to remember your name; to remember how you drank tea.  I always classified them as either good or bad. Now I don’t I see the medical staff as human. They were better at some things than others. For a variety of reasons. Maybe they had seen a similar case the week before. Maybe they had gone to a lecture which helped. Maybe their child was watching TV the day before; saw an ad for a breakfast cereal; refused to eat his normal breakfast; caused her to be late for work; which upset her superior who admonished her in front of a patient.

For all the staff everyday was different. Their work varied. Their attitude and behavior varied. Everything about them varied. They did not deserve to be put in a box marked good or bad.  I could say most of them did their best or tried their best but that is over simplistic. Some days some of them, for an unexplained reason, didn’t concentrate on what was in front of them. Everybody was different and each individual person constantly changed.

Well how did I go as a patient?

The reality is I didn’t love or hate being a patient. I never thought that I had chosen it or I could chose something else. I never thought about it. There were times when I was the perfect patient. I sat and talked about signs of improvement and getting better. There were times I was compliant and grateful. Is the reverse also true? Well I suppose it has to be. There are times when I was a difficult patient. when I was going through “a stage”. Most of the time I just tried to live each day as best I could.

What I found is that both the patient and the carers were random and unpredictable in an unpredictable fashion. Sometimes they were predictable. Sometimes for a multitude of unexplained reasons they did things which were unexplained. Is it time to end perfection and embrace chaos?  No because chaos has such a bad reputation.  The word cannot be said without conjuring bad thoughts. Well what then  is the alternative.

Living in the present, being aware of your surroundings and reacting or acting sensitively. Increasing awareness helps. Not the first person to say this. You can phrase it any way you like or use any words you want or believe in any underlying philosophy or religion you want but I would think that when perfection ends it should be replaced by living in the present and increasing awareness.

Well how many stars? I would mark this show harshly because of the finish. Nobody explained what had happened and why. No clues to the future.  It was as if they were leaving the ending open for a second show. Coming soon.

Chapter 47 : the Point to Pinnacle

Several Days Before

At Tasmanian Masters Athletics I feel a bit insecure and overwhelmed.  I hear some people are talking about the Point to Pinnacle race. If I do the race then I will belong. I will be part of the local community by participating in one of the local community events.  I check out the website and it is advertised as the world’s toughest half marathon.

How much do I need to train? I normally run on the Domain. I’ll keep doing that. It’s hilly, close and pleasant. And pretty similar to the actual route.

I go to the local running shop to pick up my number.

They display splash jackets which temp me.  The forecast is for rain.  Do I need one? I buy one. It is very light and well made. The equipment available is much better than in my previous life.

The display gels.  The packaging is impressive. Do I need food during the race? Do I need glucose? Will I collapse due to lack of available glucose? I buy a couple. What harm could they do if packaged so well?

And the other thing to do is check out the route. We drive and look. It is incredible hilly. Nothing but up. I don’t think I will make all this uphill. I could run and then walk the final bit.

The Day Before

Today the weather looks good. The forecast foretells wild, wet and inclement weather for tomorrow. I believe the forecast not what I see out my window. The website warns of the course changing. That will affect what I wear. Which is what? I don’t know. I lay out my clothes. Every possibility.  

I am asked what my goal is.

My goal is to proudly run across the finish line. To run most of the way. Not to finish and talk about my muscles and joints. Not to feel faint or dizzy. Not to collapse. Not to trip or fall or stumble. To run past the ambulance.

Sunday (The Day)

I look at the bedside clock. It says 4:30.  Too early. I close my eyes. I am not sleepy.  I lie quietly for an hour. I listen to the rain.  Sounds very peaceful.

How do I feel? Good. No dizziness. No faintness. I get up and check the internet. The course is changed. Due to rain and wind we will run half way up and then down.  What does this mean? To me it means accept what is happening. I now know the course. I don’t know what clothes to wear?

How can I dress safely? I chose long pants and overpants.  And a couple of shirts underneath a splash jacket.  And a cap under the jacket. I feel safe. I will be warm. How cares where I finish. It’s not my aim to win or run a good time.  It’s not my aim to look good.  My goal is to finish safely.   No matter what.

We arrive at the start.  Nobody is dressed as me. I don’t care. I’m not defiant or embarrassed. Where is the best place to wait for the start? I aim for the very back of the group.

We depart as a group shuffling up the road through the drizzle. I thought I was in the last group but some people run past me. I settle down into a group shuffling up the road. I now think about my first landmark. The Skyline Service Station 4 kays up the road. Everything feels good. I don’t know any runners. There is little talk. The light rain continues. I adjust my hat. The water has seeped through. What does that mean?

We arrive at my first landmark.  And pass it quickly. I check my watch. Watch is working. Time is okay. How can I get this hat better fitting? It feels wet.

We plod on until runners appear on the other side of the road. They are going down as we go up. We cheer the first few; then stop looking at them. They become a blur. I concentrate on the runners around me going my way. We are in this together.

We go higher and wetter and the half way point suddenly appears. That was easy. I could go on and up. I can now speed up. Push myself as I go downhill. Drizzle has now become rain. When did that happen? The road has streams of water which I try and avoid. The chamfer near the side is also to avoid. This puddle. Should I avoid it or run through it. The same question keeps arising. 

The road bisects the bush. It’s the same road as uphill. Uphill I was plodding looking at my next step; the next corner; checking my watch. Downhill I am now trying to run fast. To dodge puddles. What is the best way around these walkers? I must try and pass as many people as possible. Including that lady wearing black leotards. She’s next.

Now down to the houses.  I am getting faster. It’s getting easier. Everybody is getting faster. The rain continues. I adjust my cap again. I try every position. The water has seeped through. I see a guy eating a glucose gel. That’s what I have forgotten.  I fiddle and find my gel. Feels good. I don’t feel sick or nauseous or light headed. I can think of nothing but which path to take?

And the finish line. It’s wet, gloomy and anti-climactic. A man drapes a medal over my neck. I look at him. He doesn’t understand how much this means to me. Twelve months ago my only physical activity was walking to the hospital toilet. I didn’t know the way and I had to rest by leaning on the other beds. And nobody gave me a medal when I finished.  And now I have run 21 kays and I feel fantastic.

But I still have the same problem. I need to go to the toilet.  Where is it?

I am now a runner. Not an invalid. I remember a few days ago. At the supermarket a man greeted me and talked about running and the race. He didn’t talk about my health. His chat cheered me and is fondly remembered.

Today, due to the course change, it may not have been the world’s toughest half marathon. But the past twelve months have been the world’s toughest and that twelve months is finished. Now I have a medal which tells everybody I have finished a really tough twelve months. 

Chapter 46 : Point to Pinnacle (photos)

Chapter 45 : Anyone for a team game?

Last week Bradley and I played together in the same tennis team.  It was not part of my grand plan but it happened. We found ourselves playing together as members of the same team for the whole tennis season.  There are two males and two females in each team so Bradley and I constitute the male half of the team. Playing tennis with my son reminds me of playing tennis with my Dad.  Which I did often. One of his proudest moments was winning a premiership with one of his daughters.  He constantly talked about it.

Our present team is down near the bottom of the ladder and we won’t win the title but it contains two young people who have the potential to improve dramatically. As the season progresses I expect to witness a significant improvement in these two people (Bradley is one of them) and that will be exciting. There are actually three of us who should improve dramatically this season.

I’m the third one. I have improved since the start of the competition.  I have improved and I am worse than I was. I have improving compared to twelve months ago and I will continue to improve.   My play is worse than two years ago. My play compared to my highpoint is bad. I have slipped off the apex.   But I am looking at my discharge from hospital as the baseline. The line from which we are seeing improvement. I have to forget what I was once capable of. Ignore that. It was another life time. Another person.  I am now a different person.  My tennis career began a year ago.  I see my rebirth as the baseline.

This team is not really about me.  What this team is largely about is giving two young people the opportunity to play competitive sport. They have to find out about making commitments; playing as a team; getting on with other team members, working on weaknesses; experiencing wins and losses;  coping with bad umpiring; improving ones fitness; improving self-awareness; making supper and socializing with the other team. Playing in a team is just like working in a group of people. They will have to work with everybody in the team. Irrespective of who they are. They might be different people but they should have common goals/aims.

Everybody in the team needs to know their own weaknesses.  Then they need goals related to their weaknesses. Ideally everybody in the team should know what everybody in the team is working on. Agree what the weaknesses are.  The areas that need practice.  Agree on what we are going to practice. Then do it.  Doing backhands drop shot may be my weakness. I need to identify that and then practice it. I need the help of my teammates. No point practicing what I enjoy practicing. No point practicing my favorite shot.

Bradley also needs to think of tennis as a physical sport. He needs to learn how to be at his best physically. What helps?  What hinders? To be at his best physically at a certain time he needs to prepare yourself. To eat appropriately. Be aware of how your body responds to certain foods. If he eats cake, or ice-cream or a banana how is he going to play? If he sleeps well the night before or stays up late how will it affect his play? What about stretching or exercises before playing? What helps? What doesn’t? These are things to consider. It involves getting to know yourself. Tennis should help Bradley get to know himself.

As well as getting to know himself Bradly needs to assess his opponents. If the opponent is weak on the back hand or high balls or strong on the volley then change your game. Plan to win based on what you are up against. Look at their serve. Where does it go? What speed? Now prepare for it.  If it always varies then prepare for that. In competitive sport you need to assess your opponent as well as yourself. And then try and change yourself. Not your opponent. Assess everything and change yourself.

We need to look at the emotional state of your team. We need to assess the team. Is it happy, unhappy or does it vary? The whole team needs to learn about this. To learn that the happiness of everyone in the team is important. To learn that the happiness of the team affects everybody in the team; depends on everybody in the team and influences the way everybody plays.  It’s a factor they need to consider. 

The team needs to play flat out to win. To do everything (within the rules) it can to win. And then treat both wins and defeats the same. Not to get emotionally involved.  Not to get upset if we lose. If we lose we don’t blame the opposition; the umpiring; bad luck; the weather or the courts.  If you lose we look at our own play. How could that have been better? What do we need to work on? If we win we respect the opposition.  We don’t celebrate winning in front of the opposition.  We see life from their point of view. We don’t criticize their play.   We don’t thank them for losing.  

And when we have finished playing. We will sit down together and socialize. We will have a cup of tea or a beer together. Competitive sport invariable results in winners and losers. Throughout life we will be both. The way you play may not be related to the official result. The way you play is more important than the result. So how do you now if you played well or badly.  You can play well and lose. You can play badly and win. You normally know if you played well. You played well if you played close to your potential. If you played close to what you are capable of. If you achieved some small goals then you played well. The important thing is to ignore the overall result and assess yourself. Normally you find you did some things well and some things badly. Your own assessment of how well you went is what matters. And your own assessment of how in the future you can improve. That’s what matters. Being honest with yourself.  Normally you find you did some things well and some things badly.

Moving on... Jolene and Matt are the main players in a team that has bought a block of land at Orford. The block needs a lot of work and they are approaching it the way a good team does.  They are honestly and openly assessing where they are. And then they are making a plan and then they are doing it. They are not blaming or concentrating on how others play. They are only concerned about their own play. But they do look at the way others play and see if they can learn from it and copy what others are doing.

They are a team in which they have to work with the other team members. Try and get the best out of each team member. Take advantage of the strengths of one member and avoid the weaknesses of another person.  They are not a team that has to work on their weaknesses. If one person is weak at something then they don’t have to do it. The other person can do it. Tennis is not like that. In tennis everybody has to do everything.   

And back to the team working on the block. They have a plan which is flexible and continually changing. They continually reassess where they are and continually update the plan. Based on the people involved and what they encounter.

What about the emotional state/happiness of the team. This is an issue. How is that going? What is the next job that needs doing? How should it be done? What is the best way of doing it? Or does everybody need a rest? Do we need to back off? Do we need to stop working and just party? Can we just enjoy the block; take a break and go and play tennis.  

Chapter 44 : The Blue Mountains (Monday)

Monday

Breakfast is displayed the same as previously but there is a difference. Everybody has less food on their plate. The diminishing breakfasts. The days of gluttony are over. I go for what I feel will be good for me.

There is a dark cloud hovering and I hear, “When travelling with such a large group we need to drop the car off; put petrol in it; walk to the station; make sure everyone has a ticket.  I’m getting stressed about everybody meeting the train and the plane.”

I now imagine all the things that may go wrong. I’m worried.

We arrive at the station very early. Walk in Katoomba to a 100 year old café. Not open plan. Redolent with character.

The dark clouds have followed us, “I knew it was going to be like this. They are taking ages. How long does it take to make a cup of coffee?”

I ask, “What should I do?”

“Eat it quickly.”

“I can’t do that. It hasn’t arrived yet.”

“You’ll have to take it with you. I’ve got so many things to worry about.”

“If I worry about it will it change the speed at which it comes?”

“No it won’t. That’s what I ‘m worried about.”

The scones and coffee arrive. I sup. We walk back to the station and wait for the train.

The train glides smoothly. In The Quiet Carriage an announcement says, “No loud conversation. No loud music. No loud phone calls.” The train flows smoothly through the trees; no bumps; no obstacles. The carriage is as quiet as its name says. I can’t hear the engine or the clickety clack of the wheels.

We pass a highway. Every car on the highway is unique and not linked or joined to any other car. Every car is going on its own unpredictable journey. On the train we are connected. Together we pass a rock wall. Who cut this track through the hills? What were they thinking? The train effortlessly glides towards Sydney. On and on and on. Even the stations don’t interrupt our flow. They stop us temporarily without any interruption to our journey. We flow onwards and downwards.

On the train I hear conversations behind me. I try and listen. I can’t decipher anything. But I keep on being drawn back to the jumble of voices.

We arrive in Sydney and meet with the three sisters in a park at Circular Quay. We need lunch and we head off up the street. I know everybody will have an opinion on food and where to buy it. My opinion is to walk down the street then enter and buy from whatever we see.

At Circular Quay our trip to the Blue Mountains is finished.  We leave the three sisters and The Three Sisters.

Chapter 43 : The Blue Mountains (Sunday)

Sunday

Breakfast room is crowded. Everybody is on an “all you can eat for breakfast” package and everybody aims for their money’s worth. Lots of big breakfasts. Some people survey the cooked food before plunging in.  It is possible to have a nourishing, healthy, enjoyable breakfast or an unhealthy pile of junk.  Everybody has a choice and nobody is assessed on how they do. Not initially. Maybe in twenty years’ time a heart attack will be some sort of judgement.

The young well-dressed staff hover. They noiselessly keep the bay maries full of food. They swoop on cluttered tables and clear away dirty plates and cutlery.  Quietly and without comment. They do this as we go back for more. 

We are off to the scenic railway.  The departure place is crowded with glum tourists who are controlled and managed by glum Red Coats.  The Red Coats look like they have heard and seen it all before. I’m challenged to say something they have never heard before.  I approach the nearest Red Coat and ask her, “What happens when we see an elephant?”

“What?”

“An elephant.”

She can see a set-up and smiles as she says, “Run.”

I can see another Red Coat and I approach and earnestly ask him, “What do we do when we see a lion?”

“On the train?”

“Yes what do we do?”

He grins broadly and says, “You won’t see a lion.”

He now has something to talk about after he has finished his shift. We move from a cable car to the scenic railroad and back to another cable car.  We are in a crowd of compliant tourists. The Red Coats tell us where to stand or sit and when.  One announcer says the trees below us look like broccoli.  Later another announcer tells us to look down and when you see something that looks like broccoli it is actually trees. In one of the cable cars there is a final bump before we stop. A man yells out, “Unbelievable.”  The crowd laughs. He wins and gets all the bonus points. What he said was unscripted and far funnier than anything I said.

At tea I am told, “You’re looking tired.”

Somebody else also tells me I’m looking tired.

I’m upset because they are focusing on me because I’m old and have been sick. Bloody hell. I’m just tired from a busy day. And proud of it. Proud of my tiredness. 

Chapter 42 : The Blue Mountains (Saturday)

Saturday

I walk in the bush. I decide if breakfast is creative or shows imagination then the Bulldogs will win. If there is any asparagus, eggplant, spinach, corn fritters, kippers or anything slightly different the Bulldogs will win. It will be a good omen.

Finish walk in the bush. We enter the dining room and I examine the bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, sausages and scrambled eggs. I turn to Mrs C and say, “The dogs will lose. Sydney to win. I see a bad omen.”

Everybody else loves the predicable breakfast. No imagination. No creativity. It is reliable and dependable. Everybody is food focused. “I’ll have more of that. I’m going to have this.”  Greed dominates. There seem to be more children. It’s their time of day. It’s their meal.

After breakfast we tour the Blue Mountains. Three sisters look at The Three Sisters.

They all look solid, predictable, hard and reliable.

We go to a hotel room to watch the match. The room is spacious containing couches, chairs and a bed. Food is dry biscuits, dips, square cheese, pieces of meat and Twisties and other things to nibble on. Drinks are beer, wine and apple cider. I go for a cup of tea. The room is full of people. How many?  If I count the legs and then divide by two I will find out. Everytime I try this I get a nonsensical answer. Something is wrong with my counting.  

I don’t want to watch the match because:

The Western Suburbs of Melbourne were an incredible important part of my parents’ lives. Thy lived there for about 160 years. That was their life. Being a person from the Western Suburbs. And I am reminded that they are no longer there. They no longer live in and support the Western Suburbs. They are gone.  That’s sad.

When I worked my patients incessantly talked about football. They all knew I supported the dogs. They used to ring up and leave messages for me about the dogs. Comment if they had done well or badly. I would follow the matches so that I could talk in a reasonable informed way. So that I could give the impression I knew what had happened.

And now that connection is gone. I don’t have to be able to talk football. I don’t have to follow a team. I’m now out of it. I’m now retired. I no longer have to comment on football. That makes me feel sad. I am not in society. I am out of it. Drifting aimlessly.  The match is a reminder of what I am not in. I have been sick. I don’ work.

And I don’t live in the Western Suburbs. I used to. I am no longer a part of it. I don’t have the ethos or attitude of the Western Suburbs.  I can’t celebrate or commiserate surrounded by similar peoples. It was a part of my life but my life has changed. I have to support a team but I am not emotionally involved. I’m not committed the way I was when I lived there.

I do watch the match and I do want the Dogs to win.

At ¼ time the match is close. I feel the Dogs are playing well. They are in it. So are the Swans. To me the match is partially visible through mist. In the last ¼ the haze starts to lift. It becomes more and more apparent the dogs will win. We are on top. The closer and closer it gets to the final siren the more and more obvious it is that we will win.  And the final siren blows and players and staff at the ground celebrate by hugging and jumping on each other and slapping each other. In our room there is a small amount of hugging, dancing and singing but I’m just not inclined. I don’t know what to do? Surreal is the word. My mind goes back to a wet Saturday afternoon in 1969 watching Footscray play at the Western Oval. I didn’t watch them trudge off and think, “One day, when I turn 60, I will sit in a hotel room in the Blue Mountains and watch the Bulldogs win their next premiership.”  I never had such thoughts.

I don’t know what to do except comment on the bulldogs’ ethos. The attitude used to be, “It will never last.”  The creed used to be that we had good players, if not the best players but we would never win the flag. The creed was always that we needed a certain player to rescue us; to deliver us. Now the Bulldogs have genuine confidence. They have a good coach and captain. A coach that doesn’t yell at the players when they make a mistake. A coach who helps his players play well.  The club seems more inclusive, more family friendly, more female friendly. A female vice-president. One of the best female AFL teams. They seem more sensitive and caring than the old days. 

And I hope they continue their new normal and don’t overdo their celebrations. I hope they celebrate and then get on with things. Don’t show off or lairize. Don’t criticize opponents. Enjoy themselves and then get on with life.

Matt says, “That’s a good birthday present for you.”

It is but there are more important things and I say, “Not the best present. The best was my resurrection.”

From the floor something moves and mumbles, “I just heard the last bit where you said erection.”

I repeat myself, “I’m talking about resurrection not erection. I’m saying my resurrection was the best present ever. “

I am standing tall, straight and full of pride but resurrection is the word I’m thinking of.

Chapter 41 : The Blue Mountains (Friday)

Thursday (the day before)

My suitcase is empty. What do I need to pack? I need this, this and this. I pack and then ask Mrs C, “What do I need to take with me?”  Then I pack again. Then I say, “What don’t I need to take with me?” Then I unpack my suitcase and pack again.

I need to take what I forgot last time. What was that? I can’t remember what I forgot last time. I know it was something.

Friday

Wake; press the microwave; watch it turn; remove heated porridge; wait 45 mins for lift to airport;  watch TV. The host is wearing a Bulldog’s scarf.  He holds up a newspaper with the headline “Every Dog has its Day.”

In the lounge at the airport I am worried. What about? About the food here and on the plane. There will be no escape. Junk will be all around me. On the plane the menu glares at me from the pocket in front of me.

Behind me are two miniature adults. Wearing head phones and belts. They are transfixed by their screens. Staring motionless at their screens.  They don’t hear the inflight announcements. I can envisage comments about how well behaved they are.

A stewardess pushes a trolley into our area. She bends and tells me about drinks. A background hum becomes louder when she talks and stops me from understanding her. Where did that noise come from? It’s now everywhere. As she slowly pushes her trolley down the aisle I think about the last film we saw. About an airplane crash and called Sully. In the film the stewardesses saved people’s lives. They controlled them and helped excavate them from a floating plane.  They looked after the sick. Their moment had arrived.  They were needed and they responded. Not here. Here their main concern is how to arrange their hair and how much to charge for a coffee and muffin. I wonder if they have seen the film and if they admit they are jealous of the stewardesses who had the ultimate plane trip.

We fly on and the plane shudders. Turbulence. I look out the window. Is the turbulence going or coming? We fly through it and onwards. The turbulence disappears. The children are oblivious. They have all flown before. Nothing is exciting to them. Nothing is new. I remember the corn thins in my bag.  Relief. Now I can enjoy the flight. Food is no longer an issue. I don’t have any concerns. If I close my eyes I will try to wake in Sydney.  I will try and make time disappear. How do I do that?

Time is dragging very slowly. The terminal is far away. The only way is not to think about Sydney airport. Not to think about landing. To enjoy the moment. To live in the present. I spend my time looking at the backs of heads, listening to the noises, smelling the plane. And we suddenly arrive in Sydney.

At the train station people are striding towards their future. Pass the cabinets selling water, soft drinks, chips and chocolates. We protect our suitcases while waiting for the right platform and the right train.

We are on the train to Katoomba. The train smoothly glides up the hills. Hillier and greener. At Katoomba we cross the gap and walk towards our hire car. Pulling our suitcase and thanking the man who put wheels on the suitcases. We pull our suitcases up and down the hilly streets. Along smooth footpaths, bumpy footpaths and grassy pavements.  No straight flat roads that give you a distant view.

The hire car is a minivan.  I sit back and somebody else drives and navigates.  Up and down and around the hills; always thinking there must have been a better way. A more direct way. But there often isn’t a direct way. The shortest way is often indirect and scenic. With views of cliffs and mountains and valleys.

We arrive at Fairmont Resort. They are doing wine tasting in the lobby. A man is pleased as he says, “You can buy them.”

I see a couple of kids who think they have died and gone to heaven. There are multiple games rooms for children.  Electronic or not. And outside are pony rides, a merry go round and other children activities. There is a very hot pool, chockers with children and their parents.   I have never seen a place where so much space and money was spent on organized structured activities for children. And outside if we wander away from this resort we will come across some spectacular bush walking trails. At times in the bush you can find peace quiet solitude and enjoy the natural wonders. In the resort you can put money in a slot and win a game.

Dinner is a large dining room accompanied by the ominous instructions, “All you can eat.” I approach with trepidation and are surprised. Food is tasty, healthy and everybody is happy. 

Chapter 40 : Runnning for fun

After entering the fun run I notice that it is raising money for the Royal Hobart Hospital. That’s spooky. That’s my hospital. Looking at the website I see many happy smiling faces training or preparing for the fun run around Hobart’s docks.  Every face has a story. About running or the hospital.  I see information about the RHH and photos of equipment that was bought from previous fun runs.

Three days before the race we go to the city to have a coffee and cake and visit a running shop. At the shop is a table which has several boxes containing race numbers. We (Me and wifie) get our numbers by telling the lady our names. Too easy. We leave. Each number contains a timing chip.

At home I tell one of my daughters (who works at the RHH) about the fun run and say, “I don’t want publicity. “

“Well why would they do that?”

“I’ve been in the hospital for 7 weeks and now I’m raising money for it.  I’ve seen their website. There are pictures of such people. They would love somebody like me. And my story.”

“There will be nothing.”

“Good.”

Before the race I contemplate the race. Who is going to be there? Any Doctors or nurses? Anybody to recognize me as a former patient?  As for my previous life. Any of my former patients to recognize me?

I know I can finish. It’s not a long run. What time will I do? What is a good time? What is a bad time? Who cares? Time is irrelevant. What does matter then? I want to have a good run. To enjoy the run. How do I do that?

I want to be in the zone. To have that moment when my mind and my body are one. To have that moment when I am thinking of nothing but running. That moment when I am so consumed with running, I know nothing about the future or the past. And if I achieve this one moment with my mind and body working together I may find my limits. I might find what I am capable of.  I might know myself a little deeper.

Race day is overcast. Looks ominous. In the past I used to look out the window and guess. Today I go to the internet and it tells me there is a 90% chance of showers. I can’t argue with the net. It’s not allowed.

We get a lift to the start.

We see a milling crowd of people, dressed to run. I don’t see any faces I recognize and names that I have forgotten. I head for the tail of the group and then without warning a gun fires and people, in the front, start to run. We don’t. We shuffle and walk. Should I start to run?  Some people are walking. Others jogging. Eventually I run and stop and then run and then walk behind a slow group. Every time I pass one person I look ahead and see other obstacles. I can go around them either left or right. And children everywhere.

We are now officially  running. Me and the crowd. Now to avoid people. I need to avoid bumping or falling. I need to avoid people who veer suddenly. Why did she do that? And I’ve got to get away from this pram. And puddles appear. Need to avoid them as well. And the footpath is slippery. And uneven. Road or footpath. What should I take? I jump between the two. And then back.

This fun run has to start to open up. It has to become easier. As I am thinking this, the second lap starts, and it suddenly becomes easier. I start to run smoothly. I have some open space around me. Around me everybody is in a routine. Nobody is relentlessly lapping others or being passed by everybody. Everybody is staying in their position and running. Now I can try and start running. To think about my running. To forget about slipping, bumping and falling. My legs are working. My arms are pumping. My lungs are breathing. It’s all working. I start to speed up and overtake people.

We approach the finish. A marshal says something. I stop and go back to hear what he said. He tells me the route to take. I have just lost twenty seconds. Now I have to finish.

There is no finish line. Just a bump in the road which might be talking to my timing chip. Nobody to say anything. I look around and see Melissa and Bradley. Melissa tells me to walk through that crowd over there and pick up my medallion. I approach the crowd and a lady miraculously sees me and gives me a medallion.   I look for a clock. Nothing. Ah well I will find out my time on the website.

Ignoring my time did I have a god run? Well yes. I’m alive. I can put one leg in front of another.  I can still run. That’s positive. And on the negative side. My time will be worse than anything I have done previously. At the start I was not fluid. I stuttered and stammered. And the result. I will do the same again. Another fun run. But next time I want to push myself. To try and approach my limits. To find something out about myself physically. 

I ask Melissa and Bradley about Lorna. They tell me where we should stand to see her.  We stand and then she appears and now we are all finished. Nothing is happening so we go. And Melissa tells us the bad news.

“I couldn’t get a coffee. They would only accept cash.”

Chapter 39 : Retired : not tired

I haven’t worked for ten months and I can now say, “I am retired.” Not proudly, sorta of softly.

I am starting to think like a retired[1] person, not an infirm person forced by medical issues to stop working. What does that mean?

It means the appointments with doctors have dried up. They have lost interest in me. My appointment book is devoid of appointments to visit and discuss my health with people who don’t care about me and people I care passionately about. Day after day of nothing planned. No visits to doctors or hospitals or physiotherapists or psychologists or pathology labs or radiology departments or ….

So I am no longer sick. Or ill. Well what am I? The answer would be, “I am retired”.

Well what is that like? What is it like to be retired?  What does this stage involve?

Well it is a common experience. I personally know many people who have retired. I can say it is never the way expected. Everybody thinks about it before it arrives.  Everybody has a tentative plan.  When it actually happens it is never the way it was envisioned. Your life will change in unexpected and unpredicted ways.  It will be different. To the people heading towards retirement I say, “Keep an open mind. Stay flexible. Welcome change. Change is not good or bad.”

In retirement what have I found? I have found a lack of purpose or a lack of meaning.  I have found that I need goals. Something to aim for. My work used to supply me with all these goals. Give me something to think about. Something to contemplate. That’s now gone. Now I have to invent or make up and tell myself my goals. I then have to write them down.

Before writing down my goals I need to work out what my goals are. To do this I need to get to know myself. For so long my personality was related to my work. You couldn’t separate me from my work. I was a dentist.  I need to know myself which means finding out what I am if you take my job away.  I need to find myself and then I can find out my goals.   I have entered a new land. The infinite land. The land that stretches forever in all directions. The land full of limitless possibilities.  To know myself is obviously more difficult and terrifying but also potentially more exciting and wondrous.

In retirement another issue is the lack of rewards for achieving anything. I need to find a way to reward myself for achieving things.  The rewards have to come from myself and they have to relate to my goals and interests.  My main goals/interests have turned out to be physical. Tennis, running, swimming. My rewards have to relate to my goals which have to follow from finding myself.  

Another thing I have found in retirement is a lack of pride/confidence. One day I was owning, running, working in a dental practice in the center of Hobart. The signs outside displayed my name to the world. I had constant daily feedback telling me that I existed. The feedback may have been positive or negative but it all related to what I had done. It was always about me. Now nothing. I now do many things which are un-noticed. Things which don’t result in any feedback. Perhaps my problem is I was so high before. I was in a job where I was unavoidably the one. The boss. Now I am not the one. Other people spend their whole lives where I am now. I just have to get used to it. Stop complaining and get on with it.

  

In retirement another issue is the days of the week change. When working you often have 5 days of work followed by 2 days of weekend rest to get ready for the next week of work.  When retired you cannot divide your week into working days and resting days. Every day is the same. What can I do?

Well I am doing things I do not get paid for. I can define everything I do as neither work nor rest Things unrelated to money. Things I enjoy doing. It is a great feeling to have. I do what I want to.

And I am making myself sound unbelievable selfish. I am a person who only ever does what I want to. How selfish is that? The reality is I do lots of things I would rather not. Things that involve fitting in with other people. Because it’s expected. I like the idea that  every day contains various activities. Some are completely my choice; some are other people’s choices; some involve planning and preparation; some just happen spontaneously. 

Once I did think that when I retired I would do voluntary work. I would join an organization and help people. I can now see that this would have given me goals; a purpose and reaffirmed my worth. It would have constantly told me that I was important and needed. For some reason I see voluntary work as a solution that doesn’t attract me though I am sure I will from time to time do things which could be considered as voluntary work.

And the biggest issue in my retirement. Is deciding when to shave. I can’t get it right. When working I used to shave every day. Now I can’t develop a habit of shaving every day. I only have to shave when I have to. I wait 2/3 days ; the stubble irritates me and then I try to shave. It hurts and is difficult.  Is a beard the solution? I don’t think so. It would change my appearance and irritate me.

And now whenever I see someone with a few days growth, I know. I know he is either pretending to be Yasser Arafat or he is retired and doesn’t know when to shave.

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[1] I don’t like the word retired. It suggests that work is my life and that I had period studying, preparing for work and a period after work when I am not working. I prefer to say I have now entered the next period of my life. It is not inferior to working. It is different. It is the third/fourth stage of life. It is not more important or less important than other stages. It is just different. In this post I have from time to time used the word retired. I do not like using the word but people understand it and at times it is easy to just use the word.

Chapter 38 : Don't care for me

Please don’t care for me. Please don’t look after me. Don’t make me safe crossing the road. Don’t protect me from dangers. Don’t make me safe and sound. Don’t clean up after me.

Please don’t say, “I do everything for you. I don’t know where you would be without me.”

Please don’t care for me. Don’t clean my messy face after eating. Don’t make me neat and tidy. Don’t say, “What would you do without me?”

Please don’t care for me. Don’t transport me around. Don’t help me in the garden. Don’t say, “I never have a moment to myself. A moment when I think of nothing but you.”

Please don’t care for me. Please don’t. Please care about me. Not for me. Care about me and I will care about you. Care about me and my emotions and I will care about you and your emotions. Care about my feelings and I will care about your feelings. Care about my self-confidence and I will care about your self-confidence and we will both flourish.

Care about my pride and my pride will flourish. I want to do things I can be proud of. To do things I can tell people about. To cook for people and listen to them say, “That was nice.”

And this town is full of ex-patients of mine whom I randomly meet. To all of them I say, please don’t tell me what a good dentist I was. Please don’t tell me how I did a great job treating your family. Please don’t depress me because it depresses me to hear about things I can no longer do. Please don’t talk about the past.

Next time we meet in the street, say hello.  You can thank me for everything I did. That’s okay. And then I will thank you and say that you gave me more than I ever gave you.  I was the winner in our relationship. And then talk about the future. About all the great things coming in the future for both of us. Care about my future and I will care about your future.

And talk about the wonders of life. How great it is. 

Talk about your new dentist. Tell me how great he/she is. I will be happy if you have a successful new relationship. That pleases me. It means we can all get on with our lives and move forward. We can plan for the future. Or we can let the future arrive and enjoy the way it surprises and delights us.

Please don’t care for me. Care about me. And our futures will be wonderful.

Chapter 37 : Letter to neuropsychologist

Alan Carlton

1.7.81

Dear S,

                Thank you for doing your job. I feel that I have been the recipient of very good care. For a lot of the time I have felt the care has been unjustified.  I am undeserving and  am nothing but very humble.

                In the last few weeks my rehabilitation has gone ahead dramatically. One thing I have tried is meditation. It is not something we discussed and I do not know your thoughts on the topic but for me, at the moment, there seem to be no side effects and fantastic benefits.

                I know that you are seeing Bradley. And that you have a job to do and that you will do it. But as well as that, please think about the following:

                I would like Bradley to think about his future. To imagine a future where he sees himself as a health professional. A future where he both studies (at Uni) and then (post study) cares for people. He is definitely capable of both. The way to do this is to be yourself and do your job. If you do that you might, in some small way, help to inspire him. Maybe sometime in the future you will work alongside him.

                                               

Regards Alan Carlton

                                                 

Chapter 36 : Standing on one leg

Dark Mofo occurs on a cold evening in Hobart in the middle of winter. That is reality. Dark Mofo finishes, on the winter solstice, with a naked open water swim. You could say that the winter solstice and the middle of winter are the same time of year.

 

We wander around Dark Mofo. Many people standing, walking or milling. Food stalls try and temp us. We succumb and walk around the stalls looking. We are looking for the wow factor. Some food to excite us. Some food to say, “I am new and different. I am celebrating the middle of winter. I am warm. I am scrumptious. I am proud to be Tasmanian. I am tasty.”

We wait in queues and order food without any excitement. We eat as it starts to rain. Nobody wants to criticize the rain. Everybody is inclined to say, “You have to expect this sort of weather in winter. It’s an outdoor event. It’s adding to the atmosphere.”

We take another bite and shuffle towards the open fires. The open fires add ever-changing lights, flickering shadows and smoke to the vista. You could even say they add atmosphere. We were never close enough to say they add heat.

A few days later I have my appointment with the neuropsychologist. Almost the perfect appointment. Not anxious or stressed about any possible results.  No taking of blood. I can summarize what I think she said.

Everything I see is consistent with the injuries that you have suffered. In general there has been significant improvement since your injury occurred. Different areas do different things and in your case the damage was confined to certain areas. Areas such as memory and attention. At the moment your brain is still healing. It takes about twelve months for the brain tissue to heal itself and recover. After that you will get more adaption than healing.  The best way to improve the brain is to practice doing what you want it to do.

What can I say about the results? I am surprised how long after the injury the brain is still healing itself. Though it fits in with the way I feel. I feel like I am still getting better and better. Now I at least know. I will continue to improve for a few more months.  Some areas are more damaged than other areas. I suppose I knew that. It has highlighted to me that the brain is not a homogenous entity performing the same things everywhere.  The whole process has made the brain seem like the most amazing organ. I love her attitude towards practice. Everybody should practice what they enjoy doing or want to do. They will get better at it. 

There is one thing I have got better at. I can now put my underpants or bathers on when standing up. I no longer have to sit on the bed or chair or bench in order to put my underpants on. I can stand on one leg and raise the other leg. This is a major achievement which I have kept to myself. A private little victory.  A victory without a name but it feels good. It feels good to go the pool, have a swim, and then take your bathers off while standing up. Avoiding sitting down on the benches. Ahh life is good and getting better.

Chapter 35 : A Neuropsychology test

A Neuropsychology test.  That is what I am due for. What does it mean?

According to the leaflets I have been given, Neuropsychology is linking the structure and function of the brain to the way it behaves.  The neuropsychology test will consist of lots of tests. Each of the different tests are looking at different parts or functions of the brain.

In my case they are using the tests or the test results to assess the brain. Has the brain healed and recovered? They do not have a measurement of where the brain was before my hospital trip. When they assess my brain via tests then they will compare to the average. According to the sheet I was given your scores are judged against normal scores for your age and educational background.

Neuropsychology tests can:

Identify weaknesses in specific areas.

Help differentiate amongst various illnesses.

Help plan treatment. Target areas to work on.

In my case I hope they take my results, compare them to what they think is normal and then say that my brain is functioning very well. I am not looking for a diagnosis or help with my rehabilitation. I want to move on. I just want the tick of approval. The pass mark.  The result that says that I am normal. That I have recovered from my brain injury.

This assessment I am about to have, relates to three things which were taken off me.

I was deregistered as a practicing dentist.

Power of attorney was taken away from me.  This means control of my bank accounts/investments was taken off me.

My driving license was suspended.

The theory is actions were taken because I failed a neuropsychology test. I no longer remember being given this test.  I have been told I was given the test when I was obviously suffering from a traumatic brain injury. When I was partially conscious. I had no hope of passing. And now I am being retested.

Start with the waiting room. Door that opens automatically. How does it do that? I look for a camera or something recording movement of people. Inside are rows of empty chairs.  A water cooler with disposable cups is next to a magazine rack. The magazines are Tasmanian ones that belong in holiday accommodation for tourists. Also house, home and cooking magazines. A TV is on the wall. Captions, talking heads and the news. Behind a glass wall are some staff, computers and phones.

Nobody to watch.  Nobody to talk to. My name is called by someone looking directly at me. We follow. The psychologist has the prime seat behind a desk. Two chairs this side of the desk. We chat about why we are here and what we are doing or going to do.

She is very professional, neat and tidy. The right amount of professional friendliness. Answers all the questions. Talks when she has to. Silent when has to.  Cannot be criticized in any way (she might read this).

The tests vary. Most involve shapes, colors, words, numbers, pictures or diagrams. Some involve drawing or writing on sheets. Some involve listening and verbal answers. Some involve picking the correct answer on a sheet.  We proceed with test after test after test. When my head is spinning from thinking, a new test is unveiled which she reads and explains. My mind wanders to thoughts about who invented such a test; what is the aim of this test? And how do you do it?  And she presses on with the next test and once again I spend my time trying to work out how to do it.

How did I feel?  At times, especially initially, I felt good.  I felt like I was sitting on an airplane filling in time. And then I remembered I was going to be given a mark. These tests were all going to be assessed. I was not doing this for fun. After a lot of them I felt like discussing them with the person next to me. Who didn’t exist.

As the tests went on I became more deflated than elated. The memory tests really galled. I knew when I couldn’t remember the answer. It was obvious. Other tests were not so deflating.  A piece of paper with a puzzle was put in front of you. You were given instructions on what to do. Then you did it. You didn’t know if you had done it correctly. You weren’t told that. She just took the test and filed it in her folder.  And immediately the next test appeared. Basically I can’t describe the tests because there were so many and they were all different and I can’t say how I went because I don’t know.

She had work to do. She had a job to do. I had a job to do.  We were both working. I did feel like discussing some of the tests with someone else who had also done them. Discussing the way to solve it. Discussing the traps and pitfalls. Seeing how they had coped or worked it out. Very occasionally I detected some faint glimmer of feedback. I had done well or badly. Either way it didn’t matter because we were on to the next test. Left the old one behind.

Some of the tests were vaguely recognizable. I listen to a story and then it’s my turn. Can I retell the story? Testing memory. Got that. Other tests I had no idea what they were trying to prove or not prove. If I did this successfully what did it mean?

When we finished she tells me that she will tell me the results at our next appointment. In about a week.  I feel a bit deflated. Or maybe just tired. Tiredness is probably understandable after two hours of tests. It had to be done. I know my brain has recovered. Has it been proved? Will I be given a piece of paper saying that my brain is functioning well? On my way home I watch people walking the streets. They are all going about their lives. Doing what they want. And most of them haven’t been tested. Most of them haven’t got the proof.