up after sleeping for a week in his clothes. I
ordered anyway and the greasy meal ended mostly in the trash.
Later that night, I started feeling really
sick. By the time that I started coming down through the Adelaide
Hills, I knew that I was in trouble and there was no doubt in my
mind that I had been poisoned from that filthy cafe back in
Melbourne. Doubled over with pain, I managed to find a hospital in
Adelaide and staggered into the Emergency Room.
After some poking and swearing on my part, a
nurse came back in with a clipboard: “sign this if you wouldn't
mind.” She was polite enough and so was I for the most part until
she explained to me that it was a consent form for an operation.
When I refused, the Doctor came back.
There are some people in the medical
profession that have the gift of an excellent bedside manner;
kindly, patient and well versed in the art of putting a sick person
at ease. The gentleman before me with the beard and bad attitude
was not one of them. “Okay, here's the situation, your appendix
needs to come out, if we don't operate and it bursts, there's a
pretty good chance that you'll die, this needs to be done soon so
just sign the damn form and let's get going here huh.” Another
round of pain hit me about then so I signed his damn form.
The operation was over, I was still alive and
feeling like I'd been hit by a train. Doctor Hasty made an
appearance later in the day and he was still full of attitude
“feeling okay? Glad we got it, I'd say you had about fifteen
minutes before I may not have been able to save you, you shouldn't
have piddled about so long.” I was too sore to argue with him. “You
can go tomorrow, what's the home situation?” I told him that there
wasn't one and that I was just passing through. It was a long
weekend and he was worried about me driving he said so he asked me
to stay for a few more days “just in case.” I had nowhere else to
go apart from the road so I agreed.
That night, they put someone in the bed
beside me and I dozed off. A few hours later I hear a voice “hey
mate, got a smoke?” He was a short, red-headed guy with a real dry
sense of humor and we hit it off right away. “Charlie” he said by
way of introduction, “I'm an alcoholic, they brought me in from the
park because I was having alcoholic seizures, you?” As I got to
know him, I found out that he actually did live in the park and he
explained that the hospital was now his second home.
Charlie had drank away everything that ever
mattered to him, his wife, his three children, his own family and
now as the insanity of alcoholism threatened to take his life, he
was past caring. It was an honest discussion, he told me about his
frequent visits to the alcoholism ward and when I asked him how
long he thought he could keep it up, Charlie went all quiet and
very thoughtfully said “well, when you get to the stage of
institutions mate, you don't have a lot of drinking left in you
that's for sure.”
We shared that room for a few more days,
talked about everything imaginable to pass the time as the dreary
routine of the ward went on around us. On the Tuesday, I hit the
road and Charlie and his bottle went back to the city park. A few
years later, I ran into Charlie again in a Sydney department store.
He had moved to Sydney to be near his family and I was shocked by
the changes; sober, healthy and walking through a mall with one of
his kids. Charlie had found the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous and
it had saved his life.
Sam And The Guy With The
Towel
After the west, I went to visit Tasmania then
returned to the mainland, spent some time in Melbourne and started
to review my options. Feeling a little bored with life, I started
thinking seriously about going overseas for the first time. I
couldn't decide to go or stay but one thing was for sure: either
way, I needed a job and I needed some cash.
The want ads in the paper didn't impress me
and this old dog was not in the mood for learning
ordered anyway and the greasy meal ended mostly in the trash.
Later that night, I started feeling really
sick. By the time that I started coming down through the Adelaide
Hills, I knew that I was in trouble and there was no doubt in my
mind that I had been poisoned from that filthy cafe back in
Melbourne. Doubled over with pain, I managed to find a hospital in
Adelaide and staggered into the Emergency Room.
After some poking and swearing on my part, a
nurse came back in with a clipboard: “sign this if you wouldn't
mind.” She was polite enough and so was I for the most part until
she explained to me that it was a consent form for an operation.
When I refused, the Doctor came back.
There are some people in the medical
profession that have the gift of an excellent bedside manner;
kindly, patient and well versed in the art of putting a sick person
at ease. The gentleman before me with the beard and bad attitude
was not one of them. “Okay, here's the situation, your appendix
needs to come out, if we don't operate and it bursts, there's a
pretty good chance that you'll die, this needs to be done soon so
just sign the damn form and let's get going here huh.” Another
round of pain hit me about then so I signed his damn form.
The operation was over, I was still alive and
feeling like I'd been hit by a train. Doctor Hasty made an
appearance later in the day and he was still full of attitude
“feeling okay? Glad we got it, I'd say you had about fifteen
minutes before I may not have been able to save you, you shouldn't
have piddled about so long.” I was too sore to argue with him. “You
can go tomorrow, what's the home situation?” I told him that there
wasn't one and that I was just passing through. It was a long
weekend and he was worried about me driving he said so he asked me
to stay for a few more days “just in case.” I had nowhere else to
go apart from the road so I agreed.
That night, they put someone in the bed
beside me and I dozed off. A few hours later I hear a voice “hey
mate, got a smoke?” He was a short, red-headed guy with a real dry
sense of humor and we hit it off right away. “Charlie” he said by
way of introduction, “I'm an alcoholic, they brought me in from the
park because I was having alcoholic seizures, you?” As I got to
know him, I found out that he actually did live in the park and he
explained that the hospital was now his second home.
Charlie had drank away everything that ever
mattered to him, his wife, his three children, his own family and
now as the insanity of alcoholism threatened to take his life, he
was past caring. It was an honest discussion, he told me about his
frequent visits to the alcoholism ward and when I asked him how
long he thought he could keep it up, Charlie went all quiet and
very thoughtfully said “well, when you get to the stage of
institutions mate, you don't have a lot of drinking left in you
that's for sure.”
We shared that room for a few more days,
talked about everything imaginable to pass the time as the dreary
routine of the ward went on around us. On the Tuesday, I hit the
road and Charlie and his bottle went back to the city park. A few
years later, I ran into Charlie again in a Sydney department store.
He had moved to Sydney to be near his family and I was shocked by
the changes; sober, healthy and walking through a mall with one of
his kids. Charlie had found the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous and
it had saved his life.
Sam And The Guy With The
Towel
After the west, I went to visit Tasmania then
returned to the mainland, spent some time in Melbourne and started
to review my options. Feeling a little bored with life, I started
thinking seriously about going overseas for the first time. I
couldn't decide to go or stay but one thing was for sure: either
way, I needed a job and I needed some cash.
The want ads in the paper didn't impress me
and this old dog was not in the mood for learning
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