“Hmmm. I’ll make an appointment for you to see the nurse who will give you a spirometry test. It will measure your lung capacity. It only takes a few moments.”
“Thank you, doctor. Is my blood pressure acceptable?”
“It’s a bit high. I will prescribe some tablets to keep it under control.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s look at your blood test results. Cholesterol is normal, good. What’s this?” he said, peering at another sheet. “Hmmm, it seems your PSA level is slightly higher than normal. Yours is 5.1 and it should be lower.”
“Sorry doctor, what’s PSA?”
“Prostate Specific Antigen. It’s an enzyme found in the blood produced by prostate cells. Normal levels of PSA in the blood are small amounts between zero and three, at the most four. Higher levels can be caused by cancer or non-cancerous conditions such as an enlarged prostate. All high readings of PSA should be checked.”
“Actually I did want my prostate checked. My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer but luckily his was caught in time.”
“Well, Mr Twead, there’s no time like the present,” he said cheerfully. “Drop your trousers and underpants and lie down on the bed on your side.”
Joe gaped at him for a moment, then did as he was told. Nervousness made him attempt humour.
“This is a bit...um...sudden, Doctor!” Then, “Is it going to be painful?”
“Not at all. You may feel a slight discomfort, but that’s all. Draw your knees up. That’s it. Now lie still.”
The good doctor inserted a finger into Joe’s rectum and Joe could feel it touching parts of his body that nobody had ever touched before. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. The investigation lasted only a few moments.
“Your prostate is slightly enlarged,” the doctor announced, snapping off his rubber glove, “so I am going to refer you to a specialist for a digital rectal examination...”
“What do you mean by digital, Doctor?” Joe asked, expecting a high-tech explanation.
“This,” he said, holding up his forefinger, “is the digit we use.”
“Oh!”
“You will get a letter in the post about the appointment. In the meantime, I want you to see Louise, our respiratory nurse here at the medical centre. She is here on Fridays, so do be a good chap and make an appointment.”
“Did you make an appointment?”
“Yes, I see Nurse Louise this Friday.”
“Good.”
“So what else have you been doing apart from playing with Indy and scaring Karly with fake spiders?”
“She started it!”
“What about your steps? Have you been keeping them up?”
“Yup! Actually, I’ve set my daily target to thirteen thousand now. It’s not too difficult, what with chasing round after Indy. Or Indy chasing after us. I’ll email you a little video of us thundering round the house. Cam sneakily filmed us on his phone.”
“Right, I’ll look forward to that.”
(If any readers would like to view this rather silly video clip, you’ll find it here: http://www.victoriatwead.com/running-round-in-circles/ I’ve password protected it, as it wouldn’t make sense to anybody who hasn’t read this book. If you type STEPS into the box, it should open.)
“And LJ needs walking every day. We usually go to the local showground where there’s an off-leash park, and LJ has a good run with Karly while I play with Indy in the children’s area.”
It was true, thirteen thousand steps a day wasn’t too difficult a target to reach with a toddler and large dog in the house. And we reached it easily the day we visited Narrabeen lake.
I highly recommend Narrabeen for a visit. It has four sandy beaches, a wonderful shallow lagoon and an extremely picturesque lake. Narrabeen has two very different claims to world fame. It was mentioned in the Beach Boys’ song, Surfin’ U.S.A, and in January 2005, workmen excavating beside a bus shelter found a skeleton, which turned out to be the 4,000-year-old remains of a man. He has become known as Narrabeen Man.
But it isn’t surfing or ancient skeletons that spring to my mind when I think of Narrabeen.
I think of ducks.
Menacing ducks.
As we drove into Narrabeen, pelicans sat above us, perched on lamp posts, observing the activity below. Parking was easy and we took Indy’s hands.
“We’re going to feed the ducks,” Karly told her.
My mind jumped back more than thirty-five years to when I used to save our stale bread and took Karly and her brother to feed the ducks near our house in Sussex.
“And you can go on the swings, Indy.”
We headed for the nearest playground.
“I can’t see any ducks,” I commented.
“Ducks! Where are ’oo!” shouted Indy.
It didn’t matter. We finished in the playground and carried on walking along the lakeside path. Trees shaded us and twigs snapped underfoot. The flat water of Narrabeen lake sparkled.
“Well, I think we wasted our time bringing bread for the ducks,” I said.
“Wait, there’s one!” said Karly.
A single white duck emerged from the bushes alongside the path.
“Duck!” said Indy. “’ere y’are, duck-duck!”
She flung a piece of bread towards it. Two-year-olds are not renowned for their overarm throwing ability, and the bread landed just in front of her shoe.
The duck, with a gleam in its eye, charged forward. It snapped up the piece on the ground, then launched itself at the bread Indy still held in her hand.
Indy stepped back. Another duck popped out from nowhere. It was at that moment I realised that the bushes lining the path were alive with ducks.
To our right, leaves parted, and ducks pushed their way out. On the other side, more ducks emerged. A huge army of white ducks was gathering, and they were all waddling in our direction.
Indy froze. Her eyes grew large and her expression changed to one of fear. She turned and bolted. Karly sprang after her daughter, snatching her up in her arms.
“They’re just ducks,” she said. “They won’t hurt you.”
But her tone lacked conviction.
She was walking backwards with Indy in her arms, but the ducks were beginning to gather round her feet, matching her speed, jumping up to reach the bread.
“Mum!” she squeaked. “Help!”
“Drop the bread!” I said and tried shooing them away.
Karly emptied the whole bag and Indy dropped her piece. In seconds the bread disappeared in a feeding frenzy of snarling ducks.
Bushes in front of us began to spit out ducks. More ducks appeared from behind trees and dustbins, from everywhere. On the lake, flotillas of ducks were paddling over to us, their formations drawing giant Vs in the water.
I tried to reason with them.
“We don’t have any bread!” I yelled. “It’s all gone!”
The bread may have been long gone, but the ducks were still coming, clearly convinced we had loaves concealed about our persons.
We turned and started walking quickly back the way we had come, but the ducks were not to be put off. However fast we walked, the ducks kept up. They were always right behind, cackling, heads down, webbed feet pumping as they waddled after us.
“Have you seen behind us?” I panted.
Karly turned her head, and saw what I had just seen. Almost the entire ground behind us was covered by a bobbing sea of white ducks, waddling as fast as they could to keep up with us.
“Mum, run!”
I didn’t need telling twice.
We ran.
The ducks soon accepted defeat, apart from a few determined individuals that took off and flapped after us for a few feet. Then they, too, gave up and began to melt away. We didn’t stop running until we were back in the car and had closed the doors behind us.
“That was surreal!”
“I’ve never seen so many ducks!”
“I never knew ducks could be so
menacing.”
“I hope we haven’t given Indy a duck phobia.”
I still recommend Narrabeen lake for a lovely, tranquil walk.
But I don’t recommend feeding the ducks.
Early mornings were a good time to catch Joe for an online chat because it was his evening. I always awoke around six o’clock when the birds were at their noisiest. I would lie still, listening to the birdsong, tempted to wake Karly so that she, too, could hear the Happy Birthday bird. Then my iPad would ping, and I knew Joe was free for a chat.
“Did you go and see Nurse Louise today?”
“I did.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, she made me blow into a mouthpiece which was attached to a machine. She said the machine recorded how much air was left in my lungs after I had exhaled. Then she looked at the printout and said, ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid you have COPD.’”
“What on earth is that?”
“Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.”
“Is it serious?”
“That’s what I asked. She said it can be but if I manage it properly, with medicines and exercise, I should be fine.”
“So it’s nothing to worry about?”
Pause.
“Joe?”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
“Wait a minute! Is there any cure?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! But what does that mean? I don’t understand!”
“It means I will always struggle to breathe.”
“Oh no!”
“I know. Like I said, it’s not good news.”
“But what exactly is COPD?”
“It’s an umbrella term, really. It’s the name they give a collection of lung diseases. People with COPD have trouble breathing, due to damage done to their lungs. In my case, the air sacs around the lungs that normally expand and contract during breathing are breaking down, making it hard for me to carry air in and out of my lungs.”
“That sounds terrible. Will it get worse?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so. It’s up to me to eat properly, and exercise regularly. That will help, so Nurse Louise said. And take all the medicines and inhalers they prescribe for me.”
The Happy Birthday bird could have been singing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody and I wouldn’t have noticed. This was the worst news.
It was a good thing neither of us could see into the future, because there was more bad stuff heading our way.
Fabulous Shellfish Stew
Guisado de mariscos
This hearty fish stew is great when you have company. You can do all your preparation beforehand, which leaves you free to spend time with your guests.
Ingredients (serves 4)
A good handful of shell-on prawns
A good handful of shell-off prawns
3-4 large fillets of firm white fish (raw) chopped into 2cm (1in) cubes
Enough mussels (in shells) to allow 3 or 4 for each person
2 tins of chopped tomatoes
1-4 cloves of garlic
Crushed chilli flakes, or chopped fresh chillies – to taste
Mixed herbs - about a heaped teaspoon
1 medium onion, finely chopped
Method
Cover the base of a large saucepan with olive oil, and heat gently.
Chop the onion finely, and cook it slowly until it turns translucent.
Add the garlic, the mixed herbs and chilli.
Stir for a couple of minutes, taking care not to burn it.
Add the tinned tomatoes.
Keep it simmering (stirring occasionally) for about half an hour until it resembles a sloppy sauce.
Pour in about half a litre (1 pint) of water and bring to the boil. As soon as it hits boiling point, add the white fish first, then five minutes later, all the shellfish.
Bring back to the boil, then lower the heat to simmer for another 5 minutes.
Serve with plenty of crusty bread.
12
GIVE ME YOUR BLOOD
Australia’s homes and gardens are packed with wildlife. One only needs to know where to look. Some examples one may not wish to encounter, like the deadly funnel-web spider who hides himself in tunnels, waiting for his dinner to walk past.
In the hot summer months, male funnel-webs often wander, searching for a mate. Unfortunately, they are attracted to water and frequently fall into swimming pools where they can survive for many hours. It’s not a good idea to stand on one with bare feet, and should one choose to rescue a submerged spider, beware. Funnel-webs defend themselves vigorously if threatened. Their fangs are large, and the toxin they deliver will probably send you to hospital, if not the morgue.
Much more welcome is the aptly-named blue-tongue.
One day I was working in my lair when I heard the Margarets sending out frantic alarm calls. They were clearly agitated.
“Come and see!” called Cam, who had also been disturbed by the excited Margarets.
I walked round and found the cause of the excitement. An amazing, prehistoric creature squatted in the sunshine in front of the Margarets’ run, his long blue tongue flicking as he tested the air.
“What is it?”
“It’s a blue-tongue, a kind of skink.”
What an amazing creature he was! The word ‘skink’ comes from Scincidae, which means shiny-scaled, and this skink’s scales positively gleamed in the sun. The blue-tongue didn’t seem at all put out by my scrutiny as I stared at his large body, stumpy arms and legs and diamond-shaped head.
The Margarets didn’t trust this visitor, but in spite of his size (blue-tongues often reach sixty centimeters, or two feet in length) he wouldn’t have done them any harm. Blue-tongues feed primarily on plant matter, beetles, slugs and snails and although their teeth are ferocious-looking, they are blunt. Indeed, blue-tongues only bite under extreme provocation, and their primary defence strategy is bluff.
They may hiss and open their mouths wide to reveal a shocking pink mouth edged with teeth, contrasting with a blue tongue. But usually they just sit quietly, even allowing humans to pick them up. Small wonder that they are popular pets. Blue-tongues can live to be twenty years old and I imagine this particular fellow had called this garden home long before my family moved in, certainly long before Indy was born.
The Margarets alerted me to another reptile stalking their coop. I was alone at the time, and when I investigated, at first I saw nothing. The Margarets were so upset that they had leapt up onto their roosting perch, peering through a high, meshed window whilst sending out hysterical alarm calls.
And then I saw it, probably at the same time as it saw me. I caught the movement, and just for a second, I thought it was an enormously thick snake. But it wasn’t, it was a goanna, or monitor lizard. It was on the ground not far from the coop and we eyed each other.
And it was big.
Commonly, goannas average around 140cm (four and a half feet) in length and are great opportunists. They’ll eat just about anything, so the Margarets were justifiably upset by this one’s presence, although they were probably too large a meal for this particular goanna to tackle.
I felt quite nervous, but the goanna was even more wary of me and clambered up the nearest tree. It was the same colour as the bark, and I did attempt to photograph it in case I was doubted. Still nobody believed me about the existence of the Happy Birthday bird so I felt I needed proof. Unfortunately, that photo no longer exists for reasons I’ll explain later.
Each day the temperature rose a little as Christmas drew closer. In the UK, the days were chilly and brief, but in New South Wales it was midsummer, and hot. It was a relief to take LJ for bush walks where the trees and plants blocked out the sun and kept the temperature cool.
Unfortunately, this damp, dark environment is paradise for other Australian wildlife hazards.
My daughter worked from home, which fitted in nicely with looking after Indy. I wasn’t totally sure what she did, somet
hing to do with co-ordinating labour and materials.
“Let’s go for a bush walk when Indy wakes up,” she said one day, stretching. “I need a break and LJ will appreciate a walk.”
We strolled down the street, then cut between two houses, reaching rough ground, a firebreak separating the houses from the bush. These firebreaks are omnipresent, the gap in vegetation vital for slowing the progress of a potential bushfire.
Beyond the firebreak, the Australian bush was dense. Palm fronds and creepers knitted together overhead, and scrubby plants grew in all directions alongside the winding trail we walked along.
Mosquitoes were so plentiful that they drifted in little clouds, their high-pitched whine unbearable as they flew round our heads.
“Did you bring any insect repellent?” I asked.
“No!”
“Me neither.”
We were being eaten alive.
“Okay, let’s get out. This isn’t fun.”
Rubbing our bites, we hurried out and back into the sunshine, then headed home. However, mosquitoes weren’t the only things determined to suck our blood.
“Do you mind watching Indy while I make a few important work calls?” Karly asked when we returned. “I need to speak to a new contractor I’m taking on.”
“Of course not,” I said, and she disappeared into her office.
Indy and I settled down to playing mermaids, Indy’s favourite game of the moment. It involved wearing tiaras and ‘swimming’ in the ocean (actually the wood floor) and was perhaps a little more gymnastic than I would have chosen.
As we swam past Karly’s office, I could hear her speaking.
“So you’ve been allocated another P5? Wonderful. … Yes, yes, that’s good to hear.”
I couldn’t help admiring her pleasant, confident businesslike telephone manner, a sharp contrast to my own. I don’t like the phone at all, and my sentences always come out wrong.
But it didn’t last. Suddenly Karly’s voice changed, and I sat up in mid-stroke.
Two Old Fools in Turmoil Page 10
