A man was calling my name rather urgently (and loudly) and I realised with some surprise that I was still alive (!) and possibly still in the operating theatre. I heard him call, "David!" again quite loudly and I did my best to make a slurring reply. "I'm going to put some moist pads on your eyes after you shut them. I'm going to dim the lights in the theatre, then I'm going to ask you some questions. Do your best to answer them accurately." Again, I slurred some kind of understanding. "Do you see any stars in your field of vision, and are they at the top or the bottom?" Incredibly, I could. I told him there was a red background colour and stars in the upper half of my vision. He then asked me again and I replied that the stars were now in the lower field of vision on the left side. The surgeon then said, "David, we'll put you to sleep again now." I slurred my understanding and just before I lapsed into unconsciousness again I heard the surgeon say to someone else in the theatre that "we're spot on with the positioning." 

I was undergoing DBS (Deep Brain Stimulation), a form of brain surgery meant to alleviate severe symptoms of Parkinson's Disease when all other methods had failed. I had reached this point after developing quite a pronounced type of cervical dystonia about 18 months ago and gradually deteriorating as the condition worsened despite different drug regimes and multiple Botox injections in my neck muscles. I'd been reduced to about one awkward hour a day of activity, when I'd try to pack in some exercise, before seeking refuge on the lounge for the remainder of the day, propped up by pillows. My quality of life was very poor and I was even unable to go to the Knights' games, concerts, the cinema, or even out for a meal or a daily walk. It wasn't good!

A little over a month later, my condition is amazingly improved, if not quite perfect. My neck spasm is largely negated and my arm spasm is greatly changed, although I'm keen to see if my neurologist can tweak my device when I see him in a few days time, as the spasm has reoccurred in the last few days. He had cautioned that things might change as the swelling from the operation subsided and things settle down from the surgery, so I wasn't shocked to see my initial stellar results tempered a little with some movement returning. Anyway, it's actually quite miraculous how different things are now. Of course, considering it was major brain surgery, I'm now extremely tired each day and I'm sleeping even more than usual. I'm not allowed to do any upper body exercise until two months have elapsed and I'm not allowed to drive for three months, so Cassy has delighted in my backseat driving and need to be chauffeured everywhere(!)

So, this has been all consuming. The leadup to the surgery necessitated a pre-surgery visit for various scans and interviews with neurologists and psychiatrists for 5 days. When I managed to "pass" all the preconditions and criteria, I was then booked in for the real thing which necessitated another 10 days in hospital. I had my vital signs recorded hundreds of times and managed to survive the arctic air-conditioning in my room as well as nurse my various wounds (some of which can be seen in the photos above). My head remains lumpy from the swelling around my head wounds but most disconcerting is the neurotransmitter which has been placed in my upper chest: the surgical wound is healing nicely but it is very unsettling feeling, touching and seeing the small, rectangular battery pack under my skin! I suppose eventually I'll get used to it. Another practice I'll have to get used to (for the rest of my life, I suppose) is charging myself! I went through the weekly process this morning where I charge my handset (like a regular smartphone), the communicator and the large recharger, before getting all these devices to "talk" to each other before resting the recharger over my implanted neurotransmitter and charging up. It seems a little weird to me in these early sessions, but its pretty easy and takes about 45 minutes: I find I've run the battery down about 50% in a week, so that's pretty doable. It's just a little freaky to know I'll have to haul this paraphernalia around with me wherever I go forevermore!

We did manage some Christmas celebrations, the Drinkwater family doing their usual excellent job hosting on the day with Cass doing her tasty baked dinner on Boxing Day. We had a private party of seafood, spotted a giant bit of wildlife in the city(!) and I treated myself to a beautiful diecast remake of the 1966 Batmobile by Corgi, an exact copy of my favourite toy car when I was a little kiddie: great nostalgia!

Cass has read a succession of strange and exotic books of great quality lately but also ones which are quite heavy so I encouraged her to go "full Aussie" and read Trent Dalton's latest, "Gravity Let Me Go" which I had just read. She's enjoying it! I'm also reading quintessential Aussie fare with Jane Harper's, "Last One Out".

 I'm sure the very small readership of this blog has long ago given up on any sort of regular posting, almost certainly given up entirely. I apologise to those few, hitherto loyal, readers and trust that you might have stumbled upon this very rare post! I won't promise to post with my previous zeal but I will endeavour to get something on here every month (or two!). The reasons for my shocking lack of effort will become apparent if you read on.

I'd always felt very sorry for my dad when he retired in his early sixties, only to almost immediately be diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. He battled on and did some part time locum work for a couple of years, but was afflicted with a devastating, fast-progressing version of the disease that ultimately claimed his life by the time he was 67.

Cass and I retired when we were in our late 50s and basked in our decision and found ourselves in the fortunate position of not needing to work on. We were grateful, and keen to embrace our freedom and make the most of our new leisure time. Unfortunately, soon after, I was diagnosed with mid-range prostate cancer and elected to have my prostate removed. The operation was successful and I continue to be cancer free with only mild side effects ongoing. So, hurrah, bullet dodged! 

One day, eating my breakfast, the hand holding my spoon started to beat a staccato against the wall of the bowl. I joked with Cass that, "Oh, looks like I've got Parkinson's, too!" We were a few weeks away from embarking on a magical trip to the Middle East, so I went to the GP and he was wary of committing to a diagnosis and referred me to a neurologist. That appointment was the day after we arrived home. After shaking all over Egypt, Jordan, Israel and Türkiye it was no surprise to be diagnosed upon our return. It's been an interesting ride ever since!

Fast forward to today. I'm about to be assessed for DBS (deep brain stimulation), a type of brain surgery, as an annoying symptom I've developed (cervical dystonia) has restricted my ability to do most activities. Basically, I find myself capable of swimming or going to an exercise class for an hour or so a day, then I need to have my head supported for most of the remainder of the day. I'm in my "default position" right now writing this: sitting on the lounge with my head supported by a pillow to stop it arching backwards.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the relief a successful operation might bring. There are other symptoms that I have that I never knew were associated with Parkinson's (sorry dad!). I'm socially anxious, have drugs to calm my night terrors, have almost lost my sense of smell and I have a sensitivity to noise. My gait is slightly compromised, I have a lack of expression and, of course, I shake and lock certain muscles in flex as the regular levodopa wears off between doses. The fact that it is a degenerative, incurable disease also weighs heavily in a psychological sense, some times more than others.

So, there you have it! Re-reading this sounds a bit maudlin, but I'm pretty upbeat most of the time and Cassy is an amazing support for me in every way. I know I'm incredibly lucky to have had an amazing life and I haven't really had any real challenges until now. Let's face it, I could be living in much more dire situations in many places around the globe at the moment and I'm acutely aware of that.

Wow, January was the last post? I've been so slack! Sue and Duncan "enjoyed" the back end of the Knight's year when we were unable to go, soldiering through some terrible rainy days at times to be great supporters. Cass has gone with her mum to many ACO and Musica Viva concerts as well as out to lunch on occasions and meeting up periodically with Kristin (her sister) as well. Cass and Valerie went to South Australia (Kangaroo Island the highlight) for a special holiday and Cass also met up with her good friend Kristin in Sydney and the Blue Mountains when Kristin was visiting from Taipei on her annual big break. We managed to visit Ross and Ains in their Queenstown "batch" for a few days in April and the highlight was a special birthday present to us from them, a giddy flight to Milford Sound (seat next to the pilot form as the birthday boy!) and a spectacular day cruise. We were so spoilt by them and they catered for my spasticity so generously!

Ok, that will do for now. I'm pleased that I've "outed" myself, it was getting a little awkward not to mention the elephant in the blog! Photos: MJ the Musical (awesome!), birthday lunches, monthly coffee catchups with the boys and the last photo is my exercise physiologist, Jenny. She's a former two time Olympian (middle distance running) and I'm slightly in awe each week when I attend her class!

 

This photo was the inspiration for my short story entry for 2025. It was published in the Saturday edition of the local newspaper. I titled it, "Stormy".

Stormy 

 

Mark had made a big mistake. Striding up the big hill towards the coastal paths, he’d neglected to pay any attention to the weather. Admittedly, he’d been distracted by Charlotte’s constant chatter and need for him to be involved in her every activity: little sisters can be so painful! She had been especially needy since their dear old cat, Andy, had died last month. Their parents had asked him to be patient with her, but he just had to get out this afternoon to get some clear air. 

He loved the Anzac Walk. Most days It felt like a conveyor belt to the clouds with the sea sparkling and dancing below, usually with giant black crows dotted along the handrail, cawing loudly and studiously ignoring the human traffic. The tubular, stainless steel structure supporting the path looked like giant DNA strands. Myna birds chattered with local peewees, arguing over the rights to a stray chip. All abilities of people were catered for. The sturdy rails and non-slip tread assisted walking frames and wheelchairs. Located adjacent to a hang-gliding launch pad, a brightly coloured canopy might swoop and thrill impossibly low over the pathway. The pilot would even wave back if given a cheery greeting. Occasionally, a languid blue-tongue lizard could be spied sunning himself on one of the sandstone outcrops. The rusting silhouettes of military personnel stood guard over the walk at intervals and made Mark feel safe.  

Today, however, cast a different spell. Conditions were changing rapidly before his eyes. Huge banks of grey clouds tinged with green folded and forced themselves into an even greater mass as the sky groaned. Light rain misted downwards but was whipped and worried by swirling winds. Mark was half-way along and thought of shelter, but he was exposed and alone. As the sky made a ferocious clap above his head, lightning flashed and flickered. He began to run. 

Rain began to hammer down, as the sky continued to rumble and crash. The perforations in the pathway couldn’t cope with the huge volumes of water washing down and along. Mark slowed his run and reassessed. This wasn’t going to stop in a hurry, he was already drenched and he was getting washed away. Could he make it to the stairs at the end and try to get some cover underneath? Head down, determined, he made his dash. 

He was aware of an eerie glow emerging even as he splashed through the puddles on the path on his way to the stairs. The rain was changing too. The sheeting curtains of water were starting to break up, and heavier, plump, cold drops were punching his face. With another thunderous explosion, the drops turned to ice and the drumming started to hurt. 

Mark raced down the first flight and dived over the handrail, landing in some bushes and barking his knee just as the heavens unleashed. He scrambled under the stairs to a deafening roar, as the hail beat a staccato overhead. Giant malformed balls of ice bounced off one another and accumulated on the grass slopes beside the stairs, blanketing them with a wet glaze. Unlike other hailstorms he’d experienced, which were over before you knew it, this one seemed to be building to some distant crescendo. 

Despite the continuing deluge, Mark needed to take stock of his injuries. His knee ached from where he had fallen awkwardly, but he imagined he could still walk when he was eventually able to move from his shelter. Touching his head and face where the giant hailstones had hit revealed some soreness and, worryingly, some blood. He wiped the blood on his shorts and the second tentative swipe saw only a few minor streaks on his hands, so he thought he’d be fine. Just as he gazed out at the slightly easing maelstrom, he heard a plaintive cry. Was there a baby under here with him?! 

He looked up into the crevice under the first stair risers and realised straight away when he saw bright, green eyes staring at him. He slithered on his stomach till he could reach out, and despite some feeble swipes of defence, he managed to slide the bedraggled bundle down towards him. A tiny kitten! Mark was shocked by his find, yet the quivering creature didn’t struggle but immediately sought to snuggle against him, seeking warmth and comfort. He adjusted his shirt into a makeshift sling to cup the kitten and keep it secure and partly sheltered. He looked around under the stairs for evidence of a mother cat or other members of the litter, but there was no trace. He realised the kitten was really young and she seemed weak, underfed and abandoned. 

During his rescue mission, the hail had stopped and the rain had eased to a light shower. Mark scrambled from his shelter, carefully nursing his precious bundle in his T-shirt, slipping slightly on the icy blanket still covering the ground. He climbed back on the walk before limping along the footpath on the way down the hill toward home.  

“We’ve been so worried about you!” his parents exclaimed when he opened the front door, Charlotte behind them. After reassuring them he was OK, despite the scratches on his face and his saturated clothing, he revealed his precious cargo, asleep and purring against his stomach. Charlotte immediately cried, “Can we keep her?” before his mum said, “Let’s get her warm and dry and fed first, then we’ll see”. Giving Mark a knowing look, Charlotte declared, “OK mum, let’s see. I am going to call her ‘Stormy’ though!”