Infinite State Automaton

I must precede all of this before I forget with this: For some reason I can't log in to facebook. I can't even access the parts to search to find other people or even verify my account still exists. I've had no response from the facebook unit at this point except for an automated 'zounds! Check the help section!' which I did, and the help section said 'e-mail us about it!'. So. I'll try again later today.

I have been sick the last few days. In all likelihood I picked it up from one of the many thousands of children (there was supposed to be close to twenty thousand) that came past the UniSA booth where I was demonstrating the virtual reality equipment, but I choose to blame William because he exhibited the same symptoms as I did. This kind of logic causes a problem for me very shortly as you will see.

I spent most of the weekend sulking and useless in bed. Shane was terrific, checking to make sure I was still alive, occasionally bringing me panadol and coke or other little things, and even cooking me dinner Sunday night. He shuffled me out of bed a few times to drag his zombie brother around for various things, like going to the airport to farewell Julia, doing some shopping, doing some laundry, etc and so on. He's a good kid.

Monday I was still feeling pretty crap. I am terribly hungry all of the time but have no appetite. If I sit down and concentrate I can eat but it takes a long time and I am really only eating about a third of what I normally eat. Now, I eat too much normally, so maybe this is a good thing! I haven't had a custard tart in...well...ages! But it means I have no energy so when I drove home Monday night I was fatigued and decided to take a nap in my car. I didn't get home til 8pm and when I did, Shane was sick with the same thing I had. It looks like I had passed the bug on to him.

Well, for a guy like me being sick isn't really a problem. Of course I whine and complain because I am a child and want sympathy. Shane doesn't whine or complain. The only time Shane ever complained, ever, without someone first asking 'How do you feel?' was the time when he muttered, "oh, my hip hurts." A little later the doctors discovered he had septic arthritis and every step must have been blinding agony for him. For a kid that grew up in a world of pain, whose playmates and friends and then best mates and girlfriends who have almost all died now from cystic fibrosis, or juvenile cancer, luikemia, or some other terrible juvenile disease, to complain because your leg hurts? How could you even say it, in a place where every room was filled with a families own private tragedies, where simply walking from the entrance of the Womens and Children's Hospital to your brothers room showed you countless glimpses into other peoples lives tinged with sorrow and anger. 'My leg hurts'...."My leg is amputated because of gangrene." "I am paralysed from waist down because I have a brain tumor." "I am mentally disabled." "I am going to die in six months." When your world is already filled with so much pain, a little more is nothing to cry about.

Children in long term medical care are different. They see the world with different eyes. They understand things differently. Something like 'the value of life' has a different meaning.

At 11:40pm Monday night, Shane came in to my room. If I had of been fully awake, I would have picked up the laser gun Dani sent me and shot him repeatedly - I often sneak in to his room at night and do it anyway - to ask me to call an ambulance for him. So I did! Meanwhile, he stood there bent over double trying to breathe. It sounded probably how bagpipes would come out if you tried to play them underwater. Afterwards, Shane said I could go back to sleep, and he staggered off back to his room. Still barely conscious, I mumbled to him to close the door. After a moment I realised, "Oh, I just called an ambulance for him, perhaps I should at least pretend to care some," but by then he had closed the door. So I got up and flagged down the ambulance and then he was gone.

Well, he has been in intensive care since Monday night and is still there now, Wednesday morning. He was really sick. I don't understand the medical terminology so well, but mum who is a nurse said that the carbon dioxide levels in his blood were very high (which is bad).

Mum stayed at my house last night. We drank champagne. I had a very small amount since anything slightly acidic is like drinking nails right now, and she cooked me dinner. All morning she has been doing housework. How could I have been so slack? I never noticed it properly at home, I think. But now I am noting what she is doing, and how she is doing it, and......just by being organised, she is getting so much done in such a short time it's amazing. I always thought...something like this would take a whole day, so, I wouldn't do it very often. But mum has cleaned the kitchen, cleaned my room, done a load of washing, cleaned up a chunk of the loungeroom, called dad, called Shane, organised my bills, and all of that in the three hours this morning. Next up we are going to get my car rego and buy new pillows for my bed. I made an appointment for a haircut this evening, too. I wonder if I'll make it? And right now she is organising Shane's bathroom bag kit thing, shaving gear, underarm deodorant, shampoo, toothpaste, so many things...I wouldn't have thought of it.

She also cooked an excellent meal with four ingredients (and chicken! I've never cooked chicken before) in fifteen minutes that looked superb. Mum made all of it look so simple, so easy. Of course I know it isn't. But so many things, so little time...she did all of it.

So I watched and tried to learn.

Why didn't I do it as a kid? I don't understand. I learned all the things Dad showed me. I can cut down a tree. I can mow the lawn. I can use almost any tool. I can do simple plumbing, I know how to make things out of wood and steel. I know first aid. I am skilled with rope, knots, tents, bushcraft...and I'm REALLY good with lighting fires. But I'm terrible at cleaning and cooking. Mum tried to show me when I was a kid. I can remember it. Is my mind really that different now? Why didn't I learn it? Ironing, washing, vacuuming, wiping, dusting, sewing, mopping...all these things are just as important as knowing how to use a hammer or how to remove a wasp hive from your door frame (don't use a hammer). How could I have lived so long and not know how to do it all? Basic, sustained housekeeping? It really is unacceptable. I made some small changes because of Anna's good suggestions, but it's not enough.

Well, there is a fierce determination behind my mothers operation. I can see it is not an easy thing in what she does. She's really organised. Super organised. It's how she can do so many things all at once. And she's been doing it for a long, long time. She said a lot of other things last night about the differences between the gender when they are 'looking after' someone, and also some of her experiences as a midwife. I can't expect to be perfect overnight. But I saw how much she did in such a short time and how much of an improvement she made.

I guess I'm ashamed about it, really. For so long I laughed and made some joke about it, but it's not really funny at all, is it?