“Time to go....mate”
They were Craig’s only words. He didn’t appear angry. Actually, I would have been surprised if he ever got angry. In his type of job you just have to go with the flow. Be prepared for disappointments and frustrations and move-on. Imagine having to try and motivate a bunch of Quads, each and every day to get them off their collective arses and ‘avago.
We’d only just left the Bar when he pulled over to one side and said “We’d better do something about that”, pointing down to a wet patch on my tracksuit leg, evidence of an over-inflated urinal bag attached to my right thigh that had more than reached capacity. Whoops. I’d just totally forgotten. With all the new found freedom of the Bar, the Bushies and the whole buzz - time just flew by. We all lined up and sure enough, each and every one of us had their bags full to the max and in most cases, leaking. Craig looked to the other pushers, didn’t say anything, didn’t need too. I gather they were supposed to make sure things like this didn’t happen. It really wasn’t their fault either. Quick as a flash, the ever-resourceful Craig retreated 10 metres back into the Bar and within moments returned with an empty Beer Jug. Good thinking mate. He set about emptying the group’s piss contents and made 3 trips back to the ‘gents’ to deposit our indulgences. No fuss. No, tut-tutting. What a champion bloke. I also began to notice, sitting outside in the breeze, it was getting rather chilly. Not surprising really considering I probably had the equivalent of 1.5 schooners spilled and dribbled onto my sloppy-joe.
Anyway, after correctional adjustments completed Craig took my directional advice and off we went. Thankfully for our tied team it was all downhill from here (soon in more ways than one). We were of course in the lead and could quite easily hear Al and Andy having a laugh in the background (God they’re loud) and encouraging their pushers to try to keep up. We went along the perimeter where the ‘horsey’ people accessed their stables and yards, veered around a little to the right and 5 minutes later, entered the infamous Sideshow Alley. Craig slowed and reminded the other pushers we only had 20 minutes to be back at the bus to meet everyone else. As you know by now Sideshow Alley didn’t interest me one iota. But, I knew one pusher that was about to encounter some serious resistance from Al. Al was determined to go back to PHH with a prize for his beautiful little daughter. First of all, Al parted with $3 and tried his luck on the ‘rotating Clown heads’. You’ve all see the ones. Do you know anyone who has actually won something worth more than $3? No, me either. They don’t rotate an entire 360 degrees, like Linda Blair from the Exorcist, they sweep about 150 degrees from left to right and visa versa. You insert your 4 ping-pong balls in the clown’s mouth (one at a time Al), wait for them to rattle down its tinny throat into numbered slots, then simply add up your score and claim your prize. Inevitably, you end up getting a plastic cockroach on a strand of elastic dangling on a stick – big deal. Just the perfect gift for a little 5 year old girl - not. Al had 3 go’s at getting something/anything worthwhile to present to his daughter. Craig slowed to check on Al’s progress. Next stop was the mandatory tossing of the bamboo-hoops around a peg ‘trick’, similar to ‘quoits’. The hoops bounced around and flew in every direction, except the winning direction. Maybe his next go would hit its mark. Yeah right. Another donation to the ‘carnies’. Maybe, if Al kept giving this particular ‘carnie’ more money, he could afford a visit to dentist to purchase another tooth to go along with his other one.
“C’mon guys we’ve 8 minutes to get to the bus”.
Al is nothing, if not determined (read: pig-headed). He again amanged to halt his pusher, this time at the ‘knock-‘em-downs’. Another $3 parted with, Al got his chance at throwing his 3 soft balls at drink cans which generally are half-filled with plaster-of-paris and near impossible to topple. His 1st go realised no cans hit, bruised or frightened.
That was enough for Craig. “Enough is enough Al. If we don’t go now we’ll miss the bus”.
“Hey Craig. Stuff the bus, I’ll see you there” was Al’s response.
Craig didn’t deserve that. He’d been bloody patient all things considered.
“Hey Al. Pull your head in and let’s get going. I promised you a go. You’ve had it”, I chimed in, in support of Craig.
“Hey Brad you can blow it out your arse as well mate. I’ll be right. I’ll see you at the bus, right, so piss-off”.
Its times like that, you wish for 30sec of able-bodiedness, just once again. Just to walk over and give him a good smack in the mouth and wake him up. He had it coming. Anyway bugger him.
I noticed something weird was going on with Kal. He’d gone really quiet, very pale for Maori and even limper than he normally was and his stupid grin had disappeared. Craig noticed as well and scurried in his direction. Kal was having a ‘dysreflectic’ attack. This can happen to Quads. It’s not common, but not unheard of. I remember having an episode in the Ward about 3 weeks earlier. My blood-pressure went to 210/150 and my pulse was going crazy. The Sister on duty at the time rang the buzzer with a coded sequence and down the linoleumed ward corridor came the ‘crash-cart’ with these cardiac ‘jumper-leads’ flapping, ready for action. I’d only ever seen that happen on the TV. I warned Carol, the nominated zapper and one of my favourites, that if she applied them to me she was definitely off the Christmas list. And added, “Carol me darling, don’t forget, you owe me.” She said “If you need ‘em Brad, you’re getting ‘em. It just may prevent a heart-attack or worse still, a stroke”. Great now there’s a nice choice. That’s all I need, a bloody stroke. I can’t move anything now anyway, please don’t take away my ability to speak. Bloody scary, let me tell you.
Craig went into ‘action’, he’d obviously encountered this before. He tilted Kal’s chair back as far as he could, to the near horizontal position, and headed off in the direction of the bus as quickly and as safely as possible. “Straight down and at the end the Alley, hang a left mate.” I yelled. We all followed, well nearly all. Al refused to budge. He had business to do. What was the pusher to do? Leave him there? I would have.
Everybody was already loaded on the bus and at least our fellow patients looked pleased to see us. Kal had to be lifted up and over several fellow cripples and positioned on one of the bench seats, a makeshift stretcher. Surprisingly, the colour had returned to his face and he even managed to let out a trademark ‘yo-bro’ and a thumbs-up to indicate that it was just a false-alarm. Boy, what a relief. I know I shouldn’t have, but I felt a bit guilty.
During the loading of chairs, bodies and show-bags onto the bus, I managed to convince Craig that it’d be better and of course less disruptive, now, if I grabbed a lift with him in the PHH Commodore wagon rather than have to disturb everybody just to squeeze me in. He agreed. I told you he was a good bloke. You beauty. No ride back to the Ward in the sign-written, “look at us, we’re not the full-quid” bus. Sensational.
With the back ramp automatically closing up, the bus was ready to go. Craig was just about to slap the side of the bus and give the all-clear to the driver, when.....
........the story continues......
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