The Last Dance

Working in Aged Care is like being a doorman at a really unpopular but always pumping nightclub. The music sucks, the toilets stink, drugs are rife and everyone is hard of hearing.  The great exception is when it’s time for people to go home you don’t kick them out you hold their hand. I was never good at this part.

When I lost my first friend his last words to me were, ‘Can you stop doing that? It’s annoying.’ There’s a bad day at the office. ‘What did you get up to today honey?’ I pissed off a guy who was being eaten alive by cancer. And you? I was young and didn’t know about the simplicity of holding a hand. Instead I chose to rub his leg until the lump in my throat cut off my oxygen supply. I nearly passed out on his colostomy bag. The first rule of being an Aged Care doorman; don’t pass out on a colostomy bag. I’ve also gone the other way and tried to feel nothing. I once had the audacity to wonder out loud what kind of chocolates the family would bring me as a reward for my efforts. There’s some witty office banter. ‘I hope I get a novelty sized Toblerone. Kevin was nothing short of hard work.’ Can you smell the humility? This bullshit bravado acts as a shield for a while but has a tendency to fall apart, usually when you least expect it. For me it was when I was buying toothpaste. ‘Check out that guy, he’s crying over Colgate, what a weirdo.’ Did Kevin ever stab you in the head with a toothbrush? No! You weren’t there man! Now can I have aisle three to myself for a while please?’ The truth is it’s not their demise that hurts but the reality of your own.

No one ever really thinks about their last dance. The egotistical amongst us speculate about our final words like they may provide the world with some deep meaning. ‘And then she said ‘caterpillar’ and it all made sense.’ Really? Unless your final hard fought mutterings come with a movie, your rosebud moment will get caught up in the bag they wrap you in. And the planning of anything beyond your life is nice and sweet like the biscuits you want people to eat when they chat about who you were as a person, but it won’t help you when the moment arrives. What moment? I don’t know. I’ve never been there. But here is a brief description of a good one.

He outlived two world wars and the countless others they put on to prevent the third. He started with a horse and cart and saw humanity park it on the moon. He was humble, funny and light. He had the strength to refuse his pills and I liked that. He loved his tea but he didn’t want his dinner and I liked that too. I knew what he wanted and he was getting it. The cheeky smile became focussed and then he turned away from his favourite drink.  His feet got cold, his eyes rolled back and his family came in.  I held his hand. That night he danced his final dance to his own beat and from all accounts his return home was beautiful.

The next day I was thrilled and had to explain to Lady Wife that I picked it. I called the family in at the right time. ‘You see sometimes you call them in and they don’t die for a week. It’s embarrassing.’ Unless you work in the field you’ll never really appreciate that conversation. As a Doorman I was happy that it all went well and I hadn’t been affected, but then I turned on the news and realised that the indescribable moment that you have to live through to die well has a lot to do with luck. 

Not angry just really disappointed.

I used to work as a disability carer because for a while there I was all heart and no education.  I enjoyed my time and met a lot of inspiring people & a few annoying ones.  On the positive, I once saw a lady with one arm and no legs pull herself out of bed, slide into a wheel chair, roll into the kitchen and make herself toast with jam. My first thought was ‘She’s doing her own condiments, I might be out of a job here.’ We’re talking lids, knives, undoing that plastic bread clip. It was an impressive display of chin work.  My second thought was, ‘Why isn’t this woman running the country? Clearly she’s a problem solver.’ Initially it was a wise crack for my mind only, but now I’m certain it will be asked en mass by those of us tired by the current heightened state of affairs.

We seem intent on getting tall able-bodied men to lead us, somehow believing height equals intelligence and strength. Every time it’s a tall guy sprouting the same rubbish. He gets ousted and we get another tall guy. I’m six foot three and I’m telling you, it’s bullshit, we’re morons. I’m basing that on no scientific evidence. Why? I’m a tall moron and that’s what we do. But as a tall man I will suggest that we put our prejudices aside and start allowing space for the more oddly shaped movers and shakers of the world, because they’d make fine leaders. 

First up, Minister for Communication: Someone with a heavy dose of cerebral palsy. I’ve met several folks with this condition and they’ve all been as smart as a whip. Talking to them is a pleasure as when you finally understand what they’re saying you realise it’s never rubbish. Every word counts. And wouldn’t we love to see journalists (I use that word like they still exist) have to pause and listen before realising they’re being told to bugger off.

 I’d like to see a legless man run finances. When your economy has no legs who better to run it? Actually anyone who can survive and prosper on a disability pension would be more than qualified for the position.

Minister for Policing: Someone with just enough autism to get the job done. I once had to help out a young man who was on the spectrum and wheel chair bound. Nothing got past this guy. You don’t know guilt until someone wheels up to you and says, ‘Adam, I know you steal biscuits.’ How did he know? The pantry door was shut! There was no noisy wrapping. I chewed with my mouth closed & covered it with a scarf. I was muffled! ‘I’m not angry I’m just really disappointed.’ As he wheeled himself out of the kitchen with his head shaking from side to side, I genuinely wanted to call my mum. There’d be no sweeping corruption under the carpet with this guy in your cabinet.  

I’d like to see the Minister for Defence be someone who has stepped on a landmine and survived. Our troops might not be sent to troubled zones if the person doing the sending is at least experiencing phantom pain.

The big job: I’d like to see a party leader who appreciates freedom, demonstrates compassion, someone who knows how to overcome adversity, a person who takes what they’re given and makes the most of it. Now I’m sure many people qualify for this position but I want the person most qualified and even a moron knows, they are probably not tall.