Wearing Out

It is a fundamental rule of nature that everything sooner or later wears out and if it happens to be a living thing, then the end is fertilizing something that is living!

My mate Albert reckons that old age is the hardest job he has ever done – and he has done a lot. He had a few of the tubes to and from his heart blocked up so they opened him from his chin to his ankle to make repairs - he was out of hospital in a week. At 81 his fitter than most his age, still sharp but with arthritic hands.

Old Hooks on the other hand is in a bad way, just turned 82 he has diabetes, prostate problems, low blood pressure, deafness, and he’s a bit wandery in his mind. He worked for me for 25 years and we have been mates for fifty [this April].

He never married and didn’t leave the family home until after his parents died when he was in his mid-thirties. His family were the ‘old school’ – private, honest, respectful and good-living.

Hooks’ passion was sport – all forms of sport and his attitude was that you play to win, but he was always a fair loser. Well, mostly – I once beat him at darts, but refused a second game because I had no hope of fluking it twice, I too have a stubborn streak.

He would skim through the newspaper, but read every word of the sports section.

Hooks represented his province at cricket for more than a decade, and once asked me to fill in at a social match at Orari. He told some bullshit story to both teams about me playing for some great outfit - in fact I can’t see the ball unless it is beach ball size! The bowlers took no pity! My revenge was sweet, Hooks won five dozen oysters in the after-match raffle – I scoffed the lot while he drove us home!

At Shag Point, he owned a slipway and a small clinker-built fishing boat called The Ilene and we fished for blue cod with good success while being wary of the weather. Coming back into the slipway was dangerous because often the breakers were faster than The Ilene could putter. He always made me steer her in, saying that my luck was better than his. We would idle until he chose the break between waves, and he would holler, ‘Give her arseholes!’ Proper seamen would say, ‘Full ahead!’

Always though, be it fishing for trout, salmon, green-bone or flounders, he was always competitive – once he removed the hooks (yes) from Gib’s articulated trout lure - it was two hours of thrashing water before he realised!

It is arguable if hard work causes the body to wear out more quickly and Hooks’ work was physical, as was his sporting career. The first sign was, after years of golf, he bought a cart so he could ride around the course.

Because of his diabetes and blackouts, his doctor took his driver’s licence, but stubborn Hooks rode his lawnmower to the store, across the main road, uncomprehending the dangers to others!

A competitive bowls player, he is no longer included in teams, because his low blood-sugar causes him to become ratty and impatient.

With nobody to take responsibility for his care, the health service stepped in providing carers with visits morning and evening to make sure he takes his medication and to dust cobwebs from the windows. I notice he has lost interest in his begonias and orchids (another of our competitions). He misses the stimulation of peer conversation.

He ended up in hospital due to an apparent bout of confusion. He didn’t like it there and had the impression (his words) that they thought he was going crazy. With his memory the way it is, I don’t really know what transpired, but I do know that bladder infections can cause mental confusion.

I had a call from him recently because he wanted a phone number - he couldn’t remember who he wanted or why – it embarrassed him. The next day he called remembering he wanted a TV repairman and was confused, so I went to see what I could do. His TV had no sound, the Sky remote was buggered, but I managed to jerry-rig things for him until the new remote arrives – he will forget where my instruction are pinned.

Now-a-days, Hooks can’t remember the adventures we/he had, nor the interests we shared but he’s not too concerned, what concerns him is his loss of dignity, privacy, independence and ability to cope. His carers, with the best of intentions push him in directions he doesn’t want to go.

We are all organic, and our end is inescapable – fortune dictates how we get there.