Pet Hate

12 12 2012

I’ve always had a great love of the media, indeed I was a radio announcer for a while. When used well, the media, can be a powerful force for good.

But alas, these days, I’ve seen it used in the worst of ways.

I suppose there are a lot of reasons to hate old medias ways of reporting news, but here’s one of mine which really rubs me the wrong way, and it’s one of the things which you’ll hear often.

There’s some sort of terrible disease which we all know about, we may know someone who has it, or we might have it ourselves.

For the last twenty years or so, scientists all around the world have been looking at cells, watching what they do, treating them with particular chemicals, staying up late, giving up their time and energy in the hope that one day there may be a cure.

Then there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, after years of exhaustive research, maybe, just maybe there’s a cure within reach.

The media is informed, and how is the story reported?


I absolutely hate this.

What this says is, let’s forget the students who spent years learning how to become doctors, surgeons, researchers, physicists, biologists etc, let’s forget that after they became any of those things, that they spent all those days and nights doing very difficult, and often tedious work… let’s just forget all that, and claim that God did it.

Let’s just suggest to the public that this potential cure just popped out of the sky, like “manna from heaven” because someone prayed a lot, and jesus waved his magic pinky, and that was that.

Have you ever watched credits at the end of a movie?

Imagine if in some strange land, they wiped all those names and all you’d see at the end of a film was “God did it”.

For all you know, thousands of people whose names you’ll never know, were involved in getting this possible cure to the point it’s at, and thousands more will improve and refine it for years to come.

That’s long hard hours of blood, sweat and tears.

Media needs to stop attributing hard work and dedication of so many truely wonderful people, to religion, it’s not in the least bit right, or fair.



Uncle Ern

11 09 2012

Sometimes when I write a blog post, I wonder if I’ve written the same story before, perhaps I have, but perhaps it’s also a kind of therapy, and I might get to say something I haven’t said before, so I’ll let it be.

This is about my Aunty Marion and her Husband, My Uncle Ern.

When I was a boy, Mum and Dad would drive out to Dandenong to visit My Aunt and Uncle now and then, it was a fair drive from Yarraville, so I didn’t get to see them all that often.

My Aunt was into everything, if there was a church do, or a social function, she was involved. There was often a photo of her in the paper of her doing something like that.

And My Aunt, as Mum used to say, “had been immunised with a gramophone needle” because she could rabbit on forever and nobody could get a word in, she would also go off on tangents and never arrive at the end of the story… a phone call from her would often last over two hours, but then Mum was at least partly to blame, they both got on really well.

My Uncle though, as I saw him at the time, was a grey old man who fumbled and mumbled and frequently spilt his tea on the table.

Uncle Ern had Parkinsons, and was very shaky.

He had once been in the Australian Army, and had been a Japanese prisoner of war, at Changi.

My Uncle was loved by my Aunt, My Mother (Sister to Ern) and My Sister, Jan.

But to be honest, He sort of worried me, I didn’t know how to deal with him, all he was, to me, was Uncle Ern, The Man who shook a lot… and I could never understand anything he said either.

Once I saw him weeping at the table as my Aunt told a long winded story, and then saw Mum and my Aunt fuss over him because he had “the tears again”.

Many years later, and I was almost grown up, and My Uncle had passed on.

A day came when we had visitors, it was My Uncles Son, Who is a Headmaster at a very nice Australian school, We had a chat out in the garden, just about random things.

He looked just like my Uncle, in every detail, but the shaking.

And you know what, He was brilliant, I really liked him… He was smart, jovial, quietly spoken… and it wasn’t until later that I realised that was probably who My Uncle was before he had Parkinsons.

This awful disease had robbed me of someone wonderful.

Please don’t get the impression that I was so callous as to not see the person, yes, I saw a person… but I never saw My Uncle, The disease had hidden him well away from me.

I’m unable to describe the feeling I’m left with, Bitterness? Perhaps.

I remember his tears, those weren’t just tears, they were the anxiety he felt when he spoke, but his mouth wouldn’t move right, so people just pretended to hear and would nod or smile, he couldn’t interact with the rest of us, I don’t think I could have coped with it… did he?

I’m sure I’ve told this story before, but it worries me deeply.
it’s not always in my mind, but now and then I get a reminder, and I think about it all over again.

There are others going through this, and I’d like you to consider the person underneath the shakes, you can’t always see them, but they’re there.

I am deeply bothered by people who willingly hold back stem cell treatments, by the nutters who raise a hand and say “Gods Law clearly says” oh for gods sake, fuck off, you people have no idea.

Let the doctors do their work, please.


My spotty condition

4 02 2012

I would like to find a doctor, who knows about, or even another person who experiences this bizarre condition I have.

I have tried to explain it to people for years but they always misunderstand, However I did find one other person with the condition, once, who knew exactly how it plays out.

The weird symptoms began when I was in my teens.

A spot would form in my vision, usually in one eye. It could be of almost any size and depending on where it was, could interfere with my vision (reading etc).

Yes I’ve mentioned this to doctors over the years, The word “Floater” has a habit of popping up… but this is no floater.

A floater is defined as a particle floating around inside the eye, this is more “electrical” and if it has nothing to do with the eyes, then it most likely takes place in the brain.

Think about having your photo taken, with a camera which has a flash, or if you’re out walking and a car windscreen flashes the sun into your eyes, for a moment there’s a spot.

That’s what I see, usually a red mark, sometimes with a blue, almost sparkly tinge to the centre of it.

And I found out what causes it, even if I have no name for it.

My Bowels.

If I see the spot, it means that I have to go to the toilet. 

And generally, the moment that I pass what needs to be passed, the spot begins to fade and vanish.

The fellow I met said he saw an odd blue shape in his eyes (mine are sometimes blue), He called them the “Blue Fugees” and I’d call them my “Go to the toilet spots”.

He didn’t know about the toilet thing, and I never found out whether the cause was the same for him as it was for me.

We joked that it was a bit like a personal HUD, and it is… Often I will get the spot before I feel any urge to go to the toilet, of any kind. Often I’ll feel the spot is just being a nuisance, but if I go to the toilet, I will always find that I did indeed need “to go” after all.

It doesn’t hurt me, there are no lasting effects from this, I’ve been experiencing this since high school and am now 46 (It doesn’t happen as often now).

Does anyone have any ideas?