Magical Mandy

Since I last placed a post many positive things have happened. Far and away the most wonderful has been that Mandy has received a new heart. As you would already know (being diligent and attentive readers to a man, woman and child) Mandy was my young VAD mate who had also been desperately waiting for a donor heart. I felt vaguely guilty going back to the Ward with my shiny new heart whilst Mandy was still pushing her VAD around. The nurses were calmly assuring her that it would be her turn next. Our nurses are never wrong, to the point of Papal Infallibility, and, sure enough, Mandy was next. She is doing very well and has recovered extremely quickly, as only the young can.

Mandy will be home in time for her twenty-first birthday. I've said before that this cardiac thing has never had any respect for the arbitrary deadlines and expectations I've sought to impose on it. Well, it has seen fit to give Mandy a little break and that couldn't have come to a more deserving recipient. Mandy has been brave and strong in the face of the sort of adversity that is devastating for anyone, let alone a twenty year old girl. She has demonstrated unbelievable chutzpah and ought to be very proud of herself. Well done girl, you've made many people proud to know you.

My own recovery and rehab has progressed very well. My new heart and old body are still getting along famously. Other than a few minor glitches I am fit and strong and resuming normal life with unbridled enthusiasm.

Speaking of unbridled enthusiasm, I have taken on board some wise counsel from wise people about the financial improvidence of investing in a racehorse. It would be a foolish and capricious decision and one that I ought not contemplate as an educated and experienced professional who is paid to give advice to others about business matters. Nonetheless, I still want my horsey. I refuse to listen to the naysayers and my investment will indeed say "neigh". Bottle of Smoke will race and he will win handsomely and often. I have decided that he ought to be a grey. It befits the name and I have always loved backing greys. They are easy to spot at any given point in a race regardless of one's vantage point or state of intoxication.

I am enjoying getting out and about to shops, restaurants and the like. Charlie has decided that he likes restaurants and generally behaves well in them, so we will often go out in complete anonymity, with nobody suspecting that I have recently had a heart transplant and Charlie is autistic. It is a far cry from the self-consciousness I felt when pushing the Impaler around Westfield Chermside. Mind you, I do not blame the public for looking suspiciously at an unshaven man of Middle Eastern appearance walking slowly around a crowded place with a large portable ticking device attached to tubes going into a bulky device hidden under his shirt.

In a few weeks, I will officially return to work on a part time basis. For a lawyer, this means forty billable hours a week. I have missed work a great deal and I am anxious to get back to the salt mines as soon as possible. We lawyers are a sad and lonely breed of workaholics. Before undergoing surgery to implant the Impaler I lamented to Dr Thomson that my only regret was that I had not spent more time at the office. I also asked him whether I'd be able to play the violin after the surgery. Old joke but a good one.

I am now regaining a modicum of independence. Over the weekend, I took Imogen on the train to the Gold Coast to watch our Rabbitohs beat the Titans. My recovery from being critical on life support pales into insignificance when compared to the turnaround that South Sydney have effected this season. Mike Maguire must be cut from the same cloth as my doctors. We had a great afternoon.

On reflection, it is grossly unfair to compare my medical team to a mere football coach. My doctors and nurses are world class professionals whose skills and expertise saved my life and save the lives of other patients week in week out. They work exceedingly long hours and make critical and difficult decisions which have profound consequences for the patients in their care. They get little recognition and struggle to muster sufficient resources to fund their clinical and research work. I am alive today because they are very, very good at what they do. I personally added very little to the project. I did what they told me to do and tried to make things as easy as possible for them to do their job. These guys are the true professionals and members of our society most deserving of commendation and support. They add more real value than lawyers or footballers or Olympic athletes.

A few weeks ago I was privileged to speak at Lynn's Lunch. The function is held annually by the Lynn Wright Foundation to raise funds for Charlie's autism centre, AEIOU. Specifically, the Foundation provides scholarships so that families on low incomes can send their children to AEIOU to experience the life-long benefits of early intervention. Early intervention is therapist and labour intensive so it costs a great deal (around $40,000 a year I believe) to fund an individualized program for each and every child to attend the Centre. Government funding and fees from parents cover some of the cost but there is a huge gap that AEIOU must source from fundraising initiatives. Thanks to the Lynn Wright Foundation, many of the AEIOU children - Charlie's friends - come from families who could not otherwise afford the cost of this wonderful and successful program.

Each year, the lunch attracts notable speakers who provide their time and skills to support the cause. This year my fellow speakers were Alex Perry, Charlotte Dawson and Sofie Formica. All spoke passionately and eloquently about their own lives and why the most important things in life are free. Moreover, the lunch invariably attracts a large crowd of generous supporters who dig deep to ensure that more children are able to accept places at AEIOU. This year was no exception and thanks to their efforts a few more deserving kids will attend the Centre next year.

It's a pity that we now live in a State where our Government believes we cannot afford extravagant things like the National Disability Insurance Scheme or tea and coffee for the doctors and nurses who work vampire hours to perform heart transplants and other such frivolities. I appreciate that the voters did give the Premier a mandate to pursue the conservative ideal of small government and  in a democracy we all must respect the will of the people. However, I wonder whether another old right wing warhorse called Dick Cheney, who has himself recently received a heart transplant, would now approve of the cuts that Campbell's razor gang are inflicting on community services. I feel a little icky about having a common bond with Mr Cheney but the transplant club is a broad church because heart failure does not discriminate on arbitrary grounds such as age, income, race or political persuasion. Nor does autism. Call me simplistic, but I believe that our public health and disability care systems should not either.


Until next time,



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