Angry boyfriend, family health drama, old fears reawaken

I’m in trouble with the boss. I was hardly at home yesterday, which meant boyfriend Maiyuu had to spend many hours in his own company.

‘I don’t care if you are trying to challenge me to see how much longer I can carry on living life alone,’ he said bitterly.

I was away from early afternoon, as Ball and his family decided to visit a department store, and invited me along.

Making up our group were Mum, Ball, his girlfriend Jay, me, toddler Fresh, and a niece of Mum’s who is aged about seven.

In early evening, I returned for an hour or two, and went back to Ball’s place for a taste of the brown stuff.

In mid-evening, Mum’s partner Lort came down with a diabetes-related illness. We took him to hospital, which chewed up the rest of the evening. I returned home after 1am.

Maiyuu does not want to hear these tales of drama from the slums. When I started telling him the story, he asked me to stop.

‘Whenever you are in a bad mood, it’s usually because of something which has happened with your family over there. I don’t want to hear it, just in case I get more grief,’ he said.

I feel sorry for Maiyuu. I do not want to introduce him to Ball’s family, as they are my home away from home, but nor does he want it anyway.

He seldom invites his friends to our place, or goes anywhere. To kill loneliness, he shops for food at the supermarket.

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The night turned out to be more adventurous than expected, when Mum’s partner, idle taxi driver Lort, had a diabetes-related fit. Mum was away, but Ball, his younger brother Beer, Jay and I were present.

Ball heard Lort cry out, and rushed into the bathroom, where he found on the floor, inert. We dragged Lort’s bulky frame onto the sitting room couch.

Earlier, he had complained of seizures in his right hand. 'I have been like this for several days. Tomorrow, I must see a doctor,’ said Lort.

Ball, who seldom talks to Lort, went to his aid, asking him about his condition, rubbing his shoulders, and massaging his hand.

‘When someone is in distress, I will help, no matter how I feel about him,’ Ball explained later.

We assumed that Lort was having problems with his arm because he had quit the ya dong.

‘You shouldn’t go cold turkey. Ease into it,’ Ball urged Lort.

For Ball, the experience of watching Lort seize up was all too familiar. His birth father died of liver failure brought on by taking too much ya dong.

He died a few years ago, but Ball still recalls clearly the symptoms of his father’s illness. ‘His body used to seize up in the same way,’ he said. ‘In his case it was worse, as he used to bite his tongue.’

Lort had two fits at home before we hauled his body out of the slum and into a passing taxi. By then, a dozen people from the slum community had joined us in the packed living room.

Mr B found smelling salts. Someone else found a thin metal spoon, which he inserted in Lort’s mouth.

As Ball tried to hold up Lort’s stiffened body on the couch, Jay and I tried to pin down Lort’s legs, and uncurl his hands.

Mum, who was playing a card game nearby, turned up. She slapped his chest, just in case his heart was giving out.

She had seen it all before too. ‘My husband was the same way. We paid so many visits to the hospital...' she said, referring to Ball's father.

'I am bored with it all now,’ she said.

We lugged Lort’s body down the slum alleyways and on to the street, where someone hailed a taxi.

Mum and the patient travelled in one taxi, while Ball, Jay, Mr B and I took another.

Ball and Beer were shaken. I rubbed their shoulders and backs to reassure them.

Jay was terrific. Five minutes before Lort’s first episode, she and Ball had fallen into an argument about the brown stuff.

I was part of it too, unfortunately, as I am the instigator who helps him indulge.

For the rest of the night, however, Jay was supportive and loving towards her boyfriend, who needed the help.

At the hospital, we were told to wait. Ball and I decided to take a drink outside, so we went for a walk.

Later, Ball lay down on a wall in the hospital driveway. At his request, I stayed with him.

Mr Ball had left home in such a hurry that he had forgotten his shoes. Every 20 minutes or so, he sent me inside to see if anything was happening. 'I feel too embarrassed to go in myself, as I am barefooted,' he said.

When we arrived, Jay filled out a patient information form. While Mum went in to ICU to talk about how she would pay for his treatment, the rest of us waited.

Two hours after Lort was admitted, nurses had moved him to a regular ward. They let us pay a visit.

The wards were full. Some of the patients were but skin and bones. Nurses had pinned sheets on them to serve as nappies.

We followed the sound of groaning from deeper inside the ward. 'That's Lort,' said Mum, recognising the sound of her partner's voice.

In the whole ward, in fact, he was the only one making any noise.

Nurses had pinned down his body to the bed with the aid of cloth stirrups. The nurses had climbed on top of his legs, and were bouncing up and down, trying to stop his body seizing up.

Lort groaned, and in animated moments, screamed. The nurses had seen it all before, perhaps; they joked with each other as they manipulated his limbs.

Lort, said Mum, had never been to see a doctor in the many years they had been together. A nurse asked about the patient.

Ball stepped in to answer most of the questions, as best he could. Mum herself knew surprisingly little about Lort: she knew his name, for example, but not his age.

The diagnosis? Lort has diabetes, the doctors said. He would have to mind his blood sugar levels, and cut down on the booze. The seizure we witnessed was not related to his coming off the ya dong, but booze had contributed to his illness.

As Mum, Mr B and Jay answered the nurse’s questions about the patient, Ball wandered over to watch the nurses, who were still trying to pin down Lort’s body.

As Ball watched Lort writing in pain, I could tell he was thinking about his father.

He was also wondering whether he would follow in Dad’s footsteps. Ball’s Mum reckons the brown stuff has entered her son's veins.

‘You have taken up where your father left off,’ she told us in the waiting room.

I put my arm across his back and held him close.

I wasn’t around when Ball’s Dad left him, but will be here for Ball and his family this time should they need support.

‘Do all drinkers end up with diabetes?’ Ball asked me nervously as we left.

‘No..it’s partly hereditary. If you look after yourself, as you have promised me you will do, the chances are remote,’ I said.

On the way home in the taxi, Jay took Ball’s head in her arms, and nursed him.

Close to home, Ball gave the driver directions, as he had done on our way to the supermarket hours before. Mum appears happy for her son to take over. He is the head of the household, and does a good job.

Mr B was sweeping the floor when we arrived; his taxi had arrived before ours.

Mum went out to buy food, so they would have something to eat before bed.

Jay asked me if I wanted to stay, but I excused myself and went home.

The day had gone on forever. We needed to calm our fears, and rest our heads.