Ye Gods, what the hell happened?! This time a week ago, we were looking forward to our Celebration with great expectations. I picked up last minute necessities for our Celebration. I was recovering from a pesky chest infection that had made my teeth rattle and my chest hurt. Michael's creativity was on fire, as he began playing with a variety of metal artifacts for at least two new sculptures. He was yet to have even an inkling of a scratchy throat.
Last Friday, we dashed for the finish line. Artworks arrived and departed. The non alcoholic sangria was prepared and in the Gallery fridge. the white wine and sparkling water had been chilling for twenty-four hours and the red wine sheltering in the relative dark and cool of Michael's Studio. In the early evening, the grazing table was covered in canapes and antipasto, prepared by Bec and arranged by Marion. As our friends, guests and artists began arriving, we realised that we had actually been living our dream for ten years And that we had built a community of amazing artisans, most of whom had become more than just friends. We were surrounded by a sea of love from this adopted family.
Why so important to us? All of Michael's children have broken off any contact with him over many years. My daughter also chose to sever herself from family. We both have an incomplete form of grief that can't be resolved. What offers slight relief is to recognise they are on their own journeys, which has nothing whatsoever to do with us. And we still have plenty of love connections with Callum, Bronwyn, Alex and our two divine little granddaughters.
We spent a great deal of last week reminiscing. Taking possession of a broken-down one hundred year old building in July 2012. Four years of blood, sweat and tears -mostly Michal and Gary's, but with able assistance from backpackers Madlin, Simon, Luic and Manon. We recreated the four individual shops, preserving her past as far as possible whilst forging them into a cohesive entity for the future. We have soothed a wary and unhappy ghost by saving the Forbes Building.
We welcomed Kerryanne and Lindsey's presence and ongoing restoration of U Beauty and Hair Beverley and have been buoyed by their continuing occupation of Shop 1. Jodie's Vincent Street Emporium is evolving in Shop 2. next door. The amazing opportunity of Studio 116 that was gifted to us by Rebecca and Marion. The arrival in Beverley of our friend and artist Sue, has enabled us to open the Gallery six days a week. And the strength, intelligence and innovative energy of Jef, who has assisted us bring logical and streamlined order instead of the previous chaos in Michael's Man Cave. Mister Greg Burley performed a monologue about his misspent youth, which included weight lifting, a temporary abandonment of his little grey cells and a great deal of fuss caused by a Neil Young song in a share house. I could imagine Greg joining the Young Ones, living in somewhat squalid anarchy whilst attending Scumbag College haphazardly...
Officially designated to finish at 9pm, we gravitated to the footpath with our chairs to enjoy the cooler evening air. As we neared midnight, some of the more sensible guests departed and we were joined by the younger Beverley crowd, curious to determine why a bunch of old farts were carrying on outside the Gallery. What a night.
We believe we retired at about three o'clock on Saturday morning. Jef, who was also rejoicing the final day of his six months of remote work, was in full flight with a certain brand of bourbon and great humour. Austin, initially with his dog Shadow, took her home and then re-appeared once more. Nathan and Bonnie (?) were also welcomed and time just passed easily.
Come ten o'clock was a different matter. I can't actually describe my condition as a hangover - I just had difficulty doing anything beyond sitting at the table, re-hydrating with copious litres of tea. Michael, who had confessed to not feeling the greatest since Thursday, had pinched cigarettes with gay abandon at our Celebration, thus moving his health status to rather ordinary.
Saturday was the beginning of Michael's descent down that slippery slope. He was sweaty, fatigued and coughing spectacularly. He slept all of Saturday afternoon asleep and then was unable to enjoy his dinner. We discussed finding some medical attention somewhere on Sunday, given there were no doctors' surgeries open within coo-ee.
Sunday morning, he resolved to battle on and make an appointment with our local quack on Monday afternoon. This was necessary as I was committed to dropping Jef at the airport at midday(ish) on Monday for the beginning of his South-East Asian adventure with fellow traveller Hippy in Bangkok.
However, by lunch time, Michael was feeling terrible. He retired home to bed. Thinking we would get an appointment the following day, I busied myself in the Gallery. Arriving home after six, I took one look at Michael and decided that he could not wait any longer for medical assistance. He was grey, covered in sweat, breathless and exhausted.
And that's when the sticky brown stuff began hitting the fan. I packed him into the car and took him straight to Northam Hospital. The staff were attentive, concerned and professional. He was started on IV antibiotics with bloods taken and a chest x-ray. He was admitted for the night, but there were no beds on the ward. Later than night and early Monday morning, there was some confusion about discharging or keeping him in. I felt this was the beginning of another bout with the Bitch, scarily similar to to April in 2014 when he nearly died from pneumonia and a lung abscess.So, Monday morning, I called in the big guns and left messages for Scott Claxton, our respiratory specialist based at Joondalup Hospital, asking for advice and guidance.
Having tried to sleep from about two o'clock, I gave up around and prepared for a long day. I had already packed as much necessary stuff as I could think of in my sleep-deprived state, in preparation for a possible transfer to Joondalup Hospital. In my haste, I forget all my own medication...Michael had finally been found a bed on the ward but communication was still as clear as mud. I set off with Jef to the airport, dropped him safety with oodles of time to spare for his flight, and sent him on his way with a bear hug and kiss. I hope Jef's Mum doesn't mind sharing him with us...
Heading back to Northam Hospital, I found Michael in a fairly bleak and featureless room. A transfer had been arranged to H4 at Joondalup Hospital and an ambulance ordered. I persuaded the staff to save the ambulance for a patient who really needed one and we prepared for the trip to Joondalup. When we eventually rocked into Joondalup at nearly half past four, I had driven over four hundred kilometres in under twenty four hours. With almost no sleep.
Michael is still very unwell. We are approaching two days since being admitted, with a virus in his nose responsible for bacterial pneumonia. Our two nights have been truly awful with spiking temperatures, delirium, breathlessness, low oxygen levels, a galloping pulse and the Bitch's calling card - a ferocious cough that fells him with every bout.
I am watching Michael sleep after the latest horrible night. Lunch will be arriving soon but his nausea is fairly unrelenting. I shall head out this afternoon to visit the kids, undertake a pile of washing and pick up jelly beans to give him energy as well as cheering him up.
I doubt we are going anywhere soon. The only good news is that now Michael has a bacterial secondary infection, he is no longer considered contagious by the virus that started this kerfuffle....
Stay tuned for the next exciting report.
Deep discussion amongst artists - Shane Moad and Carl Sexton are middle and right...
Images of Studio 116...
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