TheBanyanTree: A Game I Play (1)

[Roger Pye]

Wednesday 7am. The monitor showed its familiar autumnal tree scene, golden leaves thickly 
carpeting the ground amongst stately tall trees. Placing a cursor on an equally familiar 
icon I said "Lead in to the day. Deal!" and clicked the mouse. Dutifully the solitaire 
program displayed seven cards, four red, three black, signifying a possibly good day. I 
played the game finishing with a score of 17 - ambivalent, could go ither way. Not a good 
omen, two possibles don't make a probable.

I usually continue with a couple of questions I already know the answers to - like 'will 
it rain in Canberra today' or 'is the sun shining here' or something equally inane - in 
order to gauge the accuracy of 'replies'. Today is no different.  "Okay, I'm scheduled to 
go to Tumbarumba next Monday for a three day farm visit. Will I be going?"

Click.

Seven black cards flipped across the screen - not likely. I grimaced, played the game, 37 
the result. No, I wouldn't be going, most definitely. I stared at the screen, discomfited. 
Why not?  The visit had been lanned for three months, what could possibly stop me?

9.30am the phone rang, I picked up the portable handset, glanced at the number calling - 
it was a healing colleague 200 kms away. "Hi, Jenny, How are things?"

"OK." The answer was guarded, I thought. "How are you?" Fine, I answered, never better. 
"Are you sure?" she persisted. "Sure I'm sure. Why?" She said she'd had an impulse to 
call, that was all. Vaguely troubled I put the handset back on its rest, it wasn't like 
Jenny to do things without reason, clairvoyants rarely did.

Thursday 10am. I had indigestion, it was crazy, all I'd had was the muesli and juice I had 
most mornings for breakfast. I did my own brand of healing treatment on myself, for a 
short time the discomfort eased but an hour or so later returned. I hunted around for some 
Quik-Eze but we were out of it so I had some sodium bicarb instead, a teaspoonful in a 
glass of tepid water. Again the indigestion and bloated feeling eased but soon returned. 
By evening I had acquired some Mylanta tablets and took two; they seemed to do the trick.

Friday 7am. The indigestion from the day before had gone, instead I had a slight headache 
on the right side of the head, maybe I'd slept in a funny position. My treatment and a 
paracetamol took it away within half-an-hour. I played the game, confirmed I wasn't going 
on the farm visit, thought about it, reasoned that if I wasn't going I would be at home 
working or writing or something.

"Will I be at home Monday morning?"

Click.

17 - Perhaps.

Inconclusive.

"Will I be feeling OK Monday morning?"

Click.

32 - No.

I gave up, the rest of the day went uneventfully, Friday night Robin and I went to a 
restaurant for dinner (tomato & basil soup, glass of wine) returned home, no problems.

Saturday 5am. I woke with an imperative urge to go to the toilet. By 7.30am I had made the 
short trip several times so I took two Imodium. They made no difference. Following the 
instructions on the packet I took another one at 9am. The visits stopped but the stomach 
cramps didn't. 10am we made the decision to go to the Ginninderra medical centre a 
kilometre away. I had another spasm before we left and a strong urge to urinate - nothing 
much happened - the pain continued.

11am. The waiting room was huge - and full. I sat people-watching, trying to be calm, to 
ease the fear that was creeping over me. There seemed to be only two doctors on duty 
though there were rooms for at least 15. Still, it was Saturday morning after all. I made 
the toilet visit a few times, nothing had changed, just a few drops. And the pain and 
discomfort.

12.30pm. "Roger Pye?" I surmised he was vietnamese as I followed him into his room. He 
smiled, gestured at a chair. "How may I help you today, Roger?"

I told him as much as I could in the shortest time I could. When I said I couldn't urinate 
he stiffened, motioned me to the couch. I lay down, he lifted my shirt and whistled 
softly, went back to his desk and grabbed the phone, punching buttons and speaking to me 
at the same time. "Did you drive here yourself?" I said No, my wife was with me. "Fetch 
her please!" When we returned two minutes later he had a printed sheet in his hand. "Acute 
urine retention," he said. "You must go to hospital at once, Calvary, is that OK?" The 
question was rhetorical, he was ushering us out the door. He pressed the paper into my 
hand. "For the Admissions Officer," he said.

The fear of what might lie ahead overtook me.

to be continued

roger