The Russian Patient
Without Prejudice
I went to see him today, The Russian Patient. Not even sure where I was going, the directions vague, a nursing home somewhere off Kirkham Road, Dandenong. Everything has changed since I was last down that way. The old D.I.F. factory on the corner of Greens and Hammond. Across the road a huge new servo. But I meandered down Kirkham, someone up my bum of course as I looked.
Then I saw it, a Russian home for the elderly and I was momentarily shocked. Nick in a home for the elderly, surely not. I knew he had had a stroke, that no one was visiting him. An old friend of my daughter and Son In Laws saying that they contacted my ex husband that Nick was there, but he didn't reply. So I said I would go. They had been the best of friends, my ex and Nick. Nick saving our collective asses when the G.T. Broke down while we were on holidays once in Brisbane.
Nick was able to procure the rare part we needed, on a Sunday and he back in Melbourne.
I said I would go ages ago but time and shyness intervened. Surely he wouldn't remember me?. But I remembered he came to the funeral of my daughter, he and his younger sister. Remembered the signatures in the visitors book. And every time I remembered my promise to go see him I felt guilty. Cranbourne just seems to be one of those places you hardly ever go out of. And I have lived here 4 years.
But today I had to drop my daughter off in Dandenong to collect her new Tarago. Well, ir's not new but it's new to her and the boys. My oldest Grandson was there, ready to greet his Mother for her birthday, today. I left them to it and drove back through Dandenong. And turned right into Kirkham Road, no time like the present.
I thought he would be gone after so long. but he was there. He didn't remember me and I had trouble recognising him. But it was the same old Nick. The high flying, Nick TheWrecker. He of the beautiful property up at Lysterfield. He the Millionaire. He the ever popular, the White Russian with the slightly Yankee accent. He who had romanced my friend Sylvia, who had worshipped him.
He looked better than I expected. The stroke rendering his left arm immovable, and everything else on the left side, the same. Even down to half his digestive system. We talked of old times and there were tears in his eyes. He said I looked well. And I said the same of him, as he did. I always remember him being slight and bearded. Neat. Expensive after shave.
He was in bed, small room, with a bottle of urine on the side of the bed.
" Is that urine ? " I asked him and he was still talking. He wanted Foxtel he said. He just had T.V. No Freeview. He said he had been there three years and I nearly died. Three years in this home for the very elderly who slept, kept quiet or looked vaguely around them. Some had looked at me eagerly as I made my way through the T.V. Room. As if somehow I was their saviour to release them. I smiled and waved.
I asked Nick how old he was and he answered me this time. 65, plus he said. His beard and hair had been cut for his Birthday, October 25th. Nothing wrong with his brain then.
He had been in jail in Thailand for twenty eight years and then the King pardoned him and he spent three years in Adelaide with an older Sister. His Brother In Law found the nursing home on the Internet and drove him from Adelaide. Back to Melbourne. I gathered it was more of a Welfare situation for him to be in there and he hated it. He had seen his younger Sister once, an old Girlfriend
once and his Older Sister once when he landed in Adelaide. Then nothing.
I asked him why, I was really shocked. Him and the younger Sister had been so close, she lived with him on the beautiful horse property in Lysterfield. Acres of land and swimming pools and saunas and I had only been there once, to a party. I was always slightly in awe of him and his wealth. He was hard working and ran Eagle Spares and Nick The Wreckers.
He wasn't broken just winged a little but he said the Nursing home was worse than the Thai Jail. I asked him how he coped for twenty eight years. He said it was God awful and there were other Europeans, mainly black. But in some ways he was the same old Nick. He asked me to take him for a smoke stating that a cigarette was not allowed until 3 pm. So I did.
He snapped orders at me, move the bottle to the back of the bed, lift the dead leg here, place me in my wheelchair. I asked him to say please and he just ignored me, of course. He treated the Nurses at the desk the same. Asking for his cigarettes and lighter and ignoring them when they asked him how he had exited out of his bed. I told them I did it and he largely ignored them again and told me to push on to the Garden. They gave him five cigarettes, which he smoked one off the other. Asking me if I wanted one.
I shook my head and he said he had a small whisky at 5pm, did I drink and I shook my head again. He was not allowed pain killers and said the stroke arm hurt badly and he was starting to get arthritis in the good knee. I asked him if he had muscle wasting and felt his calves, they felt O.K. He said the food was " shit". Cigarettes at 3pm and dinner at 5pm and bed, bed, more bed. I couldn't believe this was the life he was now forced to live. A living hell in the shape of a small room, not unlike a cell.
He asked me if I was still married and I said, no. He remembered Bob, the fencer, well, my ex husband and asked that I tell him to come see him. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't speak to him.he asked me if I would come again and I said I would and he quickly came back with a " when ."
I said the next week. He looked at me as if he had heard it before. But I knew I would.
I can't imagine living his life. He never married or had kids. I told him I had 14 grand kids and tears came to his eyes. He told me how lucky I was that it hadn't turned out to be 13 and we laughed.
I drove home, sad for him, but understanding his limitations. He could never live independently he said. Who would look after him ? He seemed to think his life was over at 65 and I said that was stupid. I had met another man who had a stroke and lived in a council flat in Cheltenham. He had also been a high flyer, rich, addicted to cocaine. A father of an Aussie actress. When I asked that man how long the friends had lasted after he was stricken, he said they disappeared immediately.
So had Nicks.
I went to see him today, The Russian Patient. Not even sure where I was going, the directions vague, a nursing home somewhere off Kirkham Road, Dandenong. Everything has changed since I was last down that way. The old D.I.F. factory on the corner of Greens and Hammond. Across the road a huge new servo. But I meandered down Kirkham, someone up my bum of course as I looked.
Then I saw it, a Russian home for the elderly and I was momentarily shocked. Nick in a home for the elderly, surely not. I knew he had had a stroke, that no one was visiting him. An old friend of my daughter and Son In Laws saying that they contacted my ex husband that Nick was there, but he didn't reply. So I said I would go. They had been the best of friends, my ex and Nick. Nick saving our collective asses when the G.T. Broke down while we were on holidays once in Brisbane.
Nick was able to procure the rare part we needed, on a Sunday and he back in Melbourne.
I said I would go ages ago but time and shyness intervened. Surely he wouldn't remember me?. But I remembered he came to the funeral of my daughter, he and his younger sister. Remembered the signatures in the visitors book. And every time I remembered my promise to go see him I felt guilty. Cranbourne just seems to be one of those places you hardly ever go out of. And I have lived here 4 years.
But today I had to drop my daughter off in Dandenong to collect her new Tarago. Well, ir's not new but it's new to her and the boys. My oldest Grandson was there, ready to greet his Mother for her birthday, today. I left them to it and drove back through Dandenong. And turned right into Kirkham Road, no time like the present.
I thought he would be gone after so long. but he was there. He didn't remember me and I had trouble recognising him. But it was the same old Nick. The high flying, Nick TheWrecker. He of the beautiful property up at Lysterfield. He the Millionaire. He the ever popular, the White Russian with the slightly Yankee accent. He who had romanced my friend Sylvia, who had worshipped him.
He looked better than I expected. The stroke rendering his left arm immovable, and everything else on the left side, the same. Even down to half his digestive system. We talked of old times and there were tears in his eyes. He said I looked well. And I said the same of him, as he did. I always remember him being slight and bearded. Neat. Expensive after shave.
He was in bed, small room, with a bottle of urine on the side of the bed.
" Is that urine ? " I asked him and he was still talking. He wanted Foxtel he said. He just had T.V. No Freeview. He said he had been there three years and I nearly died. Three years in this home for the very elderly who slept, kept quiet or looked vaguely around them. Some had looked at me eagerly as I made my way through the T.V. Room. As if somehow I was their saviour to release them. I smiled and waved.
I asked Nick how old he was and he answered me this time. 65, plus he said. His beard and hair had been cut for his Birthday, October 25th. Nothing wrong with his brain then.
He had been in jail in Thailand for twenty eight years and then the King pardoned him and he spent three years in Adelaide with an older Sister. His Brother In Law found the nursing home on the Internet and drove him from Adelaide. Back to Melbourne. I gathered it was more of a Welfare situation for him to be in there and he hated it. He had seen his younger Sister once, an old Girlfriend
once and his Older Sister once when he landed in Adelaide. Then nothing.
I asked him why, I was really shocked. Him and the younger Sister had been so close, she lived with him on the beautiful horse property in Lysterfield. Acres of land and swimming pools and saunas and I had only been there once, to a party. I was always slightly in awe of him and his wealth. He was hard working and ran Eagle Spares and Nick The Wreckers.
He wasn't broken just winged a little but he said the Nursing home was worse than the Thai Jail. I asked him how he coped for twenty eight years. He said it was God awful and there were other Europeans, mainly black. But in some ways he was the same old Nick. He asked me to take him for a smoke stating that a cigarette was not allowed until 3 pm. So I did.
He snapped orders at me, move the bottle to the back of the bed, lift the dead leg here, place me in my wheelchair. I asked him to say please and he just ignored me, of course. He treated the Nurses at the desk the same. Asking for his cigarettes and lighter and ignoring them when they asked him how he had exited out of his bed. I told them I did it and he largely ignored them again and told me to push on to the Garden. They gave him five cigarettes, which he smoked one off the other. Asking me if I wanted one.
I shook my head and he said he had a small whisky at 5pm, did I drink and I shook my head again. He was not allowed pain killers and said the stroke arm hurt badly and he was starting to get arthritis in the good knee. I asked him if he had muscle wasting and felt his calves, they felt O.K. He said the food was " shit". Cigarettes at 3pm and dinner at 5pm and bed, bed, more bed. I couldn't believe this was the life he was now forced to live. A living hell in the shape of a small room, not unlike a cell.
He asked me if I was still married and I said, no. He remembered Bob, the fencer, well, my ex husband and asked that I tell him to come see him. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't speak to him.he asked me if I would come again and I said I would and he quickly came back with a " when ."
I said the next week. He looked at me as if he had heard it before. But I knew I would.
I can't imagine living his life. He never married or had kids. I told him I had 14 grand kids and tears came to his eyes. He told me how lucky I was that it hadn't turned out to be 13 and we laughed.
I drove home, sad for him, but understanding his limitations. He could never live independently he said. Who would look after him ? He seemed to think his life was over at 65 and I said that was stupid. I had met another man who had a stroke and lived in a council flat in Cheltenham. He had also been a high flyer, rich, addicted to cocaine. A father of an Aussie actress. When I asked that man how long the friends had lasted after he was stricken, he said they disappeared immediately.
So had Nicks.
