I’m obsessed with health now. Not to the extent where I count calories and measure out doses of protein powder, but I think I will be in place some day. I do cardio and stretches and take supplements and drink carrot juice. I’ve gotten into the weights and have added about 5kg of muscle to my body. I talk about this not because I like bragging, or because I have some homoerotic fixation with the male physique, but because I don’t want to end up like my father.

My father, in addition to having a case of Pixelized Face Disorder which puzzles the entire medical profession, is in horrific shape physically. I won’t this in any detail. Partly out of respect for him, and partly because I’d be typing all day. The short version: bad kidneys, a bad gallbladder, paraplegia from a motorway accident two decades ago, and years of accumulated incompetence from various stupid doctors.

He’s made me realise that, no matter how shitty a hand you’ve been dealt by God, your health is in your hands. Many of my dad’s problems are caused by his poor eating habits and his refusal to exercise. Let me make a point here. People in wheelchairs can exercise. To say otherwise is to tell the greatest lie ever told. But he’s stubborn, and sometimes refuses to see what’s right in front of his face. And now we’re in the final stages of it all. We’ll either fix his body or lose him.

I drove him to RNS Hospital in St Leonard’s last week. What a fucking stupid place. No parking to be had for love or money. We ended up parking illegally, and getting a $84 fine (hey, I wonder if we can claim that on his public health insurance!) before taking him in for some pre-admission tests that went smoothly as silk. And now he’s in hospital. And things are going badly.

He was only supposed to be in there for a few days. They wanted to remove some kidney stones and take out a stent that had been left in his body by some criminally retarded mouth-breather during a past surgery. But he hasn’t taken well to the medication they have him on. His blood pressure has cratered, and he can barely breathe. They’ve taken him to intensive care.

I hope, hope, hope he’s okay, and that he can come home and be like the man he was when me and my sister were growing up. My dad is a powerhouse. He’s very skilled with electronics. He’s flown planes and sailed boats and sold real estate and rebuilt cars. He used to be a high-ranking paymaster for Coles. In the last few years he’s been making Youtube videos and Twitter feeds. He might have been one of the first five Australians to own a personal computer. And now he’s going into a place where none of that matters.

Complacency is the gun pressed against the skull of every man and woman on earth. Thinking bad things won’t happen to us, thinking that our loved ones will be there forever. They won’t, you know. Sure, each of us will claim to understand this. But do we really?