This Thursday I’ll be embarking on a road trip that shapes as being somewhat less
self-indulgent – and, possibly, less self-damaging – than the many previous
I’ve enjoyed with my old mate, Warren Hicks.
This one’s a fundraising drive in a literal sense – the Daniher Drive for MND – and over three days Waz and I, along with his brother Simon, and another good mate from our hometown of Cobram, Jarrod Lukies, will take in some of Victoria’s most scenic attractions, with stopovers in Warrnambool, Bendigo and Albury.
Around 1400 kilometres in all. Four great mates. Yes, it’s going to be fun.
But even as the warmth of mateship and laughter eddies around our stickered vehicle, the bigger picture, and the deeper message, won’t be far away.
Motor Neurone Disease is a body-cruelling affliction that has, in recent years, set up home in the public sphere. This newfound prominence is largely due to AFL legend Neale Daniher, who, in the 12-plus months since being diagnosed, has nobly used his profile to educate Australians about the disease. He’s linked up with the Cure for MND Foundation, and driven such events as the Big Freeze at the G.
Each time we’ve seen Neale on television or at organised events he’s pushed through the strain of the disease to deliver impassioned messages about finding a way to rid society of ‘the Beast’, all the while retaining the larrikin persona that embodied his peak years.
His stoical, selfless attitude takes me back to my first encounter with MND. In 2002 Lorna Hicks – wife to Brian and mother of Warren and Simon, as well as Naomi and the late Leigh – was taken from us far too early, at the age of 51.
This one’s a fundraising drive in a literal sense – the Daniher Drive for MND – and over three days Waz and I, along with his brother Simon, and another good mate from our hometown of Cobram, Jarrod Lukies, will take in some of Victoria’s most scenic attractions, with stopovers in Warrnambool, Bendigo and Albury.
Around 1400 kilometres in all. Four great mates. Yes, it’s going to be fun.
But even as the warmth of mateship and laughter eddies around our stickered vehicle, the bigger picture, and the deeper message, won’t be far away.
Motor Neurone Disease is a body-cruelling affliction that has, in recent years, set up home in the public sphere. This newfound prominence is largely due to AFL legend Neale Daniher, who, in the 12-plus months since being diagnosed, has nobly used his profile to educate Australians about the disease. He’s linked up with the Cure for MND Foundation, and driven such events as the Big Freeze at the G.
Each time we’ve seen Neale on television or at organised events he’s pushed through the strain of the disease to deliver impassioned messages about finding a way to rid society of ‘the Beast’, all the while retaining the larrikin persona that embodied his peak years.
His stoical, selfless attitude takes me back to my first encounter with MND. In 2002 Lorna Hicks – wife to Brian and mother of Warren and Simon, as well as Naomi and the late Leigh – was taken from us far too early, at the age of 51.
Lorna was a young 51 – an upbeat,
vibrant and, most of all, kind person. She brightened those around her with her
warm smile and energetic nature.
I had the privilege of playing under her in mixed indoor cricket, and the
strong batting pairing we forged was due in no small part to Lorna’s calming
influence. I’d play a risky shot and be caught off the net and Lorna would
almost pre-empt my next move (most likely a dropped head, or thrown bat),
moving my focus back to the task at hand, and the next ball.
She was a particularly skillful cricketer, a smart bat and nippy bowler who would hold her own against many of the men. She also excelled in tennis and, as she discovered at the age of 46, netball, when she won the league best-and-fairest in her debut season.
As Waz recalls, it was the high standard she set herself in these sports that led her to realise something was amiss in 1998, when aged 47. “She couldn’t quite get the same grip on the cricket bat and tennis racquet, and could not hold on to those catches she would normally always take,” he says.
When several visits to GPs and specialists failed to turn up answers, Lorna undertook research and practically diagnosed herself, prompting the specialists to test for MND. Lorna’s suspicious were on the money, and the family was heartbroken. “Our family had never heard of MND before, and nor had Mum, but unfortunately, like the Daniher family, we had a crash course, real quick, on what MND is and the debilitating effect it has on people,” Waz says. “And as we have learnt, it does not discriminate who it takes in its path. As Neale says, it really is a beast.”
But Brian and Lorna refused to give in, trying many treatments throughout her three-year battle, including a trip to the Philippines for a miracle cure, electrode treatment and all manner of self-healing.
All, sadly, to no avail. The beast is as brisk as it is brutal. When I departed Australia in April 2000 to live in Dublin with my then Irish girlfriend, Lorna’s downward slide had begun. Eighteen months later, when I returned, she was wheelchair-bound, communicating through a computer aid. But her trademark inner glow remained. She didn’t wallow in anger or self-pity, as would be completely understandable given the unfair hand she’d been dealt (not only with the disease but also losing a 19-year-old son in a truck accident, something she never reconciled with), instead expending precious energy in finding out how I was settling back into Australia after the best part of a four-year absence. This was how she rolled.
Lorna has left quite the legacy; her three wonderful adult children are a credit to her and Brian, and her standing in the Cobram community – so evident at her funeral on that hot March day in 2002 – will forever be enshrined in the hearts of those who knew her… and in the annual trophy awarded to the local tennis club’s champion player, the Lorna Hicks Memorial Award.
“Mum was an inspiration to all around her – and no more so than her children,” Waz proudly recollects. “She had such a positive, happy approach to life, people just loved being around her. I remember my Auntie Ilma – Mum’s sister – saying at the funeral: ‘wow, I didn’t realise Lorna was a celebrity until now’.”
For the Daniher Drive we were given an initial fundraising goal of $4000. We blew that out of the water within 48 hours. This was upped to $10,000; we smashed that, too. Our final goal, which we’re closing in on rapidly, is $15,000. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen Waz or Simon send thank-you emails to donors with the words ‘we’ve been blown away by people’s generosity’.
Most pertinently, we’ve hit this goal without chasing the corporate dollar. It’s the constant feed of $20, $50 and $100 donations – from friends of friends, distant relatives, mums and dads of friends – that has seen us to our targets.
The human spirit is, indeed, alive and well. With all the wrongs of the world that splash across our TVs and newspapers on a daily basis, it’s nice to be reminded of that.
She was a particularly skillful cricketer, a smart bat and nippy bowler who would hold her own against many of the men. She also excelled in tennis and, as she discovered at the age of 46, netball, when she won the league best-and-fairest in her debut season.
As Waz recalls, it was the high standard she set herself in these sports that led her to realise something was amiss in 1998, when aged 47. “She couldn’t quite get the same grip on the cricket bat and tennis racquet, and could not hold on to those catches she would normally always take,” he says.
When several visits to GPs and specialists failed to turn up answers, Lorna undertook research and practically diagnosed herself, prompting the specialists to test for MND. Lorna’s suspicious were on the money, and the family was heartbroken. “Our family had never heard of MND before, and nor had Mum, but unfortunately, like the Daniher family, we had a crash course, real quick, on what MND is and the debilitating effect it has on people,” Waz says. “And as we have learnt, it does not discriminate who it takes in its path. As Neale says, it really is a beast.”
But Brian and Lorna refused to give in, trying many treatments throughout her three-year battle, including a trip to the Philippines for a miracle cure, electrode treatment and all manner of self-healing.
All, sadly, to no avail. The beast is as brisk as it is brutal. When I departed Australia in April 2000 to live in Dublin with my then Irish girlfriend, Lorna’s downward slide had begun. Eighteen months later, when I returned, she was wheelchair-bound, communicating through a computer aid. But her trademark inner glow remained. She didn’t wallow in anger or self-pity, as would be completely understandable given the unfair hand she’d been dealt (not only with the disease but also losing a 19-year-old son in a truck accident, something she never reconciled with), instead expending precious energy in finding out how I was settling back into Australia after the best part of a four-year absence. This was how she rolled.
Lorna has left quite the legacy; her three wonderful adult children are a credit to her and Brian, and her standing in the Cobram community – so evident at her funeral on that hot March day in 2002 – will forever be enshrined in the hearts of those who knew her… and in the annual trophy awarded to the local tennis club’s champion player, the Lorna Hicks Memorial Award.
“Mum was an inspiration to all around her – and no more so than her children,” Waz proudly recollects. “She had such a positive, happy approach to life, people just loved being around her. I remember my Auntie Ilma – Mum’s sister – saying at the funeral: ‘wow, I didn’t realise Lorna was a celebrity until now’.”
For the Daniher Drive we were given an initial fundraising goal of $4000. We blew that out of the water within 48 hours. This was upped to $10,000; we smashed that, too. Our final goal, which we’re closing in on rapidly, is $15,000. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen Waz or Simon send thank-you emails to donors with the words ‘we’ve been blown away by people’s generosity’.
Most pertinently, we’ve hit this goal without chasing the corporate dollar. It’s the constant feed of $20, $50 and $100 donations – from friends of friends, distant relatives, mums and dads of friends – that has seen us to our targets.
The human spirit is, indeed, alive and well. With all the wrongs of the world that splash across our TVs and newspapers on a daily basis, it’s nice to be reminded of that.
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| Waz and I with our mums, October 1997 |
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