As usual, this does not include the material I wrote elsewhere, for Crikey, ZDNet Australia, ABC The Drum, Technology Spectator, CSO Online and the rest. That’s all listed on my Media Output page.

1. Right, Google, you stupid cunts, this is simply not on! This was my first critique of the Google+ Real Names Policy, and still the most widely read.
2. LinkedIn’s inadequate response to privacy stupidity, which was when they opened up people’s profiles for use in third-party advertising without asking first.
3. Twitter: a guide for busy paranoids, adapted from a piece I wrote for the NSW Local Government Web Network.
4. Tweeting your way out of Paranoia, a video of the presentation I did for the NSW LGWN conference. Yes, it’s related to the previous item.
5. 50 to 50 #9: The Space Age, and the companion piece…
6. 50 to 50 #9A: The Real Space Age. They’re about my personal experience of the Space Age.
7. Goodbye, Artemis, a very personal experience.

You might also like to check out my personal favourites from 2010, 2009 and 2008.

[Update 27 December 2011: Minor corrections to text and HTML markup.]

There’s not a lot to choose from this year. Most of my writing has been elsewhere. But there’s some interesting results nonetheless.

1. Right, Google, you stupid cunts, this is simply not on! I’m not surprised this is the most-read, but it simply wouldn’t have gotten the attention it did if it weren’t for the c-word. I’ve actually received quite a few compliments about this post.
2. I just don’t get LinkedIn, do you?
3. Follow Politics & Technology Forum people on Twitter.
4. Patch Monday: There are no NBN apps: Turnbull. Given that this is actually just linkage to the podcast site, I’m surprised it got this many views.
5. On stage for the Microsoft Politics & Technology Forum, being my plug for the event.
6. Goodbye, Artemis. I’m hardly surprised this one generated so much traffic. There was so much interest in the demise of this much-loved feline.
7. So LinkedIn is a giant Rolodex, eh?
8. Twitter: a guide for busy paranoids
9. And so begins 2011… in fear, being one of my rare personal pieces.
10. Google+ gives me grief, generally

And here are the 10 most-read posts of 2011 that weren’t written in 2011.

1. So this is human sexuality? This is what happens when you fill a post with sex-related keywords.
2. Why all corporate PR droids should be shot
3. HTC Desire to OS X tethering via USB, still getting hits despite being for an outdated version of Android.
4. Conroy’s speech to ALIA Information Online 2009
5. Jim Wallace’s pro-censorship lies and distortions. I’m surprised that this post in particular was pulling traffic, out of all those about internet censorship, because I don’t think it’s the best.
6. My new hero: Hideki Moronuki
7. Viocorp Future Forum: The Future of News Reporting
8. Note to “old media” journalists: adapt, or stfu!
9. Topic 9 to discuss Australia 2020 Summit’s government topic
10. Cheap fake tan and fat thighs? Snooki!

If you’d like to compare this with previous years, try these:

• Most popular posts of 2010
• Most popular posts of 2009
• Most popular posts of 2008
• Most popular posts of 2007

The costs were $109.10 for Pet Vets‘ initial work on 4 January when we thought Artemis simply had food poisoning, $558.85 for the emergency hospitalisation at Sydney After-hours Veterinary Emergency Service (SAVES) at the University of Sydney when she collapsed on 5 January, and $1453.15 more at Pet Vets subsequently as she seemed to recover, and then didn’t. There was also a cab fare of $11.00 when she was transferred to SAVES.

Total costs were $2132.10.

Donations came in two streams, through my business Prussia.Net‘s account at PayPal, and directly to my bank accounts.

Through PayPal, total donations were $2,905.00 less PayPal’s fees of $85.52 for a net income of $2,819.48. Of this total $1,156.04 was from people who indicated that any surplus should be retained by me rather than donated to the Cat Protection Society of NSW (CPS) [see note 1].

Through my bank accounts with Westpac, both Prussia.Net’s and my personal account, total donations were $895.00, of which $375.00 was from people who indicated that any surplus should be retained by me.

Total donations were $3,714.48, of which $1,531.04 might potentially be retained by me. Therefore $2183.44 must be allocated to either Artemis’ veterinary costs or the CPS.

All veterinary and related costs have clearly been covered, with a non-retainable remainder of $51.34.

I have made a donation of $100 to the Cat Protection Society of NSW through their online donation page at Everyday Hero.

Notes

1. Donations were counted are being retainable by me only if the donor explicitly indicated such through an email, Twitter direct message or clear note on their PayPal donation. The one exception was a donation that was made subsequent to Artemis’ passing and where the donor had presumably read that all costs had been covered.

Documentation

• Pet Vets receipt, 4 January 2011 [344kB JPEG]
• Cabcharge receipt, 5 January 2011 [70kB JPEG]
• SAVES receipt, 6 January 2011 [127kB PDF]
• Pet Vets receipt, 13 January 2011 [3.3MB PDF]
• Donations received via PayPal [41kB PDF]
• Donations received via PayPal [41kB Excel spreadsheet]
• Donations received via Westpac [33kB PDF]
• Donations received via Westpac [29kB Excel spreadsheet]
• Everyday Hero receipt, 15 January 2011 for donation to Cat Protection Society [33kB PDF]

The lists of donations published here have been redacted to remove names, addresses and email addresses. Transactions are shown with the donor’s initials and, in the case of PayPal, the transactions number. Original files may be inspected, but I would ask you to sign a non-disclosure agreement to help protect people’s privacy.

Artemis breathed her last breath at 12.37pm AEDT today. It was a peaceful moment. I held her while she moved from this world into the next. I cried. I am crying now.

Artemis led a gloriously adventurous life, if perhaps short at a little over seven years. She hunted everything from moths and grasshoppers to rats and noisy miner birds, eating most of them. She even brought us the striped marsh frog from the garden pond — three times before she learned, the hard way, that it’s poisonous. She never did catch a currawong, and I’m glad of that.

Artemis used up one of her nine lives when her tail was crushed and eventually amputated.

Today I chose to take her ninth.

Dr Emily Payne from Pet Vets had shown me the ultrasound images and we’d discussed the questions I had this morning. Further imagery would be unlikely to give us any further information.

Artemis’ remaining kidney function was at most 50%. The left kidney was clearly not working at all, otherwise it would have been doing something useful while the right kidney was blocked by that kidney stone.

There’s no way to measure the function of the remaining kidney. There’s no magic test. One could perhaps conduct a biopsy and deduce the functioning, but the biopsy itself would cause damage. And if you’re going in for a biopsy, you might as well go in and tackle that kidney stone.

But even if surgery successfully removed the kidney stone — and obviously surgery brings it own risks, including damage or even destruction of that remaining kidney — what kidney function would remain? Most problems affecting one kidney also affect the other, either now or later. And as I mentioned yesterday, that the right kidney was a decent size was probably just because it was inflated by a back-up of urine. The urethra, for example, was bloated from a normal 0.4mm diameter to somewhere between 2 and 3mm!

All this had already been discussed with people at the University of Sydney. Everyone had agreed that the prognosis was “poor”. That’s one step above “grave”, when it’s three wishes and magic unicorn time, but only one small step.

I chose to end the story here because of that prognosis.

While I am moved by the outpourings of generosity, and I understand that some people want to “never give up” and “try every option”, I would prefer that such efforts were directed where they have more likelihood of producing a result. In Artemis’ case even the very best possible outcome, with that right kidney still somehow magically perfect, she’d still be only 20 percentage points of kidney function above serious long-term problems.

I don’t imagine for a moment that that kidney was somehow perfect. In all likelihood, it was the opposite.

At the risk of severe repetition, thank you again — thank you so much! — for all of your support. I could not have handled the last week without it.

The costs have been $109.10 for Pet Vets’ initial work, $558.85 for the emergency hospital visit, and $1453.15 more at Pet Vets, a total of $2121.10. There was also an $11 cab fare. Your donations have covered this and more, thank you. They totalled, as I’ve mentioned before, somewhere around $3500. I will update this post tomorrow with the exact figures. Total donations were $3,714.48, and I have published the full accounting.

Some friends and even strangers have insisted that their donation was to me as much as to Artemis, given my need to move house at a difficult time, and for that I say another thank you.

Once I have deducted those personal gifts from the total, the remainder will be donated to the Cat Protection Society of NSW. It was they who gave Artemis her life, and I’d like to support their continuing work.

If for whatever reason you would prefer this not to happen, please just let me know and I will refund your donation immediately. If you paid via PayPal, please make sure you email using the same address you use for PayPal so I can find your donation quickly. If you paid by bank transfer, please send me the account details so I can transfer the funds back. You do not have to explain why. I understand this story did not end as we wished. I understand if you do not agree with my choices.

My sincere thanks also to Drs Emily Payne, Glen Kolenc and Meredith Gibbs and your team at Pet Vets. Your honesty and humanity has made an enormous difference this week.

Thanks also to Dr Helsa Teh and Dr Dharshinee Rajkumar and your colleagues at Sydney After-hours Veterinary Emergency Service for giving Artemis this unexpected extra week of life. I’m sorry I can’t thank everyone by name, but I forgot to gather them all.

I believe you will understand if I take the rest of the day off, although I will be reading your comments.

[Photo: Artemis photographed on 19 January 2009 by Trinn ('Pong) Suwannapha. There are more images from this day.]

[Update 15 January 2011: Post edited to include final totals of both costs and donations, and link to the accounting.]

Thanks to today’s X-rays and ultrasound, we have some answers. Sadly for Artemis, the answers are not good. Not good at all.

Artermis’ left kidney is quite small, only 2.8cm long. A normal cat kidney might be 3.5 to 4.5cm. Perhaps she was born with it small, perhaps it’s been damaged later. Kidneys do shrink with some chronic problems. But either way, it’s clearly dodgy.

The right kidney is bigger, but there’s a kidney stone. It’s only 1.5mm in diameter, but we’re talking about a cat not a human. That stone is currently blocking the urethra, and perhaps a back-up of urine is inflating that kidney. It’s possible the stone has only just moved there, which could explain the reversal of Artemis’ blood results over the past few days.

“I would have thought she wouldn’t have recovered as well as she did initially with that stone there,” Dr Emily Payne at Pet Vets told me this afternoon.

Now if this were simply a kidney stone, we’d just operate and remove it. “If it was just that one kidney, the prognosis wouldn’t be too bad,” Dr Payne said. But with the other kidney clearly not right? “The outlook isn’t that great.”

Since so many people now have a stake in Artemis’ future, I’ll present the options and ask for your advice.

There are less-invasive surgical techniques, which I’ll perhaps-inaccurately call “keyhole surgery”, that could remove that kidney stone. The operation would have to be done by the University of Sydney’s surgeons. The cost would be in the order of $3000. If in their pre-surgery investigations they decide that full surgery would be required instead, that’d be more like $4000 to $5000.

If we did some pre-surgery investigations — and the Uni has better imaging equipment and more experienced operators — that would probably cost under $1000, and would count towards any subsequent surgery costs.

There is no guarantee that surgery would succeed, of course. It may well be that both kidneys have been damaged beyond repair. That wouldn’t be known until the surgery had been done, the stone removed, and this process of determining kidney health done all over again.

Even with successful surgery, Artemis might well require a kidney transplant — and apart from the massive cost would they even recommend it in these circumstances? — or permanent dialysis-like fluid support, or more. And don’t forget that we haven’t even considered those lesions in her mouth — although my gut feeling is that with all this talk of kidney problems it’s less likely to be the dreaded mouth cancer.

Costs so far have been $109.10 for Pet Vets’ initial work, $558.85 for the emergency hospital visit, and around more $1300 at Pet Vets so far. That’s a total of just under $2000.

Donations so far total around $3500. In other words, they cover the costs so far, plus any pre-surgery investigations. They would not cover any surgery itself, nor any subsequent costs.

I’ve told Pet Vets that I’d discuss Artemis’ condition with you all overnight, and that I’d be in touch tomorrow with our decision on how to proceed. So how should we proceed?

Before you answer that, do remember that not all stories have a happy ending. Remember the sunk cost fallacy. And have you seen the news? There are bigger stories unfolding this week. I should also flag that some donations were from friends who insisted I should also take care of myself, given my need to move house.

So… what say you all?

I will be here to moderate comments and answer questions through the evening and until I decide I’ve run out of energy.

[Photo: Artemis at Pet Vets, 9 January 2011.]

Dr Meredith Gibbs from Pet Vets phoned through the results a short time ago. Compared with the positive signs 48 hours ago, it’s “disappointing”.

Creatin levels climbed back to 690. Urea was back up to 22.7, although that’s not the worst it’s been. Red blood cell count is still low, in the mid-20s instead of the 30+ it should be in a cat — although that’s possibly just a symptom of the high fluid levels. Electrolytes are still a bit whacky.

So Artemis goes back on the 2x maintenance levels of intravenous fluids — the poor man’s dialysis — until we figure out what’s going on.

And yet, Artemis has reportedly been “even more feisty” than she was on Sunday. She’s been eating overnight, she’s interacting with staff, and she’s showing all the signs of simply being frustrated with having to be in a cage.

After consultations with a specialist at the University of Sydney, a plan has been agreed upon. Ultrasound, X-rays and attempts to culture potential infectious agents to see if there’s some treatable cause of the kidneys not working. That’ll begin tomorrow and we’ll have news of the ultrasound and X-rays around 24 hours from now.

If none of those procedures reveal anything treatable, then we’re looking at untreatable kidney failure. It may not be that. But it’s a distinct possibility, despite Artemis’ apparent external health.

As for exploring the options, there is a veterinary surgeon in Melbourne who does kidney transplants. Enquiries have been made, and we’ll see what the requirements are, but… you know… We’ll see.

The decision has been made to reduce the flow of intravenous fluids down to 1.5x maintenance levels, rather than the 2x she’s been on, and see what happens over the next 48 hours. For the background to that, see the post from earlier today.

“We’re looking at the possibility we could get [her] through it,” says Dr Meredith Gibbs.

I’ve just spent half an hour with Artemis, and here’s a picture. While she’s showing marked improvement, she’s still on fluids at twice the normal maintenance level to flush out any toxins — think of it as poor man’s dialysis — and it’ll still be some days yet before we really know what’s going on.

First the good news. Artemis has been eating. While she was obviously annoyed at still being connected to the drip, she was exhibiting her normal behaviours. I’m friendly, but don’t touch me. Yes, I want attention, but don’t pick me up. How can I escape from this table? How can I get my leg out of this uncomfortable bandage? This is a great sign.

However she needs to stay in this stable state without being on intravenous fluids.

As I mentioned earlier, the blood tests done on Friday afternoon showed that the enzymes associated with kidney problems had been declining, although they were still way above normal levels. Urea levels, for example, had dropped from 113 during the crisis night to 36, but they should be below 12.9. Creatin levels were at 416 on Friday, when they should be below 212. On crisis night they were so high that the measurement technique didn’t even work, even with the blood sample being diluted.

Curiously, certain blood tests showed indications of acute kidney problems, but others were associated with chronic problems.

In brief, as I discussed with Dr Meredith Gibbs today, Artemis was so profoundly ill — so near death! — that everything was very different from normal. We shouldn’t read too much into any of this, but simply take everything one step at a time.

And the next step is further blood tests this afternoon, 48 hours after the last batch. If all these enzyme levels are returning to normal, then the intravenous fluids will be reduced slowly to see what happens — to see whether Artemis’ kidneys can now sustain their function or not. If the blood tests are not showing sufficient movement towards normal today, well, she stays on the high-level fluids for another 48 hours. And then we try again.

So what’s the longer-term view?

Dr Gibbs, as well as the other vets at Pet Vets these past few days, have all stressed that the range of possible outcomes at this point covers the entire gamut. At one end is complete recovery, perhaps because this acute kidney failure was caused by some random toxin and there’s no or little permanent kidney damage. At the other end is severe kidney damage that will never be manageable. In between are various scenarios and various techniques for managing less-than-perfect kidney function. As I say, it will take some time yet to discover where we sit on that spectrum.

And on top of that, if you’ve been following this story you’ll know that there’s still the problem of those lesions in Artemis’ mouth. Cancer? Mere side effect of this kidney problem? We simply don’t know at this stage. Taking a biopsy requires Artemis being able to process the anaesthetic that’d be needed. She’s not there yet. Should we do ultrasound to look for other signs, other potential causes? Well, none of that would change what we’re doing right now, so let’s not waste time and money doing random procedures.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

Deep breath. Patience. We’ll discover things as we discover them.

Meanwhile, I continue to appreciate everyone’s support. Thank you so much for your messages and your donations — which have now exceeded $3000. And Dr Gibbs was astounded last night to be asked at a social function, when she said she worked at Pet Vets, “Oh, are you taking care of a cat called Artemis at the moment? How is she?”

I will post a brief post this afternoon when we have today’s blood test results.

Apart from that, I will only post when there is specific news. Alas, I do have to focus on everything else in my life, such as the Patch Monday podcast production later today and… oh… yes… preparing for the househunting.

There was brief news from Dr Emily Payne on Friday night to say that various kidney-related enzyme levels were still high but reducing relatively quickly, which indicates both that the suspicions regarding liver disease could well be correct and that the issues may not be severe in the long term. The plan then was to keep her on fluids for another 48 hours and update the plan, which of course brings us to now. Please stand by.

“I’m so glad she’s doing well, I really didn’t know if she’d make the night,” said our vet Glen Kolenc a short time ago. And yet Artemis did make it through the night, thanks to interns Dr Helsa Teh and Dr Dharshinee Rajkumar and their team at the Sydney After-hours Veterinary Emergency Service.

“On presentation Artemis was collapsed and her gum colour was slightly muddy,” says the discharge statement. “She was given oxygen by mask and started on shock rates of intravenous fluids. Her blood pressure improved afterwards.” Artemis then spent the night in hospital on the drip, with methodone for pain relief.

While there is a lesion in her mouth which, as I explained yesterday, “could be a tumour”, the report also says that “her small kidneys and very dilute urine despite being dehydrated is suggestive of kidney disease”.

This morning, thanks to James Neave providing transport and Kate Carruthers covering the bills for now, Artemis was transferred back to our regular vets at Pet Vets, Petersham. She’s back on the drip and at the start of a few more days in hospital while tests are run and diagnoses reached.

At lunchtime Dr Emily Payne called from Pet Vets to say the first of the blood results were back. They show very marked kidney disease going on, “all kidney-related enzymes high”, “this all relates to kidneys”. And if it is kidney disease, well, it’s generally manageable long-term. It could even explain the mouth lesions: ulceration. We’ll find out more over the next few days.

However for the time being it’s mostly a matter of getting Artemis her strength back and then figuring out what’s going on. There will be uncertainty for a while, but she’s alive and now in no immediate danger.

My especial thanks to the many, many people who’ve given support, both personal and financial.

Donations have now well exceeded $2000, and this will probably cover the emergency treatment, hospitalisation and diagnoses currently scheduled. Whether further treatment is needed remains to be seen.

Of course if the mouth lesions do turn out to be cancer then we’re in for a bumpy ride. But it may not be that, and Dr Payne emphasised that at this stage we simply don’t know.

Thank you, everyone.

Right now I’m mentally exhausted, and I didn’t get much sleep last night. I will respond properly to comments in the next instalment. But for now, I’m taking a nap.

[Photo: Artemis, 30 May 2004.]

What a week! If you were following my Twitter stream this evening, you’d already know that one of the cats, Artemis, is gravely ill tonight. She is in hospital. My cashflows are thoroughly depleted. And I am severely stressed. But I am also astounded by people’s generosity of spirit.

In writing all this, I run the risk of alienating those who want to see a supposed-professional’s website full of serious things like my media work and serious commentary, or at least mildly amusing satire, not that supposedly lowest-of-low, “cat blogging”. My good friend Nick Hodge has already written this week about professional versus personal social media projections and the risks of letting them intermingle.

But you know what? Fuck all that!

If I am to be an honest human — and I would like to think I strive to be one — then what I write about should be what is on my mind. And this is what dominates my mind today. If you don’t like it, well, stop reading now and pop back another time. Maybe next week.

And if you think less of me for writing about the personal issues that happen to be dominating my life, well, fuck you too.

So, to Artemis…

Yesterday we thought she had food poisoning of some sort, and figured she’d recover today after spending the night flaked out on the bed. But her appetite did not return, and late this afternoon she took a turn for the worst. No energy, unable to stand on her own feet, weak pulse.

I got her to our local vet just as they were closing, but she was too ill to stay overnight unattended, so we took her to the Sydney After-hours Veterinary Emergency Service at the University of Sydney’s Veterinary Teaching Hospital.

Initial treatment with fluids restored some of Artemis’ strength. She’s sitting up again.

The initial consultation revealed symptoms of small kidneys and possibly infected bladder, which could mean anything from kidney disease of some sort to a urinary tract infection. Comprehensive urine and blood tests will be required. Some bleeding was also revealed in her mouth, with unusual tissue growth. This can be indicative of mouth cancer, although someone on Twitter did say something about kidney problems causing mouth ulcers. However the vet flagged the likelihood of cancer. A biopsy will be needed, but at the moment Artemis isn’t strong enough for the anaesthetic needed for that.

Now all this couldn’t have come at a worse time.

As I wrote the other day, I’m already in the difficult position of having to find a new home when I’m skint. One of my tasks over the next few days is to figure out how to get sufficient cash in while we’re in the slow-income post-holiday period to enable househunting and moving before 3 February.

This evening, however, I emptied my bank account and my wallet into as much as I could muster to cover the required 50% deposit for the estimated treatment costs.

That wasn’t enough for the full recommended option that included all the analyses for this first night. It was enough for the consultation and hospital cover, fluids, initial essential treatment and some methodone. That’s $640, of which I’ve paid half. So Artemis is alive, and my task now is to figure out the next steps — including paying the rest of that, deciding the course of action from here, and then paying for that.

As far as I understand the options from here, Artemis will need at least a few days in hospital, plus those tests to properly diagnose her condition, including the potential cancer. I imagine all that won’t be less than an additional $1000. If it is cancer, and operable, then that’s a jaw section to be removed. I don’t see that being under another $1000, given that when her tail was crushed in an accident in 2007 and had to be removed that cost around $1000, and the jaw sounds more complicated.

So there’s my challenge for tomorrow. Pay for the initial treatment and investigations. Then, once they’re done, figure out how to cover the rest of the problems once they’re revealed or, face the other potential decision, consider whether it’s all too hard, too much of a burden on everyone including the Furry One herself, and go for The Long Green Sleep.

I must be honest here and say that I am overwhelmed.

People might imagine that because I have a reasonably high profile and have travelled overseas twice last year that I have a respectable income. I do not. The media work I do pays very little. The geek-for hire work I do is relatively low in volume. The overseas trips were paid for by others — Microsoft and Salesforce.com, to name names.

And my total volume of work, and hence income, is patchy because over the years I’ve had an on-again off-again battle with depression — something I don’t make a big deal of because, well, it’s as boring as all fuck. But several nastier-than-usual bouts over the past few years, each representing stretches of some weeks without any real income, have left me with zero cash reserves and no credit cards. Like most people with even less income than me, I pay as I go and pray there’ll be no unexpected glitches.

Like having to move house.

Or sick pets.

As it approaches midnight on this Wednesday night, I am not depressed. But I do have a very large question mark sitting in front of me.

However I am overwhelmed by people’s generosity, and generosity of spirit.

Friends have offered to sort out what happens tomorrow morning. We still have to work out the details, but at least tomorrow is OK.

What has astounded me, though, is the generosity of strangers. On the left-hand side of my website there’s a PayPal donation button. People have used it occasionally over the years. However in the past three days there’s been five donations totalling over $200 — all but one from complete strangers. People I barely know have been offering help on Twitter this evening — logistics, cold hard cash, or both. The other day, when I first mentioned my accommodation problem, people offered to help cover the bond on new premises until the old one is refunded, as well as other kinds of support.

I am surprised, pleased, feeling supported but nevertheless overwhelmed. And today has been the first day in the last few weeks that I’ve been able to focus well enough.

Tonight several people suggested that I set up a microfinance donation thingo to cover Artemis’ treatment. That is an option, and I’ll consider it properly in the morning, because I am certainly in no position to pay back loans of the magnitude required.

But all that is enough for now. The facts of the matter have tumbled out. I am exhausted. I’ll get a phone call between 6.30 and 7.30am tomorrow with further news. And right now Apollo, the other cat, is demanding attention. Loudly.

Thank you everyone, truly thank you, for your support tonight.

[Photo: Artemis with her prey, a noisy miner bird, from 23 May 2005.]

The cat vomited this morning. Again. Artemis has this habit of gorging her food and then, five minutes later, throwing up wherever she’s standing.

Today it was a projectile effort from the heights of the TV stand, a reddish-brown spatter right across the living room floor.

Remember that last time you threw up? How the acrid stomach acids burnt your throat and mouth? How it felt like it was surging up into the back of your nose? It’s just like that. Freshly warm and mixed with the reek of cheap fish.

You can’t help but get it on your hands as you wipe it up.

I’ll bet just the thought of that smell is causing tightness in your sinuses, clenching in your throat.

Wiping up cat vomit first thing in the morning is rather unpleasant, no?

If wiping up cat vomit is the worst you have to think about today, then you’re one of the luckiest bastards on this planet. It’s not a particularly demanding sacrifice to make in return for some furry companionship.

Today is, of course, Anzac Day, our national memorial for those who’ve made the ultimate sacrifice for our country, and that other country.

After writing a highly personal Anzac Day Rememberings last year, today I wanted to write something equally worthy. As I wandered the house pondering possible themes, Artemis did her projectile vomit trick. I was annoyed and, yes, disgusted. Then I was disgusted at myself for having such a strong reaction to such a minor inconvenience.

War is perhaps a little bit more inconvenient.

Especially for those who have to do the actual combat thing.

Australia is at war today — in Afghanistan and elsewhere. It’s a distant thing, though. Unlike the graphic scenes of our first television war in Vietnam, media is now tightly controlled. We rarely see anything but the approved images of Our Brave Boys and Girls.

And yet it can’t possibly be so neat and tidy.

I was moved by the comments of “War Weary” in Crikey yesterday:

I want nothing to do with commemorating the destruction to mind, body and soul that is war. For my father too, who served close to the full six years in WW2, war was a brain-altering experience.

I have two photos of him from that time: in one taken just before his departure he looks like any other young bloke of his era; and in the second, taken barely 18 months later, he has the gaunt, harrowed face of a man at least twice his age. He survived not one but numerous life-threatening incidents, each of which alone could have led to post-traumatic stress disorder — a condition he never fully recovered from to his death.

My father didn’t drink to drown his terrors. He put a tight lid on them and felt largely ashamed of his inability to keep that lid on. “I’m just not tough enough,” were some of his final words. Ours was a home strictly controlled and dominated by my father’s chronic and largely untreated anxiety and hyper-vigilance, and the necessity to keep him functioning at all costs so that he could earn our keep. It was a different, more subtle kind of violence than that of the alcoholic, but no less destructive.

As a Lebanese friend (born when the war in Lebanon started and knowing nothing else until well into his teens) remarked to me once: “It sounds like there was a war going on inside your home, whereas for me the war was always outside.”

My mother was granted a war widow’s pension after his death — but I felt moved to write a long letter to the Department of Veteran Affairs at the time, describing in summary the damage to all of us, his children. Where was the help for us? Each of us suffered long-term psychological damage, leading to enormous difficulties in establishing and sustaining intimate relationships. All of us have had to fund our own psychological help over many years. Not least this meant that our capacities to contribute positively to our communities were negatively impacted.

While Veterans Affairs and the military today clearly do recognise and attempt to mitigate the psychological damage of war, the grim reality and perniciousness of it have not yet permeated our cultural consciousness.

“War Weary” is right about the psychological damage of war, both on those who serve and on their friends and families. Their story is far from unique.

I remember one long night of chatting and drinking with a mate who’d just returned from… well, from some time away doing whatever it was that he did. He paused for a while. He looked into the distance at nothing in particular, the thousand-yard stare.

Then he started talking again.

Slowly.

Quietly.

You know, the first time you line up someone in your sights and you pull the trigger and see them drop, it’s pretty confronting. After you’ve done it a few times, you don’t… you don’t get used to it, but it does become a little less confronting.

In a firefight, look… everybody’s shooting, all the confusion… you don’t really connect specific acts with specific…

Then he paused again. He took a long slow sip of his beer. What seemed like an eternity passed before he said just one more sentence:

A knife, on the other hand, is a whole lot more personal.

Yes, “War Weary” is right. The psychological damage of war is appalling. But he or she is wrong about Anzac Day.

We don’t commemorate “the destruction to mind, body and soul that is war”. We commemorate the strength and fortitude of the individual men and women who face it, sometimes never to return, or to return… changed.

These men and women make their sacrifices in what we hope is a valuable exchange. Sometimes it’s to protect our very way of living from a clear global threat, and the exchange is clear. Sometimes it’s part of a more complex trade, where the motives are less clear. And sometimes, despite public rhetoric about some great terror, we fear that it’s really just for convenience or commerce.

Yet those men and women choose to serve and, perhaps, to be sacrificed.

They shall grow not old,
As we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them,
Nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun,
And in the morning
We will remember them.
Lest we Forget

We trust that our politicians, who decide where and when those men and women serve, make worthy decisions about this most valuable exchange.

Prime Minister Rudd, Sir, are you making worthy decisions? Please look me straight in the eye when you answer that.

[This piece was inspired by re-reading How I decide what and when to blog, and especially the quote therein from Umberto Eco. Photo credits: The rosemary sprig was taken from Matthew Hall's Twitter page from last year. If I owe someone for that usage, I'll make good. The two soldiers were found on a defence industry news website, but I believe the image is © Commonwealth of Australia and therefore usable here.]

That’s Artemis on the left and Apollo on the right. Artemis had spent all afternoon asleep on my jacket, near where I was working. Apollo had been sleeping on my other jacket on the office floor. I think they now expect to be fed or something.