With a black eye, I’m shaved and slightly dressed, on my way to the unemployment office interview when the nurse calls. She’s got this real dead tone in her voice. She’s trying to be compassionate, I can tell, but maybe she’s worked a double shift, and just can’t be bothered anymore. She says is my mother Susan Walsh? Yes. And is my name Christopher Walsh? Yes. Christopher… You can call me Chris. Chris, your mother has unfortunately suffered a stroke. —. Are you ok? Yes. Do you have anyone close by that can care for her? No. One of your aunties told me you’re in Melbourne, can you maybe come up this way soon? Yes.