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By Danie Toerien

Journalist


Chronicles of ageing: A dreaded late-night phone call with one of my daughters

Back in bed, I stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, waiting for the phone not to ring again.


It was just before 10pm. I had gone to bed about an hour earlier and, exhausted, almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Although fast asleep, I must have somehow been aware of the comfort of my bed, my cat snuggling up against me, blissfully oblivious to the world out there. In the land of sleep, time is of no consequence.

Then whack, like a bolt of lightning, I was up and running, a million thoughts flashing through my head in the few seconds it took to reach my ringing phone. Is my youngest okay? She’s living in Cape Town and working at a
hospital on the Cape Flats, where she deals with gang violence on a daily basis.

While treating people with gunshot or stab wounds, she is often threatened by the same people seeking her expert help. Driving to and from the hospital, she has to cross numerous gang territories. Was she in an accident? My imagination was running wild.

Or was it perhaps one of my other daughters calling? Little Olive’s mom? Is she and Olive okay? Earlier in the day, we just happened to talk about their home security. Despite having an alarm system in the house and a strong palisade fence, they are considering adding an electric fence as there have been a number of break-ins in their area recently.

Or is their something wrong with Olive? Are they already on their way to the hospital? It could also be my eldest daughter calling. Very dark scenarios flashed through my head. I groped around in the dark for my glasses, knocking over my water in the process. After forever, I eventually had my eyes on and saw on my phone screen that it was indeed Olive’s mom calling.

My heart stopped, kick-started itself again and pushed its rev counter into the red.

“What’s wrong?” I screamed.

“Hi Daddy,” she replied, “I’m just calling to hear if you and mom are okay.”

“We’re fine, just about to go to bed,” I lied, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

Back in bed, I stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night, waiting for the phone not to ring again.

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