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petweei

ls this life?

Modern technology has allowed doc- tors to play God without His continu- ing responsibility. They "save" patients knowing that they will discharge them to a lifetime of dreadful emptiness. The families who love the disastrous results of this technological abuse face a similar

bleak future.

As I sat in an intensive care unit

with my daughter, there was a flurry of activity behind drawn curtains. Life-saving equipment was rushed in. After some minutes, a clear male voice commented: "If we save this one, he'll be a wipe-out."

I wanted to scream: "Then why are you doing it?"

The time has come for the medical

profession to face the serious ques- tions raised by the technological explosion and institute continuing education courses in "The value of life" and "Allowing the dignity of death," making them mandatory for all members involved in casualty,

emergency, neurosurgery, coronary and intensive care units.

For the real God's sake, this is not a criticism, it is a plea!

Name and address withheld.

Bouncing baby

I have been a daily jogger for 18 months. After six months I was easily able to run three kilometres. When I became preg- nant my doctor saw no reason for me to stop, and I ran two kilometres the day before my baby was born.

I had a short (five-hour) labour, the baby is perfect and being breast fed. Fm sure running helped us both. I am now running six kilometres a day and am still improving.

Alison Taite, Emu Plains, NSW.

PS: I found I had to run at 5.30am to avoid people who would stop to offer me

a lift! M

Know your way S

Family and friends are frequenth G amused that I have no sense of direction gi It never bothered me until I found myseli o' travelling in an ambulance with mj

young son to an out-of-town hospital. All n went well until we reached the outskirts i of the town and the driver, a newcomer to 3 the area, asked me for directions to the " hospital. !

After a few wrong turns the be- wildered driver found his own way. The next day I made a point of discovering the various routes to the hospital and memorizing them. Having no sense of direction could, after all, cost someone his or her Ufe.

Annette Chacos, Grenfell, NSW.

'Pon my word!

I inherited my car which, like me, was no youngster, and gaily started taking lessons. Fortunately my instructor was a patient man, but soon friends began asking the number of lessons I intended having.

I discovered they had needed only six, so conveniently lost count of mine. At last my instructor insisted I go for ray licence and, thanks to a very understand- ing police officer, I passed my test. Then the fun began!

How often I looked into my garage and hoped someone had stolen that wretched car! I watched women I considered total nit-wits driving with confidence. Where, oh where, was mine?

At last, and to my horror, I found myself shouting at a male driver. I told him just what I thought of him, using words I had not realized I knew, and not even repeating myself. At last I was a

DRIVER!

Mrs A. Blight, Rosanna, Vic.

\/¡hase L/our jlwuujhJs wdfvuo a/id3,000,000 otAir dutfraäa/is

Sweet sorrow

Goodbye, little house. After 23 years, goodbye. I hope you'll forgive me and understand why I have now deserted you.

It was February, 1957, that we first moved in to you: Terry (my husband), Sally Anne, 14, Louella, ll, and Holly, 3'/2. I was seven months pregnant. I remember Charles being born, and then his untimely death 15 months later. In 1959 God sent us another daughter, Kim.

Everything I remember springs from the house - partings, reunions, gradua- tions and weddings. Most of all I remember a morning in March, 1977, Terry and I eating our breakfast and Terry saying very casually: "I have a bit of a lump in my throat." Terry, who had never been a lie-a-bed. They took him to hospital and he was dead a week later.

So many things I remember. I don't feel any different, but I'm an old woman

now.

Please, little house, understand why I've deserted you. Too many memories. At my age if I don't move now it will be too late.

Ruth Kerr, Southport, Qld.

A real bunfight

It may surprise readers to know that the "lamington" is not an Australian confec- tion, but came originally from Scotland. A woman who emigrated to Australia from Lamington made the cakes for friends and being asked for their name replied: "Oh, it's only a Lamington recipe." The town of Lamington is visited by many Australians who like to have their photographs taken with the signpost in the background.

Scottish reader, Whyalla, SA.

iii * *

The "lamington" cake was created in Queensland. It was named after a Queensland governor, Lord Lamington. One day, when unexpected guests ar- rived, the chef had only some stale sponge cake, coconut and cocoa in the kitchen!

Mrs N. Dorsett, Maryborough, Old.

Wisecrack

My small granddaughter patted my face gently, and I waited complacently for the usual "I love you, Nanny." Instead, she completely deflated my ego by informing me I was growing cracks in mv face.

Mrs M. Cox, Oatley, NSW.

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