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Dad aged 60 years was a powerhouse—energetic, handsome, tall and powerful. I thought he would live forever. He and mum were mountaineers, opening a treacherous climb in the Drakensberg, South Africa, which bears their name (figure 1), fleeing apartheid and starting a new life in Australia. He was a pioneering academic in his field after a terrible childhood. An exceptional marriage, three children, lots of adventures.
Then at 64 a colleague noticed that he looked a little stiff, and he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.
He kept falling—a dramatic plunge head first into a swimming pool at a posh party in his finest clothes, stumbles and trips on a bushwalk, multiple falls backwards from ladders. This was made all the more worrying as he …
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