For close to 50 years, Graham Caple spent his working life driving trucks day in, day out. But his ordinary and reliably predictable life altered suddenly and irrevocably in the two weeks before Christmas in 2019.
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A seemingly small yet persistent infection in the left foot of the veteran truck driver had turned his leg gangrenous, compelling its amputation at knee level.
"I've only got one- and three-quarter legs," Mr Caple said. "I struggle and I know I'll have to put up with it for the rest of my life."
"But I really do miss driving trucks."
The resulting physical disability stripped Mr Caple of his lifelong job, ability to walk and sense of dignity, pushing him to register with Centrelink for the first time in his life.
"No one wants to be on Centrelink," he said, speaking to the severe mental impact his sudden change in circumstances had visited on him.
Ten weeks after Mr Caple's surgery, the pandemic descended and the world fell into a collective lockdown.
In a matter of mere months, Mr Caple- like many thousands of others like him - found himself exiled to the fringes of abject poverty.
IN THE NEWS
It's true COVID-19, theoretically at least, doesn't discriminate in its spread - its sheer transmissibility. But it's equally true, as both domestic and international research has shown, that those on low incomes are both more likely die from COVID-19 and feel the full force of its economic consequences.
For the last two years, pandemic restrictions have denied Mr Caple, who is a diabetic, regular visits from a registered nurse, forcing him to purchase medicinal supplies, like bandages and kidney trays, out of his own limited funds.
Indeed, faced with financial pressures from all directions - housing, utilities, food, medication, transportation and mobility costs - Mr Caple was confronted with an unpalatable choice: either buy his medication and starve, or, buy food and chance his life.
Tina Hardy, who runs Food with Thought - a self-funded charity specialising in food relief for the elderly and victims of domestic violence, said Mr Caple's experience was an increasingly common one.
"All my clients are now in a similar position to Graham," Ms Hardy said. "Because most of them are in their 70s, 80s or 90s and all have medications, they've got to make a choice: either they eat or they live."
Ms Hardy said it was false binary, of course. Without food, you won't survive; and without your medication, you won't survive.
Ms Hardy's charity services over 100 regular clients from Ballarat to Maryborough and Ballan. She decided to focus her charity on the needs of the elderly because, invariably, it was more difficult for them to physically access the support of other charities. Many of her clients are so poor they cannot afford Meals on Wheels.
But in recent months, Ms Hardy has unofficially expanded her aged criteria to include people living with disability in their 50s and 60s who, like Mr Caple, lack the funds for both food and medicine.
"I got Tina to help me; I don't like doing it, but Tina is good enough to help me out," Mr Caple said. "I'd be starving if it weren't for her."
Last week, Ms Hardy, with the support of not-for-profit FareShare, cooked and prepared over 200 meals for new clients on top of the usual 350 meals she normally prepares for her regular clients.
"People think that people on disability support [pensions] are on good wicket," she said. "They don't understand how much their medications quickly add up and how the safety net often falls short."
"These people aren't mismanaging their money - they're normal, everyday people who have just reached the limit."
Ms Hardy, it's worth noting, was speaking from personal experience. The former nurse has suffered from a degenerative spinal injury since breaking her spine at the age of 29 and is a severe asthmatic. And, like her clients, she often can't afford to both eat properly and buy her pain medications.
"I'm on disability myself and my medication costs are extreme - that's why I've been helping people who don't meet my aged criteria," she said.
"My medications cost up to $300 a fortnight alone and food has gone up, too, so my 13-year-old son and I frequently go without groceries and just eat toast.
"But I don't want to see anyone go hungry - I'd take food out of my own cupboard if I have to."
Ms Hardy said the sheer volume of people now relying on her to survive spoke to a desperate need for reform. In her view, the threshold for the PBS safety net needed to be lowered or, alternatively, common over-the-counter medications needed to be government subsidised.
"What's happening out there is horrendous," she said. "Something needs to be done."
"There are so many medications that are not PBS [supported] that people on disability rely on."
Though Ms Hardy was adamant she'd never turn anyone away who was in need, the reality was, she conceded, she was just one person.
In 2021, she cooked over 15,000 meals for people in need, noting it was marked increase from previous years. She's now worried the explosion in COVID-19 infections across the community will see that number rise further this year.
"I have the support of many people in the community, like the McGrath Foundation, Salvos, Foodshare and others - but I cook all the meals myself and pay for it," she said. "Any donation I get goes to my clients; I don't use it on myself."
"I've already gone through three fridges from all the wear they've had freezing meals and my utilities bills are phenomenal."
In Australia, as elsewhere in the world, progress on inequality has marched backwards since the pandemic's inception. The very rich have expanded their wealth, while millions more have been thrown to the whims of near destitution.
With that trend unlikely to reverse any time soon, Ms Hardy said she would continue to cook meat and veg meals night and day to ensure no one goes hungry - even if means the loss of another freezer or two.
"I just want to help people; it's just in my nature - I can't see people suffer," she said. "Luckily, I'm an insomniac and only sleep three hours every night - the rest of the time I try to cook."
"But I am worried for my clients; they're isolated, vulnerable and terrified."
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