Life’s Rich Pattern

A new reality

BY LIZ FOSTER

We recently trialled a virtual reality experience for residents at the aged care facility where I work. By strange happenstance it coincided with my family’s own VR event that week for my daughter’s eighteenth birthday. Our residents enjoyed a Night at the Opera by the Melba Opera Trust while we grappled with escaping from an Egyptian Tomb.

For the uninitiated, VR is a three-dimensional, computergenerated environment which you explore and interact with. You become part of the world – you basically turn into the avatar - and can manipulate objects or do other very cool stuff. Have to say as a VR novice, it’s fabulous. It’s also weird, disorienting and a bit creepy. Our seniors were amongst the first in Australia to trial the whole shebang as a remotely activated roll-out. In other words the headsets arrived in the mail for us to set up. Individually. Alarm bells started pealing when the tech company called to check if ‘our IT department’ had any questions. (Our IT department consists of Jamie from the café and Steve the minibus driver.) Undeterred, the team pressed on. Setting up twelve socially distanced residents, some with dementia, explaining to each one what they would see, was no easy task. But at last they were ready to go, space goggles wrapped round their heads like bug eyed Martians. Over in Egypt, I became an Amazonian princess, warrior like, handsome and bedazzled from head to foot with coloured beads. It was unbelievably strange raising my hands to my face and seeing elegant brown multi-ringed fingers before my eyes. ‘Whose hands are they?’ bellowed one of our residents, during his own virtual opera. ‘THEY’RE YOUR HANDS LLOYD,’ Jamie shouted into his ear. There was a lot of back and forth while straps were adjusted, and chairs repositioned. Individual microphones were a bridge too far, so the audio was played aloud, creating its own challenges for the hard of hearing. And we realised belatedly that spectacle wearers needed to keep them on, or everything would be (even more) blurry. The aria performances started and before long there were tapping toes a plenty and clapping at the end of each set. Twenty minutes was enough for some and Lloyd soon made a beeline for the exit. ‘What did you think?’ I asked him as he manoeuvred his walking frame through the door. ‘Not for me love. Can’t stand opera.’ Fair enough. The Egyptian headsets were fancier devices than the opera goggles, more like full helmets with built in mikes. The briefing session was, well, brief. ‘You can’t go wrong,’ said the twelve-year-old instructor. ‘Just move your hands and when they go blue you can pick something up. Off you go!’ With that detailed advice under our belts, we set off to find the treasure. I say set off, but what you do is throw your remote forwards so you’re ‘virtually’ advancing from room to room, not walking in real life. A techy problem with my headset meant it needed resetting, so I watched my family pursue their hysterical quest. My husband stood at an angle on one foot, jester-like, making wild air swipes towards the fire exit. As the shortest family member, Ruby’s avatar (a solid, fierce looking scar faced guy straight out of the Indiana Jones baddy playbook) had perpetually bent knees which made him/her walk like a gorilla. By the end of the VR opera, the aged care residents were sweaty and exhausted. So were the staff. And so was I as I emerged from the tomb, treasure in hand, victorious thanks to some significant clues (aka pointed instructions) from my offspring. I’m with you Lloyd. Operatic aria or tomb raider, it takes a bit of getting used to. Maybe next time we should swap.

Illustration by Grace Kopsiaftis

Liz Foster is a local writer and author. You can find more Life’s Rich Pattern features and more at www.lizfosterwriter.com