Hi, my name is @riverflows, and I'm phonecallphobic.

I grew up in an age where you dragged the phone into the other room and SCREAMED at your parents for DARING to enter the same room with you whilst you were on the phone. In a curled nook by Dad's drafting desk and the smell of ink, I'd hold the warming plastic to my ear and twirl the cord around my fingers as I whispered and laughed and told secrets across the buzzing lines, cautious of the click that meant my parents had picked up the line for a call in the other room. They weren't eavesdroppers, but I was worried they'd accidentally catch a plan, a confession, an expletive.

I remember talking for hours with a boy with gorgeous surfer blond hair that would talk to me about the blues for hours (he totally stitched me up because he was too stoned to front up to the school leaving dinner, but that's another story) and calls down the hall: 'It's for youuuuuuuuuu - but don't be long because I'm expecting a call!!'. In abject teen loneliness, I confess to picking up the phone to hear it's purr, wondering if it was working, because the call I was expecting hadn't come.

I remember the cool sensation and rubbery curls of the telephone cord.

Sharing a phone these days is almost unheard of. Even the poorest of us have a mobile device. How did we get to this sci-fi future where we all have computers in our pockets, let alone communication tools that constantly beep at us? I always have my phone on 'Do Not Disturb' mode - it's insistence that I respond to every alarm and alert is wearying, exhausting. And I'm a responder - if you message me, I'll get back to you immediately, which creates more stress in my life. What if they think I'm rude? What if they think I don't care? What if I miss out?

When home computers became affordable (well, mine was a hand me down) I would spend hours on MSN, keeping in touch with the friends I'd travelled with throughout Europe and Asia - Eduardo, who lived in the Yucatan Peninsula, Kristina in Prague, Michael in Lisbon. As an Australia, we suffer the tyranny of distance, a geographical separation from the rest of the world that has both shaped our identity and made us long for the approval of other lands, let alone set us travelling for years because it's just too damn far to come home. The longing for the Northern Hemisphere was assuaged for me through MSN, and somehow we managed to communicate without selfies, gifs or a smorgasboard of emoji.

Internet messaging made distances closer

So what has this got to do with me being phonephobic?

It sounds like I'm a total sucker for them, right? Sure, it's true that I can't live without my phone and I check it all the time for messages and type out frenetic and enthused replies. It's a real effort for me to consciously have a digital detox, and I appreciate my time in the yoga room as you definitely can't bring a phone in there!

The thing is, when they ring, I'm always terrified of bad news. Like, what the fuck man, if it's NOT IMPORTANT, text me. Actually, even if it's important, text me!

The only time anyone ever calls, it's bad news. No one rings 'just to chat' (apart from Dad, who always, always leaves a voice message: "Hey Kylie. Give us a ring, wouldya" like he couldn't figure out how to TEXT THAT. I'm not the only one with this fear - my son's girlfriend has had two awful phonecalls that marked tragedy, and if I'm going to call her, I will always text first: 'Hey, gonna call, nothing bad!' so she is forewarned.

My folks, who terrorise me with phone calls

The last few months have been hard - he's been suffering from really bad infections, low blood pressure and the works. Chemo is not a walk in the park, as we know. And so, my phonephobia worsened. If Mum rang to fill me in on the details of the day, I'd panic. If there was a missed call from my brother in law, I'd panic. Had something happened? Was it time to say goodbye? Could I cope? What would I say? What would the next minutes, hours, days, weeks bring? Could I cope with losing my father? Was I ready yet?

So this week was no different. The missed call from Mum. The 'Kylie, give us a call when you can' on the answer message. Calling, and getting no reply. My heart beat. The worry.

Taking my phone off 'do not disturb' mode.

Waiting for Mum's call.

And then the text, when it came:

And me, sobbing.