Darwin pensioner Les Bellchambers is not sure when it started to happen, but that somewhere between the surgeries and the pneumonia, the anxiety and "things that started to rattle", he began harbouring a personal fear.
"I've lived on my own for a long time now. I've accepted it and I can handle it. It's just that if something went wrong, then I'd hate it to be ages before somebody found out," he said.
It is a common anxiety among older people, the sick and socially isolated, and many others like Mr Bellchambers who are signed up to a free daily service aimed at putting their minds at ease.
Founded four decades ago by the Red Cross, Telecross sees volunteers call people every morning for a quick check up and then, if necessary, sends over neighbours, family, ambulances and police for help.
In other states, the volunteer and client lists are so vast that the two same people rarely talk to one another, however in the sparsely populated Northern Territory, where there is a small pool of volunteers calling only 80 clients, things have gotten more personal.
"It's somebody to talk to. You get to know the people who are calling you," Mr Bellchambers said.
This is also the experience of long-time volunteer Robyn Searle who, after retiring from her job in customer service, decided to put her phone manner to good use every Wednesday between 7:30am and 9:30am.
"The clients recognised my voice after a while. They sometimes say, 'Oh Robyn, it's you, it must be Wednesday'," she said.
"There's one gentlemen who is very depressed [right now]. Instead of the happy conversation, it's now just 'hello' and 'goodbye'. I know he's in the depths.
"But there's others who are social butterflies, out and about all the time."
Clients become like 'pen pals'
Most of the time, Telecross's clients pick up the phone and confirm they are doing fine, however when they do not pick up and the calls ring out all morning, Ms Searle said it sends her "into a panic".
The next port of call after this happens is to call the service's NT coordinator, Patsy Scott, who organises a door knock and other emergency procedures.
The former nurse with a "wicked" sense of humour is full of stories about neighbours coming to the rescue, elderly people with a fear of neighbourhood crime, phone calls missed due to forgotten interstate trips, those who have passed away, and moments of hope from people accepting their own mortality.
"You develop a rapport. Even though you've never seen them, they talk about their lives and their fears. I think they are like pen pals.
"I think because of my history, I don't have a fear of death. What I'm afraid of is people having to suffer, lying on a floor or being sick in bed and not to be able to move.
"I think that's the cruellest thing in the world."
Service not possible without volunteers
Ms Scott said the service saved lives, allowed older people to stay living at home longer, and was only possible due to "giving" volunteers, many of whom were retirees or migrants looking to give back to society.
"It gives meaning to our lives. Everything is not money in this world. You must take care of the community," accountant and Sunday shift volunteer Soma Shanmugam said.
Other volunteers have parents of their own who are signed up to Telecross, with Ms Scott adding that she "never" blamed the families for not calling their parents or siblings more often to check in.
"My mum is 90 and I ring her once a week, but I've told her about Telecross. She doesn't want it."
Ms Scott acknowledged that some might view the phone calls as intrusive or confronting, yet she said the service was always professional and confidential, and urged more Territorians to sign up.
Mr Bellchambers said perhaps not enough people knew about the shoestring-budget service, with himself only realising that it existed after he had a fall and was visited by Ms Scott in Darwin's hospital.
"The way they do it is a credit to them. By the time you've hung up, you feel like somebody has rung you who cares you're OK," he said.
"The first time I missed one of their calls, I was pretty panicky. I was at the hospital and realised I hadn't told them and thought they'd be busting down the door."
