All posts tagged bathroom


Published January 6, 2020 by helentastic67


There is never enough when you have a brain injury. Never enough. Add, crazy bitch hormones as I call them, the Peri-menopausal hot flushes, sliding into the pause.

More sleep, much, much more sleep.

But, finally following up on my visit to the clinic. Yeah, I’ve been busy and am now circling back to the thing. I had to go to an older building that is on the same block as the St Vincent’s Hospital in Fitzroy. Seen this entrance for years wondering what was in there. Well, now I know.

I went in a little early, off Nicholson Street and was shown to my “room”. Mum had been to a sleep clinic in the country and told me it would be like a self-contained hotel room.

Mine, no it wasn’t. The room had a single bed – expected. An armchair, nice place to put suitcase and sit to take off shoes and AFO’s – check. A small hand basin, oh nice. Where was the bathroom? Apparently, there were only three of us in the inn that night, me and two men and I got the room closest to the ‘Men’s’ bathroom.

Super! Where’s the lady’s bathroom? Oh great, no shoes or AFO’s. I’ve gotta go for a nice long walk to the lady’s bathroom. Past the waiting room, finished with a big vinyl chair in Orange.

Now, I’m a kid of the 70’s, we had an orange car.

And an orange kitchen bench. (Yes, mum! I hear your voice, it was Mandarin) Sue me! I’ll let you be the judge.

The Doctor who was showing me around was the same age as me and we bonded over the orange of our childhoods.

You know those moments you meet people and if you meet them in completely different circumstances, you might become friends.

We bonded over the fact that neither of us live with other people. I bluntly stated “I fucking hate people!” She laughed and said I was her spirit animal.



Henry – Part 2

Published August 23, 2019 by helentastic67

Henry – Part 2

About twenty years ago, I lived in a house in Windsor or with my older sister in a street called Henry Street, hence the name. The landlady had left a plant in the bathroom which we were really surprised about.

We didn’t presume to imagine it was a gift so we watered it, kept it alive and when we vacated, left it in the place for whoever lived there next.

As previously mentioned, the Maiden Hair fern was the plant of choice in the 70’s and 80’s and if you could keep it alive (which I couldn’t) in the 90’s.

These days, the plant of choice in many homes and work places is the Peace Lilly. While living in Henry Street, our bathroom plant did so well, we split it and took half with us. Well, I did anyway. To this day, I have Henry with me. Well, I’ve got five pots of Peace Lilies.

I can even tell you which plant for a time lived in the backyard waiting for it to resurrect itself. The boyfriend of the time, kicked at the pot stating “that’s dead, we aren’t keeping that” I’m a wait and see type of gardener, he didn’t hang around long enough to see it return, but that’s his loss.

I often get told my plants are doing so well because they see the flowers.

I then have to tell them (and again not punchline) “I hate to tell you, but that is the plant saying Fuck, I’m dying. I better throw out some kids, so maybe they will survive.”

Again, they are also coming inside this winter. They definitely suffered outside last winter and managed to come back, but this winter I’m not putting them through it.


Rehab – Part 3

Published October 26, 2018 by helentastic67


Rehab – Part 3

Case Study – Part 1

This next post is a series of Case Studies to give you all an example of the kinds of people who you end up sharing a room with in an inpatient rehab hospital room.

Case Study

Now, I was lucky to go into an empty room. It had four beds, we shared a bathroom with three guys in the next room (their fourth bed was a bathroom which didn’t stop a few of those guys using the bathroom in between.)

I asked which bed was to be mine and I then asked if I could have a bed that better suited my vision loss, I prefer to have the door on my right, so I can see people coming.


She was in newish Highrise of Public Housing, nice glossy blue coloured tiles on the outside, I imagine in an attempt to disguise the fact that it was Public Housing. I know it was Public Housing because I’d previously been offered an apartment there.

But, I wouldn’t take my cat, Jamima and had effectively been told/advised to have her put down rather than turn down the Housing. That guy deserved to be fired! Anyway, the roommate number three, spent much time on the phone saying her bedroom furniture was worth $10,000 and her lounge furniture the same.

I couldn’t imagine that much furniture could fit in those apartments and I kept imagining her shopping at Franco Cozzo.

I cannot imagine which wogs are keeping Franco in business, however I believe his son was in charge twenty years ago and was importing “things” inside the furniture. Likely why the son spent time in the Big-House.

Anyway, I will complete this thing.

Roommate number three took some time to settle in, she never really did as the nurses kept a stern eye on her as when her ex-husband visited, they were concerned she would make an escape.

Call me crazy, but she had one hip, had nearly died and she many not have liked it. (I didn’t, but you don’t go there for a holiday) You stay, you KNUCKLE DOWN, you get better and you get the hell out of there, kapish.


Anyway, enter inmate number four.


When Disability Becomes Embarrassing – Part 3

Published September 24, 2018 by helentastic67

When Disability become Embarrassing 3

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing – Part 3


The following day, I went looking for a particular speaker and topic at the conference, that others in my group were looking for.

It was something about “sex after ABI” for example. I find the right room and joined some fellow guys I already knew. This won’t be awkward right? Since he had given me his business card, the night before.

Sex after ABI

The guys I knew and I looked around thinking we were in the wrong place because it seemed everybody else in there were “industry-types” service providers, whatever.

Industry Types

Then in came the presenter.

That’s right, Stacey!

She started by recognising there were more industry-types there than she expected. I suspect she had wanted to empower people with ABI’s that sex could still be a natural part of life post ABI.

Sex is natural

Here’s an example:

Stacey2 (not related to Stacey) had, had a stroke. She had her stroke while having sex (a little rumpy, humpy) with her husband.

Stroke during sex

There was a moment of sadness in the room when we heard this. Apparently, the married couple had a very healthy sex life before the stroke.

Healthy Sex Life

So, when in hospital, when she was able to get up and move around, they attempted to have sex in the hospital.

Sex in the hospital

Must put this one on the bucket list.

Bucket List

We were made to understand it was perfectly normal and for them vitally important to be able to continue and maintain a normal sex life for them as part of her rehab and existence.

Sex in Rehab

You might ask how they did this?

Stacey informed us they did it standing in the bathroom with her holding onto the handrails. And success apparently.

Sex in the Bathroom

Now, Stacey 1, asked us a question. She asked us, what happens when we reach climax? (or orgasm). The room was dead silent.

What happens when you orgasm

I piped up,

“What? Your muscles tighten?”

Stacey was impressed and said I was correct. The industry-type people checked me out wondering how I knew.

How do you know


So, I struggled a little and said,

“It’s been a while, but……”

It's been a while

The following day, at the end I walked Stacey out because I had enjoyed spending time with someone ‘normal’ as you do surrounded by numpties all the time. She thanked me for being her “Conference Friend” Sad face…

Sad face

Stay tuned for the lesson I gave Fred.


Published January 7, 2016 by helentastic67


There is a word I would like, DAMN IT! Prefer to omit from my everyday language. No it’s not the Bomb!

That word is way too valuable!

I have a carer tomorrow who I get along very well with. I call her Aunty Christine! It comes in handy when I have to give Jamima (my cat) the talk!

You know the ‘talk’……..

“C’mon there are starving kids in Africa that won’t eat today! Eat your dinner Aunty Christine gave it to you!”

But anyway, she will arrive tomorrow and she has an appropriate level of common sense where she will see the plastic “thing” on the kitchen bench and ask me what I want her to do with it…

She will not ask me if I want her to recycle it because next to it are the suction “thing” that attach it to the wall of my shower and a tube of Superglue…

I will happily respond to her question with a grumpy “Can you fix that fucking thing?”

And after we laugh about it, she will fix the fucking thing.

The fucking thing in question is a plastic holder that sticks to the shower wall and holds 2 hand pump bottles. One for shampoo and one for conditioner…

No OT (Occupational Therapist) told me that one! And see if you can use the F Bomb in context it’s acceptable. Unlike (grrr) the word ‘like!’

I hate that word because I’m not 14 and I have other words in my vocabulary!

What words do you not….. favour?

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