Carer

All posts tagged Carer

Eggs

Published March 16, 2020 by helentastic67

Eggs

We think money makes the world go around, but I think EGGS can build a community.

A carer started buying me eggs, I would get a tray of thirty farm fresh eggs for $14.00, then I would give a dozen of them to my masseuse as I don’t otherwise pay her.

I have other ways to pay her which I think she appreciates. The carer who would bring me the eggs had a collection of egg cartons. I started decorating them with a thick black texta in the hope that other people would join in. Add to the drawings, answer the question and posted inside by announcing what they intended to make with the eggs.

Mine stated “Destined to be Carrot Cake or Omelette or Bread and Butter Pudding” (Which needs eight eggs)

After a time, I found my own supplier which was two less things for this carer to do for me in her own time. I do like to be self-sufficient, but my contact has trays of twenty eggs for the same amount ($14). And again, free range and ‘Picked’ that day at 4am.

You should realize eggs don’t grow on trees, but are laid. The eggs are rather big, 800g and ‘twins’ or double yolkers are plentiful.

The issue is, I need to order two trays for my egg guy to deliver for free.

So, I asked around my neighbours and my ‘people’. My first order was two trays, one for me, one for a neighbour. My second order was five trays.

And this is how I’ve been trying to create a community.

Today’s Lunch – 4th March 2020

Published March 4, 2020 by helentastic67

Today’s Lunch

Good Mental Health Day

R.I.P. last Friday, I lost one of my favourite carers. They are all my favourites they just all bring something different to the party. This carer I will likely write about in a future post. I’m going to refer to her as FP, I only had 5 minutes notice before she arrived for her last shift. I would have FP up to 8-11.5 hours for 1 week every month and often mistaken as my daughter. She has not passed on but merely gone to study for the next stage in her life. I had, had her as my carer for three years! I mean, I had just gotten her trained. She could accurately read my mind, finished my sentences and I got to feed her.

I’m a feeder! I love to send my carers off with something to eat on their way to their next shift. I used to ask FP if her mother questioned me feeding her and the response was this. “If I go home and eat my dinner she doesn’t need to know” I believe this is exactly how she put it. I think she might waste away and her mum might wonder why, I might need to prepare her a care package.

Now, Autumn has arrived in Melbourne and I’m never happier than when wearing full black. It’s a rather strong Melbourne trait and it doesn’t hurt, it’s very slimming. I was down in Cliffy Hill yesterday to see my GP and he loves to encourage me to get on the scales. I fight him every time! It’s been good to catch up on some blog writing, as I will do again today over lunch.

Today’s lunch is the brain grain salad, because sometimes I need all the help I can get and medicine!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After another long day I’ll have to go home and give Mika to sit her down and give her the talk. You know, the one about how one of her favourite people is now gone from our lives.

Dark

Published February 28, 2020 by helentastic67

Dark

Okay, going full dark today and I’m not feeling depressed in any way while I write this. Quite the opposite really, but I will suggest I’m going to lose my male followers, before too long, much to their loss.

5, 4, 3, 2,

Most of my carers these days are older than me and a few of my friends. Which is great! Fine! Great, I’m not complaining because they bring a wealth of womanly advice.

And 1

Bet the guys are all gone.

Every month or so, the ladies and I get stuck on the topic of Crazy-Lady hormones.

Any guys still reading? Hit me with a like or a comment if you still are.

So, ladies this post is about sliding into the ‘Pause’ (yes Menopause) Apart from the irregular periods (shark week) and the heavy one month, light the next or the all-out ‘all the Crazy symptoms and a complete no-show of obvious. It came, no babies (said 1 young carer years ago)

One of my older carers and I used to share a conversation and you have all heard these stories.

Back in the day, picture the 60’s and theirs a couple chatting about their mutual friends. Two couples married around the same time, raised their children around the same time, holidayed together, worked together, did casserole night, you know, you get the picture. Then all of sudden, it goes full dark.

“Oh, I don’t know what happened, they were perfectly happy, married fifteen years, little ‘whoopsie’ was good at cricket (or whatever sport of the day) and then all of a sudden, he came home one day after work while she was cooking dinner and she just stabbed him to death. The Coroners report stated he was stabbed forty-seven times.

And now she lives in a mental asylum.

Scene end!

So, my carer and I share a look and a smile and this is the important part, if the guys kept reading.

Menopause SUCKS!

Here’s what the wife dealt with that day, the kids, the housework, the shopping, cooking, ironing, laundry, the crazy itching, the hot flushes one moment and then the cool the next. The kids. And then the husband comes home and complained about why was it so cold inside?

Read the room. Don’t mess with a woman who has limited control over what is going on with her hormones.

She doesn’t know what’s going on.

Ergo, case in point.

Stabbed forty-seven times.

You are welcome.

Today’s Lunch – 5th February 2020

Published February 5, 2020 by helentastic67

Today’s Lunch

Good Mental Health Day

Despite the next month of foodie posts would have you believe I don’t go out for dinner very often. Saturday just gone I went out for dinner with some friends. They are actually closer friends of a friend who couldn’t make it. So, I went out with a really lovely couple.

Anyway, my neighbourhood has an abundance of gourmet pizza places and burger places. Both exe Saturday night we did Italian pizza. A place called I’l Pizziaolo. Translation, the pizza maker. I did get better taking photos after the first course. In photos it went like this: going with other friends in a few weeks and one of those friends is more Wog than I am. He will cope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late Saturday night having already eaten what I refer to as my standard, standard Saturday wog lunch followed by more Italian for dinner. An ache in my side made me think for days, days! I had eaten too much food from the same food group. That being Wog.

Monday, I greeted my carer with the question, what’s in here? (Pointing to my side) Then questioning, kidney, liver? Which internal organ is so pissed off with me? Alas, I think I found another reason why I do not do chilli and pepper. It hurts my internal organs. Still going there again, just can’t eat the home made traditional Italian salamis.

Meanwhile, back to the present. Today’s offering is, a bolognaise arancini with side salad and medicine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cheers,
H

 

Efficient – Part 2

Published January 10, 2020 by helentastic67

Efficient 2

Now, you might imagine having carers or to use their current tittle “Support Workers” is so easy (said no one ever). But you really should imagine it’s like having “staff” or running a busy café where people come for short shifts and someone else off site manages their comings and goings and they might work for several agencies that give them clients/shifts. Now, I’ve been doing this ‘shit’ for about thirteen years and it’s still not perfect.

I like being very efficient to make my life work best and normally the less times I have to attend to something, the more efficient it is. However, the more times I have to touch something to have it run smoothly the way it should because, it’s the way I asked for it the first fucking time, it’s always getting moved.

Of course, I have an example for you!

My carer should arrive on a Sunday morning at 10am for a ninety-minute shift. My main agency that covers all my PC (Personal Care) morning shifts has a few carers who are prepared to do weekend work, so they have outsourced me to another agency. Now, we know from Japanese whispers, the more people involved in relaying a single message, the results or the goal sets diluted and altered when your shift gets outsourced, it works the same way.

Also, because I’m not in the office rostering, but I’m on the cold-face (receiving service) I know more about the big picture. Also, because I make conversation with the carers, because they are in my home.

This particular Sunday, it was my mum’s 70th and family were converging from two different directions at my place at 12pm. Are you doing the maths?

They arrive at 10am, leave by 11.30am, I may eat ‘something’ small to get me through to midday lunch. A call to my main agency (let’s call them MH) during the week, told me she would be coming at 11am.

 

What? NO!

I rang MH and told them it had to be 10am because of XYZ. They rang the agency (let’s call them MC) because I can. They locked it in for 10am. Bingo, right?

Um, don’t be fucking ridiculous. On the morning, I woke early, got back to sleep eventually and kept waking, stressed she would arrive on time.

10am – I woke, no carer, it’s cold, so I stayed in bed to wait. 10.30am, BUZZ. My carer had arrived, late. Yet her roster states 11am.

I am of the understanding she sometimes has a catering order that needs to be filled. It’s rather ad-hoc so not consistent and I know this because people come to my home, so I get to know them.

As I have a brain injury, I often find people underestimate how switched on I am. It’s a misconception all brain injured people must be stupid. We are not and I’m speaking for all people with brain injuries. You’re Welcome.

So, I know when this shit happens, I am fully aware of who did what, who didn’t and who just said they would fix the roster and never intended to and the fact that I know this is all very taxing too.

I’m an overthinker, I think its anxiety and I think part of it is being a high functioning ABI. And the majority is my need to be efficient, because why is it so fucking difficult?

So, every day, there are examples of this where I need to touch on something to get it running smoothly.

 

Murder

Published October 28, 2019 by helentastic67

Murder

Oh, my Sweet Jesus Nelly! I don’t know if you can tell, but ‘Sweet Jesus’ has become part of my repertoire for swearing, but in this case it’s not in frustration or disgust, it’s because a carer shared the most hilarious side-splitting story with me on Monday.

Often as part of my time with carers I greet them with ‘how was your weekend?’ or whatever. I do see my carers more than family or friends, so I get their home lives set-up and know if they have had a good weekend or otherwise.

My Girl-Monday, lives with her son, daughter-in-law and 2.5-year-old granddaughter, while the husband is elsewhere finishing up selling a house, so he can join her in Melbourne. So, it was a bit of a surprise when Girl-Monday and I were in my ensuite and she came out with this statement.

“My daughter-in-law almost murdered my son on the weekend!”

WHAT?

I’m sorry What?

Did you say what I think you just did?

She did and she repeated it. My eyes darted to her face.

Apparently, the young granddaughter can get into the cot by herself (can you hear where this is going?) I’m thinking ahead and maybe they are already outsourcing parenting at bedtime and it goes like this.

“Oh, are you feeling sleepy? Do you want to get into bed?” Crazy right? I suspect this in reverse is why the son decided to teach the daughter (carers granddaughter) how to get out of the cot.

I looked at my carer and gave her a long Noooooo!!!!

So, he must have thought if in the morning and she wakes up before they are ready to get out of bed, they can call to her “Sweetie, do you want to get into bed with mummy and daddy?” and they wouldn’t need to go get her.

Again, I looked to my carer in a questioning his intelligence and of way. She informed me he is well educated intelligent young man.

I’m just thinking he has not thought this through and I’m with the daughter-in-law. Even now my sides hurt thinking about how my carer told me about this situation Monday morning.

I’m a single barren spinster, but I’ve had two younger sisters and even I know better.

 

Sock Nest

Published October 25, 2019 by helentastic67

Sock Nest

There are brief opportunities to be answered by the little things about disability and you need to embrace them. Keeping in mind I’m well aware compared to others with disabilities far worse than mine, they would wish this to be one of their problems. But I still like to share.

Having a full left-sided hemiplegia means I have limited sensation on my left. My left arm, leg and particularly my left foot gets rather cold, so beds socks are a must.

But you know that half sleepy moment in the mornings, you stretch out and draw your feet up in bed? Sometimes, if you feel your sock coming off, you push your foot back down to push it back on, then change the angle before you repeat the movement, in the hope you don’t lose your sock. I often get out of bed in the morning to find I’m missing my left sock.

My carer generally notices it and I snort a ‘whatever’ and later I need to go back and dig around for it. It’s often tucked under Mika my cat, who settled at my feet.

Other times, by the time I get to find the sock, there is more than one. Last week I found a nest of three socks and they were all together.

No wonder I had carers complaining they couldn’t match up my socks. Clearly, it’s no biggy. If no one dies, we’re all ok. It’s a damn bed sock. Put it in the draw, it’s mate will join it eventually.

 

Society

Published August 9, 2019 by helentastic67

Society

Today, my carer told me the most ridiculous thing in the world, I have possible ever heard. This particular carer who will be reading this when it goes live (Yes, I’m talking about you).

A young lady (it’s a loose term, but let’s go with it) cut her hand off to avoid having a job and work. I flicked a demanding look at this carer and gave her a “What the fuck” there’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

Apparently, the parents took her to hospital and they were able to re-attach it and with rehab she can use that hand.

I then suggested she could have cut off some fingers (not her whole hand) or some toes and she might qualify for a Disability and get a free pass from work. My carer and I laughed at this suggestion.

I then finished with, if she was one-handed, she would work, everyday for her God-Damned Life.

I’m sure that is enough to make on this point and for my older more mature followers who are still (I hope) reading at this point completely get that the real lesson here is how society is going to hell in a hand basket, if the younger generation think they need to avoid working by doing something so drastic.

Being the age, I am and despite having a brain injury, all of my life I have a good work history. Ok, ‘good’ might be exaggerating it a little, but I don’t know how to sit still and not contribute to the world somehow.

 

Apartment Living

Published May 27, 2019 by helentastic67

 

Apartment Living

It’s noisy, but quiet, it’s a very odd contradiction, so I shall need to explain. When I moved into my apartment (I rent) over a year ago, I was concerned about if it would be noisy or smelly or if I would never see my neighbours.

Once you are inside your apartment, you can’t really hear loud TV’s or dogs barking or loud thumping music from your neighbours. Once you close the heavy front door, you don’t hear anything from your neighbours. I sometimes hear people race past my front door to get to theirs or heading to the lift.

Sometimes if I’m heading to the lift and hear a door slam behind me, I’ll hold the lift door for anyone behind me. Then we proceed to have a brief awkward conversation about good timing and never seeing anyone else. So, yes I rarely see anybody from my floor.

I’m in an apartment block on a very busy corner. There is a main street where at my corner it forks off in a slightly north/eastern direction on the tram line and at the middle of the ‘bits’ (not sure how to best describe this) there is a pub. Across the street are more apartments. In my block, we are six storeys and across the street they are even higher.

The noise from the traffic, the trams, the pub. It’s ridiculous, the cars and motorcycles, the service vehicles, I can’t tell anymore, is it an ambulance, police car? I hear several of those every day.

One morning my carer arrived after I’d woken early and attempted to get back to sleep. An alarm of some kind had started and been going for about twenty minutes. My carer was with me for about ninety minutes. You tune it out after a while and the silence between seem to get a little longer and we looked at each other. Hopeful? Did it stop? No! Damn it!

I heard noises before, but never been able to workout where it was coming from or what it was to alert us to. I presume it was the apartment building across the street. I don’t know what it’s to alert or for what. If I could call someone, I wold but who would that be? If that person knew already, why weren’t they doing something about it?

My carer left and ten minutes later after a migraine had set in and taken hold, it stopped. Posing the question, WHY? And of course, can it stop?

 

Tears

Published April 22, 2019 by helentastic67

Tears

There are sometimes these days when I have a superpower, I never knew I had. I can make my carers cry. What? I know, it’s not on purpose.

It’s often the best conversations with my carers about all things ‘Helen’ (for want of a better term) the things that have moulded me and made me the person I am today.

This particular day, I told my carer about what it was like in the early 80’s in my family after the death of my fifteen-month-old sister.

She had been born on my eighth birthday and for fifteen months I helped bath her, change nappies, do “mum stuff” and we had one birthday together where we had an Ice Cream cake and we were both sick. We have a photo to commemorate the day. Very understated and in the last month of her life, she was taken to the local hospital in the country town where I grew up. The doctors, I believe misdiagnosed her, but by this stage she had already likely had a stroke. She was flown to Melbourne and within a (hear me flown to Melbourne.) month she was gone. My parents had to make the decision to turn off her life support.

I recall a family visiting us and the father distinctly placed a dining chair in a location, so he could sit with his back to a photo of Linda (that was her name) so he couldn’t see it.

There is an assumption when a child dies, that you should rid your home of all the photos and things that remind you of them, almost as if they had never existed, which seems wrong.

To be clear Linda died from a huge tumor.

After a while, because family and friends just didn’t know how to help or were just too sad, they just decided to stay away.

From nine years old, for a good few years, life was really lonely. I then told my carer a story of a friend of mine in the ABI community who passed away about six years ago.

I had to stop going to the place I would see him, because when my taxi arrived, I would be crying silent tears and the poor driver would not know what to do (poor bastard). I had to stop going, but whenever I return for a rare one off gathering, I sat somewhere I cannot dart my eyes towards the picture of him. I used to get through our gatherings always casting a look in his direction and we seemed communicate so much with our eyes. Anyway, more of him another day as I can feel the tears.

So yes! My superpower is I can make people cry, but it’s usually when my voice breaks a little and in crying.

Next time I want a better super power. Feel free to comment below as to what your super power is or would want it to be.

No cliché, X-ray vision or invisibility please.

 

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