Women Are Stronger When We Stand Together

Women are stronger when we stand together

A few weeks ago on 8th of March it was International Women’s Day, ladies of all ages, I hope you did something to celebrate. I participated in a zoom meeting with around eight other women advocates in the disability world. Other groups I part-take in the energy is very different. The women only meeting was very supportive. We all shared some experiences. I definitely plan to participate in some more women’s advocacy groups. My artist friend contributed to the events and celebrations that day with this street art in Melbourne’s well known Hosiery Lane.

Hosier Lane, Attraction, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia (visitvictoria.com)

Now, if you have dick and balls, you know who you are. We do not want to hear, but we don’t have an International Men’s Day. Because every fucking day is Men’s Day. If you stop and listen for just two minutes you might realise why it’s so important women get a safe space, just for a day.

Just try to remember when the last time a man was disrespected and undervalued for his age, gender, abilities, seemingly usefulness to society and women with disabilities are respected even less. And at times, sometimes in an effort to fly under the radar, some women will keep their heads down and not support other women just so they don’t lose favour they feel they have curried, rather than support another woman and this is also unacceptable.

If you don’t figure this already, I’m a really frustrated fucking hormonal grumpy woman who mentions in groups mostly of men the symptoms of menopause and expect them to pay attention. I am currently sliding into the Pause and not enjoying the symptoms. I don’t suffer embarrassment on this topic, but I know some other women will just drop out of sight until all the symptoms have passed.

A male friend recently told me I just needed a shag (Not the word he used) so, I thought this friend was better than this and now I realise my work here is not over either For Fucks Sake!

So, ladies lets be more supportive of each other and let’s be the change we want the world to be.

Cheers,
H

Different

Different

Was catching up on some of my data entry today when I realised how well I cope with my brain injury. So well, people often forget my AVM/ABI is not so much mental but physical.

I guess the point of my blog is to educate people that all brain injuries are different. While catching up on my data entry, which is a lovely excel spreadsheet where I record the carer hours and other services for future reference, I realised a date in November 2020 I had so much on at the same time it wasn’t funny. Yet I can cope. This particular day, I had my Personal Care (PC), carer for an hour. My community access carer, despite not going out arrived just ahead of the PC chick. All of which I can work with, as can they.

I still had to be presentable as I had a committee meeting via Zoom. While I don’t do make-up when I’m not out of my home (apartment!). I won’t do make-up to stay at home, but I do need to not do colour and then I remembered my MOTHER was here. It was not planned; it was very last minute the night before. But it is what it is.

My mum had gone out to her appointment and returned by the end of the Zoom meeting.
By which time my handyman had arrived. My handyman comes once yearly for a spring clean. Does windows on the inside, the fan covers in the bathroom, any areas on walls or floor that take a serious hit and it’s not the light cleaning my weekly HC (home care) carers need to do. Suddenly with too many warm bodies in my apartment, a complaint goes out that it’s too hot and can the A/C go on? Well, it’s set still too hot but here’s the remote, work it out.

Still three people are in my home and I’m to prioritise what everybody wants as the most important thing to solve first. At this point I get a bit grumpy. OK! We are working on it, if you can’t help, don’t be part of the problem my mum gets the heater to cool air.

There is a new calm. Mum makes her lunch and coffee and departs for her long drive home. What she was here for had been achieved.

Despite what she may think of how I feel about my mum. My mum is a ROCKSTAR! She really is.

The second carer gets her stuff done for me and departs. It’s just me and the handyman and a recently departed carer visits for a bit. She distracts the handyman briefly with talk of fruit trees and such. I’m meant to roll with the punches, it’s fine. The handyman goes, as does the visitor.

My brain is fried. But I coped with all the craziness. All these things, they wouldn’t normally happen ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

Tuesday

Tuesday

Had a crazy Tuesday this week. Now it’s Friday and I’m sitting at my fave café for what has become my new normal day here to lunch and write. It’s the Covid normal.

In my early days of diagnosis, I felt the need to explain my life was less Brain Injury and more normal and my first specialist explained I was a high functioning ABI.

So, Tuesday was a bit more crazy than usual. This is probably a good example of me being high functioning. Keep in mind, Helen is not a morning person.

9:15am – Usual carer arrives for Personal Care. She does all her chores and I do mine.

I make breakfast and sit to eat. (Slam down my entrée of pills)

Turn my phone on. It starts, the bells and whistles, texts and calls and messages. I don’t know why I need to go off grid on the weekend.

I call and negotiate with my young John to get me to my first of two appointments. He can squeeze me in.

11.45am – I’m meeting my Neuro Physio. He sits on the floor trying to stretch out my left calf and front ligaments.

I have been diagnosed with a clunky ankle. It’s an official medical term. It’s causing and adding to my knee replacement one day. It’s already nice and crunchy! (My knee)

So, he’s doing him. I’m doing me. I’m checking texts, sending texts, then I’m required to stand favoring my left side and sit, twist my upper body towards my left to help my leg and foot do leg and foot. 

To be clear, all this teases my brain. It’s not super fun, because my right-side brain is saying “you want to do what? Get firetrucked!” (Trying not to swear!).

And I’m dealing with one of my two agencies to fill a shift, the following day on the Wednesday.

It’s a 6-hour shift where I get escorted out, I do the things, we have lunch either out or at home and I set them chores while I scooter out to other appointments, they don’t need to take me to. It’s also when I fit other things in where I need muscles and things that I can do by myself or on P.T.

It’s a 6-hour shift. The texts from my agency go back and forth. Eventually, I’m offered 3 hours which I later describe as like putting a band aid on a bullet wound. It’s a great image, isn’t it?

I was responding that I could offer their shift to my other agency, as in the whole shift 6 hours. What pretty band aids on either side of that 3 hour. I need the whole 6 hours.

I mention via text, I’m in the middle of something and I need to be present in my appointments, but then I get a rather long shitty text stating they had spent 4 hours messaging other carers and clients to find me someone. It sounds like they think I’m ungrateful. The grumpy text ends with an apology for the text. I am now getting busy – this is eight days after I started.

Hopefully I can do it justice. But otherwise, could be, I didn’t get to read her whole message. I got the gist and immediately texted my other agency and if the person was not in the office, I rang them directly. 

When I rang, I could even interpret the pause and inner office convo that happened in the background. A carer they have been wanting to send me for some time, they were just waiting on an NDIS checklist.

I confess it’s been two weeks since that fateful day. So, while this may not flow seamlessly from the previous post, I hope you can keep up?

So, I text the agency who is choosing to do their job the hard way, that in the middle of two appointments I need to be actively present at. I’ll get back to them.

It does already look like I’m covering the following days shift myself another way. I flick a text to my other agency. In case that staff member wasn’t in the office that day, I quickly call.

“What’s that?” I’m on the phone while my Occupational Therapist, (OT) who I’m just meeting for the first time is with me. “No, I told her she could absolutely go pee.” Respectfully, that makes us friends for life.

I call the agency and I can tell exactly the conversation that’s happening in their office.

“Oh, send X, Y, Z!”

“Is that Helen? Just fill that shift!”

There is no better motivation than me missing a specialist appointment because their afterhours staff member fucked up my Monday morning. My Botox appointment was rescheduled for two months further away. Botox keeps my left toes from curling (I know. What?). Yes! Botox in my leg.

Anyway, yes. The NDIA survey has been completed and X, Y, Z can cover my Wednesday shifts until my other agency can cover it again.

After my OT appointment, I head out and call my Heidelberg taxi driver. Young John is best at this time and so is Sean! 

I hoof it to my far local pide dealer. Pide is not code for anything. It’s just where I get my vegie pide from. Another taxi driver has arranged that I can wait around the corner to make life easier. 

On the drive home (10-15 mins) I text the first agency. I confess I was pretty grumpy earlier and wished to call my support coordinator to growl at the agency because I just didn’t have the bandwidth to give the polite diplomatic response.

Yet, I messaged something along the lines of, ‘I appreciate how hard it is to fill shifts when my regulars are away or don’t have a weekend. Then something that I genuinely did appreciate her efforts. Despite that, rather than ring me first to ask if she could wriggle things so she could cover three of the six hours of my shift. Would it be enough?

Sometimes it is but this particular day, I had placed other things in around and in between the appointments that required wheels and muscle.

I did all of this with a migraine.

So, that shift was moved for a month or so to another agency. 

The following Tuesday I received a message asking if I expected them to cover my Wednesday. I had to remind them I’d moved it temporarily. This is what happens when someone tries to cover a bullet wound with a band aid.

Chinese Whispers

Chinese Whispers

I’ve had carers or support workers now for about thirteen years. Long enough to know the more people between me and my carers means anything they need to know, do, which entrance to use, etc. The more things can potentially go sideways.

When things go sideways that early (most of my carers in the morning around 9.30am) As I’ve been blogging how long now? I knew I mentioned in my early blogging days, I would complain about carers arriving early. This shit is still happening.

This is when I would point to my face and ask “Do I look like a morning person?”

Twenty-four hours a day is morning for me. I’m not a morning person, I’m not a go out at night person, I’m barely a person. I don’t mean I’m not human. I just am constantly grumpy and don’t cope.

My main agency lately, that provides my morning and rare afternoon carer doesn’t have the personal to cover all my shifts. They have already merged with another large agency I’ve dealt with years ago, but they still don’t have support workers in my area. So, two of my shifts each week, they outsource to another agency. One shift to another agency, the other shifts to another agency. Can you feel my frustration already?

Ok I will blah

I have passed on enough details.

No perfume, park on this side of the street, in this supermarket carpark. Enter the apartment complex here, not here. Come up in the lift to the second floor, etc, etc.

Sounds like a lot, but trust me, I glossed over bits or streamline.

The point is!!!

 

Burkies – Part 1

Burkies – Part 1

Ok, the next two short posts are purely context for the third, I now must write today. So, bare with me and strap in for a bit of a chuckle.

When I was first diagnosed in 2007, I lived with my favourite housemate down in Clifton Hill. My favourite housemate even in twenty years of sharing, will as he has in the past, go by the name of ‘B’. The street we lived on ‘F’. We lived on a corner of ‘F’ and whatever the side street was.

During peak hour F street became the alternative route for people not wanting to use Hoddle Street, which was once described by my friend Frank as the carpark. Clifton Hill often had many commuters drive from the outer suburbs, so they could catch the tram from there to work.

The home was brick veneer and our bedrooms were right at the front of the house, surprisingly not as noisy to sleep as you might think.

We had a tiny bathroom, an equally small kitchen with an old Aga, where I stored my gladwrap, foil and such. To put it in perspective, an Italian couple had immigrated to Australia back in the 40’s and this was their first home, where they had, had and raised their children before moving out to the suburbs (as they did).

We had an outside toilet; we did have a garage and possums in the backyard which I fed bread. No, don’t eat that, eat the bread. That’s my finger! Eat the bread!

Anyway, I digress, B parked his car at the front of F street and occasionally he would not be able to park in this spot and he would become quite grumpy.

We consulted over this mysterious red car that was in ‘his’ spot. It was a little red Barina and it has stencilled letters on the side. You know, like those for Tupperware or Mary Kay or Avon.

Anyway, even if you know who is parking in your car spot, you can’t really say anything to them because it seems you are being rude. You resolve this dilemma in all good neighbourhood squabbles with the appropriate passive/aggressive culture of you just keep your car there until they stop trying to park there.

Anyway, B didn’t drive his car for a good few months, maybe he couldn’t afford his rego or whatever. B decided to sell it.

One particular Saturday, he called RACV who were out the front getting his car started. That afternoon, a woman came to see the car and buy it. Ironically, she had gotten a job as a Personal Carer (Support Worker) and needed a car. What a small world.

After the sale was completed, I was moving from one room to another and saw B standing inside the front door, which was timber and glass and he was (from where I was) hugging the door. I thought maybe he was sad to see his car go. He had inherited it from his grandmother.

I went past him a second time and he was still there, so I prompted him “Are you OK?” his reply came after a few moments. A car engine idled in the distance.

“Yes, I’m just making sure she got through the lights down the street and it didn’t conk out” or something to that affect, he was concerned she would come back insisting on a refund.

Moments like these.

Animal Print

Animal Print

I confess to say I’m not a fan on the animal print on people. I know, I know, it’s been around for eons.

Thank God, wearing fur is largely over and done with. But, every now and again some fashion victim tries to bring back Leopard print on pants or bags or fucking something.

I know I’m sounding rather grumpy about it but, every now and again I see an eighty-year-old Italian lady wearing them.

Now, I know an eighty-year-old wearing them. Wow, Wow, NO! Her children are doing her a disservice, take your mum shopping for age appropriate clothes. Her arse is no longer a peach. Might never have been.

I realise I sound very grumpy. Sorry Not Sorry. I’m just saying, let animals do animal print. They do it best. Leave it be.

Grumpy over.

 

Sleep 24/7

Sleep 24/7

Now, I know, I know, I’ve likely written other posts about this natural remedy to fix all “sleep”.

We are told there are many things in life that makes us require sleep at different times.

Babies need more sleep.

Grumpy kids need more sleep

I distinctly recall a day when my mum sent me off to bed for an afternoon kip.

 

Danger – SWEAR WORDS AHEAD

Danger – SWEAR WORDS AHEAD

FUCK ME! I know, I know! Inappropriate, but that is the worst thing I think I growl or mutter at people when I’m out in the city getting to an appointment of some sort and negotiating all the ANNOYING people who cut me off or get in my way, they trip me, etc, etc ad nauseum, all while they are too damn preoccupied with their mobile phones.

The “FUCK ME” I deliver to people a I’m carefully making my way about the city is only after I have exhausted every other grumpy less offensive comment.

I did encounter at one point, a guy walking up some steps (there were about ten and I was heading down as he was heading up) and I am completely about to switch the grumpy off to cheeky. He was looking at his phone too as he ascended the steps, as he made it to the top, I felt the need to inform him. “Now, you are just showing off.” He did have to stop a moment and give me all of his attention and I did need to point out that I was being cheeky. But people have NFI (No Fucking Idea) what I do to manage when I’m out and about.

To give you an idea, I make a habit of walking on the side of the street, so I’m going in the direction I need to travel. I walk close to the shop fronts, so my better eyesight (right peripheral) enables me to see people dart out of shops without noticing anybody else and I can slow my pace to not get bowled over. I cross the lights at the lights and someone will always cut across me to stand at my righthand while looking down eyes glued to their phones. That generally gets a growl.

ent

I was off to the city yesterday and in the course of the day I got a taxi (I love Young John) then a train, then a tram, then did way too much walking before doing another train out of the city, then finally a tram home.

By the time I successfully made it home, I had managed 5,000 steps. WINNING. And the whole day I COULD NOT FEEL MY LEFT FOOT.

 

Today’s Lunch 6th September 2018

Today’s lunch

Good Mental Health Day

Allow me to start with some good news and a shout-out to one of my carers who is currently away. Well, miss you and my new bag is fine. A friend visited late last week with her skates on! (No, really!) and she lengthened the strap on my new bag prompting me to let you know I’m enrolling you into an extensive 1 to 1, 6 months full time course on how to lengthen straps on bags. My friends going to give you an exclusive course. I know, 6 months. Never fear, you will come out with a certificate one, in bag strap adjusting totally worth it! I imagine you can use these skills for the rest of your life. Totally worth it! (Yes, I am kidding)

I am not nailing this 1am bedtime curfew. I can’t manage to make it to bed by 1, then I hear the street cleaners before too long anyway. Then get woken the first time around 4am. People wonder why I’m so grumpy.

So, planning plenty of writing today. With lunch of course.

Well, if you read my posts each day you might have noticed, that didn’t happen on the correct date. Yes, Wednesday I went back to bed with a crappy migraine, slept until 5pm and it was quiet on the home front as the trams weren’t running. There is a tram stop at my door for the city. I had caught a tram home later in the afternoon on Tuesday and it was pure agony. Buses replacing trams, I had followed directions in Clifton Hill from my usual tram stop to the train station to get a bus. After going up and down the ramps to get to speak to an actual person and given more terrible half-baked directions, I walked even further to be directed to a bus. There were 3 men in hi-vis on the bus, none of whom knew what the hell was happening.

Get a clue people! Should I mention do not prove incompetent when a woman is sliding into the pause. My crazy lady hormones are playing up and I can’t do person properly! Good thing I stayed at home Wednesday.

Thursday, I more than made up for it. After my carer did my cleaning I went out for lunch. A nice local, I used to do lunch at 15 years ago when I worked not far from where I now live. They specialise in Lebanese pizza’s. so, haloumi cheese. I always order a vegetarian pizza (don’t judge me) with salami. Plus, I settled in for 2 medicines to deal with my migraine that just does not want to go away!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Upon returning home I got down in to B1, where my scooter shed lives and dug around in my gardening supplies to pot some of my bulbs. Some things went home or were thrown out when I moved so it’s going to take time to restock.

 

While I can already predict next week will be chaos, hopefully I’ll get back to my regular haunt to see familiar faces.

Cheers,
H

Grumpy

Grumpy

I confess to say, on some days I make my carers laugh before they even get in the front door. I generally sleep until my carer rings the doorbell and wakes me. I know, what a princess, I usually wake and go back to sleep from only hours after I go to bed, so it’s weird sleep and any coma-like sleep I get from 7am until my carer arrives and rings the doorbell is maybe going to wake me.

I stumble out of bed towards the front door, usually calling out “Hang on”. Beside the front door are panels of glass, so I sometimes see them raise their arm to press the doorbell again. I let out a low growl. I’m sure my neighbours must think these women who come and go laughing must think I am mad.

At other times like this morning, Aunty Christine (one of my carers I’ve had for the last four years) was grumpy. She has been overworked and recent leave, she has taken off work, to be a full-time carer at home for family and stressing about all of that.

I’ve been stressed about life, the Universe and everything also, so while sitting on the edge of the bath while waiting to get dried, I had time to have a little scratch.

I scratch just about everywhere I could reach with my right hand. It’s kinda what I do when anxious, it’s also been hot, so some might be heat rash.

Out comes the Tea Tree Oil and the moisturiser. She prepares to do the oil on my back. The other carers have been neglectful.

Aunty Christine has a little swear about that. (We have set up a standard where she only does this with me and no other clients. I’m very much OK with it) We move to the lounge and she picks up my AFO. She picks it up by a part that was added on after it was made. It was meant to solve a problem that wouldn’t have existed, if they had made what they were meant to make the first time, instead of a ‘Piss-Arse’ effort that caused me more problems than solved.

Christine has a swear about the AFO’s also. I tell her it’s getting completely replaced Thursday, one whole day away. She threatens to bring her glue gun to fix it.

She notices my toe nails are a bit long, we had already discussed my scratching, my heat rash on my weak arm, back and side. Basically, anywhere I could reach with my right hand. Again, my nails are being attended to on Thursday. Nothing too expensive or extravagant, just maintenance I can’t do and I’m not allowed to have my carers to do for me.

Those humans I choose to interact with and the teasing make life all worth while. Make sure teasing is teasing though and don’t take it too far. That’s when it becomes bullying. Very fine line!

And now, as time has passed I’m now aware the scratching is partly to do with me sliding into the Pause…….(menopause)

Super! Right?

It just gets better and better……..