Good Times

Good Times

So, I’m the first to tell you, my mum and I haven’t always enjoyed our time together which is harsh to say, because she is my biggest, well, most of the time, the only family member to support me. There are times we really don’t hold back in telling each other where to go.

My mum is known to give me her first “whatever” within minutes of arriving and then I inform her exactly how soon she has given me a “whatever”. Mmmmmmm

Today, while out in the car. No Young John, as I had my mum taxi. Out on the road, she asked where we were going? Yet she chooses when she wants directions for how to get there. Everything was fine, she insisted if she needed directions, she would ask.

Not much later she was driving into a carpark and she fudged it and I said nothing. Until, she insisted I could have “helped her”.

So, I started to commentate “I wouldn’t have done it like that!” “Too deep.”

That really was just the surface. “She laughed”

I had previously explained my younger carers that take me shopping, often feel very self-conscious about their driving, so I feel the need to explain I didn’t drive before my disability and there have been moments when I have been sitting in a car in my own driveway diagonal to the street. And I have been wondering “How the fuck did this happen?”  But all I could do was take a deep breath and pause.

 

We arrived at my chiropractors and I shared this experience with my Chiro, who explained it was hard to drive into carparks (parallel carparks) and I replied. “Mum used to drive into carparks when she drove a Ford Falcon station wagon on Chapel Street!” followed be “Game on wench!”

She just looked at me and laughed.

On the road again and mum spies some guy crossing the street, she comments “see that guy with the backpack on?” I looked confused? “You mean that guy with a child on his shoulders?” Oh, so it is!” mmmmmmm

Have I mentioned my eyesight? And that I’m not allowed to drive? To be fair, I wouldn’t drive with all my other physical deficiencies. It would just be stupid.

 

Alone

Alone

There is nothing like a letter in the mail box that reminds you how alone you are in the world, to set you down a path of depression.

Every year, at my birthday I receive a card from Mepacs, it’s signed by all the ‘staff’ that work for them.

Remember Mepacs…..

And I am very well aware the staff signed a card which was sent to the printers to use as a template or “whatever” and then they printed off 50 thousand printed birthday cards and then one eventually gets sent to me.

Some of the facts and figures there might be a little off, however the facts remain the same. With the card came a letter basically asking for an update of my contacts.

Now, the first point of call, if I don’t hit the button by 9.30am in the morning is ME! I know, it sounds a little ridiculous. But my ‘in case of emergency’ contacts are my mum (3.5 hours away) and this letter reminded me I need to contact person is within thirty minutes from me.

I don’t have anyone….

Hot off the Press – 20th November 2017

Hot off the Press

OK, by the end of this post! Watch how I smash shout outs to my Little Red Truck guys, me Mum (Yes, on purpose) and my carers and a few special time-poor friends who never fail to deserve my thanks!

Monday! The start of the big moving week. I take possession of my new home. An apartment on the second floor of a six-story building. I’ve never done such high density living and I have paid my first month’s rent but was given grace to get bond assistance. Made a call and found out I didn’t get it. The whole process of being able to keep a roof over my head is the most soul-destroying balance of proving I can afford the rent on my income. Rent must be less than 55% of my income, but I had to prove I earn less than $48,000 yearly. (What I could do with that!) and apparently, I earn too much to qualify for bond assistance! It’s fucking ridiculous……….

Now I have to find money for bond and to pay my removalist. I know I haven’t mentioned, but in my family, works on guilt. My mum travels often to do whatever needs doing no matter how financially strapped she is or how unwell or exhausted she might be. It’s a true testament to a mother’s love. My father doesn’t. He previously was able to contribute a little financially to my staying out of a group home that would have me go crazy! Or a nursing home, same result! My younger sister has actually assisted with some short-term loans, which feels so wrong. And my older sister who lives the closest to me will, help on the day.

By the end of Monday, my mum had managed to have my father help me with the bond and the removalist costs and I think he has disowned me because he feels I cost him too much money. If you can’t shake the funding out of a tree for people like me? Shouldn’t I be able to call on family?

Tuesday, moving day woke at 5.30am, at 7am, just gave up on sleep and got up. Didn’t stop all day. Everything I picked up was too heavy but I managed to stop myself from lifting my slow cookers or my LeCruset pot! (So heavy!) My moving guys came in the form of the Little Red Trucks! Two trucks by the names of RZA and GZA, (members of the rap group Wu Tang Clan), and Lenny and Carl (apparently the lovable duo who hangs out at Moe’s Tavern on the Simpson’s. My guys in red on the day were Dylan, Rory, Henry and Rohan.

I first used Little Red Trucks was two moves ago when the guy I booked (the only person who is primarily booked by low-income people and funded by the NGO’s) stood me up by six hours. By the time I heard from this guy he told me he had been to the hospital he was so sick, by that stage I had not wanted to hear from him, I wanted to hear from his next of kin to tell me he had died! I felt it was the only reasonable excuse for not turning up!

When I first used the Little Red Trucks, they only had three trucks. Two of the trucks were called Hall and Oats, Salt n Pepper and I can’t recall the other. The drivers are all in bands, so it provides them with a regular income from a day Job. The first guy I dealt with years ago was also a carpenter. The trucks are traditionally named after musicians who have influenced them. I don’t get the Simpsons reference, but anyway. Having 4 guys made it very quick and efficient!

I hope you are aware, I’m a real ‘housey’ kinda girl so I have a lot of things. On the day, as I was going from a three-bedroom unit that felt like a house, to a two-bedroom two bathroom less than 5-year-old apartment. So, down-sizing!

I issued a warning early: Any mention of ‘she has too much stuff’, it’s too small, it’s not going to fit! you owe me a dollar. I needed to set the standards early. My older sister arrived on time an hour after the guys and She pulled the last of everything all together. While my sister was demanding where some last-minute things could or would go, I introduced her to one of the guys, it went something like this, I was going to mention someone looking a bit like me but grumpier would arrive soon. She let out a “Hey!”, I turned to Dylan with the prosecution rests. All in good fun!

https://littleredtrucks.com.au/

Wednesday, everything hurts. Just everything, worst case of OCD ever. (no disrespect for people who actually have OCD) You know, you’re looking at an area in your home and think I’ll just move these few things and you have to find ‘something’ and you get distracted by the other ‘something‘ and I managed to find my immediate bathroom items, very handy.

The day went like this – moved some things, unpacked some things, did some washing. Left the house in shorts! (So, I don’t expose my legs to the general public, nobody needs to see that!) I offered my chiropractor, that she could make one comment! Then, we would never speak of it again!

The new apartment is starting to come together. But I still haven’t found the TV remote and that’s proving to be a needle in a haystack! It’s now late and I might struggle to get to midnight. I’m so tired and everything still hurts.

Thursday, had a carer for 5 hours and Sana and my mum really pulled it all together starting to look like a home. Had my first PJ day, since I’ve had a crappy cold for weeks now and haven’t had time to even stop.

Friday, had my young carer Jennifer again. Oh, how I’ve missed her! (She was on holiday) Managed to vote! (So I don’t need to go out on Saturday!) Shopping, just the basics. Late Friday night my mum left but not until she managed to give my old landlord an appropriate serve! My mum is not even a bit Italian, but she managed to tell him to make ‘this go away! And told him how dare he ……….xyz! (Just trust me you don’t want to know!) She got the biggest hug for that.

The weekend! Didn’t get to go off grid, hardly stopped unpacking, barely did any TV Catch-up! And haven’t completely nailed this 1am curfew to get to bed. Last night, it was practically 2am! But I’ve decided the foodstuff that won’t fit into the pantry I’ll just have to eat and I’m working on my bookcases.

So, shout outs to my Little Red struck guys again. Dylan, my mum, my older sister Jo-Bunch! Younger sister A-Super chook, Tamsin and I help for tech support and Silvia for giving me the term, Sentimental. As in I can keep this T-shirt I’ll never fit into again for sentimental reasons and her partner Sam for assisting with my scooter shed. Countless carers who have had a piece of the puzzle.

While, I’ve still got the cold, Mum and Jo got it eventually. Caring is sharing! I haven’t had a migraine! Winning!
Stay tuned for photos…….
Cheers,
H

Today’s Lunch – 25th October 2017

Today’s Lunch

So today, my mum is in town. She arrived late Monday night and no she wouldn’t agree to a photo opportunity.
We had matching meals. Something a bit different today………
A pancetta quiche with side salad.

And today’s medicine is accompanied with a chocolate mignon. Its complimentary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Oh, your hair looks nice today!)

Cheers,
H

Home

Home

Is where the heart is, right? My parents built the home I grew up in from the age of about 5. (better first check that)

My bedroom had a window on the side of the house so the only view I had was of a fence. When the men next door worked on their cars in the driveway after hours with the lights on, late into the evening.

The house was built in the 70’s and my parents never did any major renovations, so to this day the kitchen still has its orange (sorry, mum, Mordarine) bench tops, its brown cupboards and orange spaceship lights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They seemed to make them to last back then, right? But anyway, I digress, I moved out of home and to Melbourne when I was 19 years old, to study. This is probably when it seemed to be my home. It was a base, sure and my teenager “stuff” remained here, but it wasn’t really my home any longer.

When I was about 23 years old, my parents finally divorced. I say ‘finally’ because from about 12 years old, I knew it was imminent.

In the late 90’s (me in my late 20’s) I lived with my mum and younger sister (then 13) for 2 years, but while her house feels like a home, it doesn’t feel like my home.

It definitely feels like their home and when my dad had a thing for moving “stuff” around inside his house, much of my important childhood “stuff” migrated to my mum’s.

Every rare visit to both my mum’s home and my childhood home brings up different emotional ‘traumas’!

A visit to my mum’s, some 3 ½ hours north from Melbourne, upon arrival, as soon as you open the car door, a whiff of fresh country air, with a subtle pine and burning wood fireplace smell takes me back and refreshes me.

I was quite isolated and depressed when I lived there for 2 years.

But my dad’s house, doesn’t feel like a home. Over the 20 years, its felt like the ‘life’ left.

The good furniture is still there, the wall units in dark timber is still there, the timber chest in the billiard room that housed the stamp collection, the roll-timber desk and of course the beautiful pool table. (I call dibs)

Op shop finds have sprung up and taken root (or even stored) for some insane reason, where it’s not needed or used. Dad’s house seems strange, like time stood still, I got bigger, but ironically, when I’ve spent a rare night there as I did last October, when I went to my 25^th High School Reunion. Kitchen cupboards, the laundry sliding door, they still sound the same. Like it’s been frozen in time.

My father did move on and found another relationship (weirdly with someone 20 years older) so he has kind of aged in a strange way, if you know what I mean. She has never taken up residence there and they maintain they are ‘friends’, although I suspect he has helped her financially.

Romantically mum never moved on and was busy being a single parent to my younger sister and didn’t make time to meet anybody.

While I’ve moved so many times in the last 25 years, my mum has called me a gypsy. I have desperately wanted my own home, where I never had to move again. A place I could renovate, plant trees in soil and put down roots.

My father in the last 10 years, while I’ve had my disability, has retired, slightly early to deal with bowel cancer, then bladder cancer. He has beaten both, a little worse for wear, but winning all the same and earlier this year he decided to sell his house. Not to downside, but for financial reasons he has upsized.

So, his house sold and the new house is not yet built and he’s renting for maybe 9 months in between. He’s not even renting far from the home I grew up in. He’s moving from 30 to 1/22, I know, insane!

I’m not sure how I am meant to feel about this. It has certainly bought up much emotional trauma for my mum who has clearly felt short changed for the last 25 years, since her divorce. I know, I’ve heard all about it, but while I feel a little sad, I don’t feel like I’m losing anything. If that make sense?

 

Impulse Control

Impulse Control

So, there are times I’m at a clinic where there is little privacy. Such as my acupuncturist and physio work simultaneously. At times, you zone out, like when you work in an open-air office. You hear someone telling the Physiotherapist explaining the pain someone is experiencing is coming from somewhere completely different. After some massage of the affected area, they are sent on their way and I hear them ask “what if it keeps hurting?” And I hear him say to stop what they are doing. My impulse control proves lacking when I mutter from behind the curtain “more pain” insane!

Other times, a woman asks the younger physio if he’s going to use needles. He joyfully responds “first we’re going to electrocute you! Then we’re going to stab you!” He does dry needling. She murmurs her reply…

Again, waiting to create some humour, I call out “put me down for some of that.” And they laugh

To be clear, I’ve heard that physio use that line dozens of times and I could help it no longer.

Other times my impulse control is very useful for others present.

In my late 20’s I was sitting in a GP’s clinic waiting room in the country. A mum came in with her son, who was about 6 years old, my mum was there also. The young boy asked his mum a very strange question. “Mum, what’s an Orgasm?”

Oh, dear God! She looked so uncomfortable. I raised my hand off my knee in a gesture and met her eyes and offered “I can do that one if you like?” She let me take it, but I’m sure she was holding her breathe, I looked at the boy and said “You know when you’re going to sneeze? And it feels really good, but you’re not sure if you’re going to sneeze? It builds up? Eventually you sneeze and you are relieved?”Snee

The boy looked at me like he understood and he seemed happy.

The mum looked equally relieved.

Kinda felt like I’d had an Atticus Finch moment as I’d explained the sensation without divulging too much. He must have heard the word somewhere. (I don’t know where the 6-year-old kid heard the word Orgasm…)

I’m sure my mum thought I’d not have gotten involved. Sometime, I think my problem with certain thoughts work out better than expected….

Mother

Mother

How’s your mother? I always get asked by my carers… My mum who was here for less than 24 hours, last week to smash some appointments and things.

My mum is really the only family member to support me and she also manages to be my biggest critic.

So, it’s often somewhat tongue in cheek I reply with a smart mouth “she was alive when she left and so was I”.

My mum and I have come a long way in the last ten years, in the early days of my disability, she was mid 50’s and she would come down often once a week just to take me across town to my physio and OT appointments.

Mum lives about 3 hours away in the country in a lovely isolated valley where there is NO MOBILE RECEPTION and when I go home for Christmas, mum and my younger sister cannot remember their internet password. So, for me THERE IS ALSO NO INTERNET!

Admittedly their internet is so little and so slow, it’s better to just let emails pile up. I’m less inclined to lose my mental ‘shit’ and want to kill people.

My internet is fast and reliable at home. My mum reminds me every time she visits when she claims “I just detected 400 emails”.

Yeah! She only visits for my fast internet, I don’t mess around with internet or computers when they don’t work, I have visual images of Jackson Pollack paintings. Anyway, I digress as per usual.

It is rather typical of family members when they are carers for people with brain injuries and disabilities to verbally spar with each other.

Most people with brain injuries I’m sure it’s like torture and torment because they lack the verbal skills or mental capacity to give as good as they get.

My mum probably doesn’t realise she should count herself blessed, I have a smart mouth and deliver her a sharp retort at times, despite it offending her. Because the early years I used to bite my tongue until I realised Passive/Aggressive didn’t help me.

Nothing was going to change if I couldn’t let it be known. Clearly, we have had many opportunities for a difference of opinion, on this whole topic.

But what can you do?

 

Hot off the Press – 17th April 2017

Happy Easter!

Although I’m tapping this out on Sunday night in Melbourne, OZ. And this will go live Monday. Hopefully.

Easter always seems to be an excuse or a reason for families to get together. I live in the middle of my family. Definitely closer to part of my family but as I have no direct family of my own ie. Children/significant other(husband) I still consider my actual family to be my 2 parents and 2 siblings. One older the other much younger. I’ve not seen or heard from any of my family on Easter.
Wait! Mum just rang. It’s nearly 11pm! We spoke for over half an hour, and when I say that I mean my mum talked mostly and I listened.

Has been a really weird weekend. I normally pack my week with all the ‘busy things’ so I can go off-grid on Saturday and not do much more than eat, sleep, catch up on TV shows and cups of T(tea) and this plan was largely thrown by the fact that Good Friday was a public holiday and the day I have a carer to taken shopping, I could not go.

My carer was open to my asking me out for a few hours on Saturday, so very grateful I’m going to be contacting the office on Tuesday to make sure she is paid for the 2 extra hours she gave up of her weekend.

But after returning home around 4pm on Saturday, I still put all of my groceries and purchases away, took the tags off some new tops to wear around the house, I made a béchamel sauce and threw together a pasta bake for a friend who moved house this weekend. Ergo! Hate moving house! I finally made my own standard Saturday lunch and ate around 6pm.

Standout TV show this weekend I highly recommend is called Taboo. Sometimes, I see adverts or a mention somewhere and if a show looks good I add it to a Dream List. When I eventually start to watch it, maybe a year or 2 has passed and I can’t recall what made me add it to the list but I’ll give you 2 words. Tom Hardy. At first, he looked familiar and after a search on the google machine. There is plenty he has been in I’ve seen. Taboo itself is an odd little mystery, slowly peeled back to reveal much in only 8 episodes. Short and sweet, sometimes how I like it.

Anyway, managed to read 2 comics since last week and still 5 years behind. But still noteworthy. Hope you had a lovely Easter, I guess I should get. My 2 Lindt bunnies out of the fridge. They have been in the fridge since I bought them 2 months ago. It will take me the rest of the year to chip away at them, even the hazelnut one.

Family

Family

I’m yet to unpack and draw a picture about my family and I’m getting there but things come up all the time so……

My Mum is my biggest supporter and occasionally my biggest critic, but Truly Ruely.

My Mum has been the only family who has been there when I’ve been in hospital and there is nothing worse than having my Mum look down at me with that look I recognise as “Oh my God Don’t let me watch another of my children die!”

And to be clear she gave me this look after my Disc bulge surgery. The nurse came in and felt she needed to remind me I could sue the morphine button. And the look my mum was giving me, having just seen my scar (covered in tape) and to let Mum know I was okay. I gave her the acronym STFU! The nurse looked started and my only interest was when I was allowed up to go pee. It was three days, I think! Three fucking days! I’m just saying. This once; THEY DON’T MAKE BEDPANS FOR WOMEN!

But more about my family soon.