2.30am

Published November 28, 2015 by helentastic67

2.30am

There’s a really shitty thing about having a disability, there’s not lots of ‘good things that happen in your life. It’s just more shit things in varying degrees of more shit.

It’s not that I’m always being negative, it’s just really hard to put a positive spin on ‘shit!’

Example; A few weeks ago I had a review for my application for Public Housing. And it seemed that all of a sudden I might not even be eligible because I earn too much! WHAT THE FUDGE???

It seems I earn $12.30 too much per week. I’m not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. I pay my rent, I pay my bills and I get no funding. I go shopping and while I’m not extravagant I’ve started to do what I call the ‘Povo-shop’ which is to only buy the things on the shopping list and to watch the total at the register with my heart in my throat.

So you can see it’s hard to sugar coat it! It’s hard to put a positive spin on living day to day this way.

And then often friends don’t know how to respond. Trust me, I know it’s horrible, which is why I mostly don’t say anything, but if I say something, I’m not telling you so will offer to fix my problems. I don’t know what would fix my problems.

Please just have some empathy.

It looks like this; don’t say nothing, say something. It might be something really simple like this:

“I’m really sorry, it sucks! I didn’t know it was that bad, let me know if I can do anything…..”

Just so you know, I rarely ask for help, so don’t be afraid I’ll call on you for anything but a chat…

Human Rights

Published November 28, 2015 by helentastic67

Human Rights

Human Rights

There are many examples, I will give where you would imagine, just because I have a disability and because someone collects a wage from a job where they provide a service to those with a disability that you would be treated with respect and provided the services they are entitled to.

I hope my blog over time will express my experience of this sector and that if it is challenging to give a client/patient/customer, what they need then, it’s ok to withhold a service, not delivered a service or just outright bully so you will stop asking.

There are times now, how I’m treated, is outright shocking! And I’m someone who knows what’s going on and how to organise my life and my needs and my services and I dread to think how the people who can’t self-advocate get treated.

I once received a call offering me Public Housing. I know these calls are often met with jubilation and great relief, but I often get a little grumpy and demand “Yes? Where is it?”

Even my friends no longer get excited anymore and demand to be told “Where is it?” On this occasion they building was a new apartment block and the gentleman on the phone after selling me the fact that it was fully functioning, disability friendly bathroom. He told me I couldn’t take my cat!

I am not one to smuggle my fur-baby into my home. People have to know I come with a cat!

I’ve had good house-mates and shitty house-mates. I’ve had shitty boyfriends. Shitty because they are not still here.

I’ve had shitty friends and good friends. All in the last 16 years. They have all come and gone and are no longer here.

The fur-baby is still here!

I often go days without seeing another human being. So my cat is not an optional housemate. I told the gentleman, my cat didn’t cope without me and I didn’t cope without her.

HE TOLD ME TO HAVE HER PUT DOWN!

Now I think you can now tell when I used the term ‘gentleman’ I was being very generous!

Acronyms Part 1

Published November 28, 2015 by helentastic67

Acromyms 1

ACRONYMS! Part 1

In the early naughty (2000’s) I got a job with an NGO. I started as a client, I was a considerably consistent client and then I was a very consistent staff member for 3 years, despite every 3 months being made to apply for my job again. And consistently being passed over so they could give someone else a much needed position, knowing another position would soon be available for me, so I could have some permanency.

On one occasion I was passed over for a job I was already doing and then I was left to be in the office to train that person. Anyway, I’ll let you guess what kind of job/industry it was with this clue.

The industry was rife with ACRONYM’S!

They had then for EVERYTHING!TAF

First, clients were REF (referred) to us.

Here’s some others –

ETS: Expected to start!

P: Placed!

DNS: Did not start!

PR: Participants Report!

Now, this might give you some ideas what industry I was in. If not here’s a few more – when the clients were finished with us. These were other codes such as:-

END: Contract ended

EX/PTW: Exited/Part time work

EX/FTW: Exited/Full time work

EX/RTW: Exited/Return to work

My very favourite exit code was “WUK”

It was a rare one but when it came someone would ask in the office. It was the kind of environment where there was little privacy. But you learnt by osmosis!

WUK: Stands for “Whereabouts Unknown!”

When I started in this job I was an Administrative Assistant, I never understood what it meant to be in “Admin” but basically means you do whatever needs doing.

Later, when the organisation/company (they ran like a company) restructured. I managed to keep a job and was kindly given the title of T.P.O. (Training Placement Officer) which was a job I had long been doing on the Admin salary. But they made me Part Time! Making it very challenging to do a full time job!

I was only paid to do 19 hours a week. I often stayed after the other girls left at 5pm, I would finally do my job, as I was training 2 Admin girls and a TPC (Training Placement Co-ordinator).

On Wednesday, I would arrive at work and announce to the girls, “Get your questions ready and line up at my desk!”

I’ve done the maths and I should be out of here by lunch!”

The papers would ruffle and there was panic in the air. And my boss would come out at midday and ask me to stay.

I would still be there at 4pm.

Apparently if I’d been doing full time hours for 2 weeks, company policy was that full time hours should have been made permanent.

One day I was walking through the Bourke Street Mall in the city of Melbourne. I had received a call from a new recruit back in the office. I kept walking so I could concentrate on training the Admin Assistant now to use a very graph-heavy government database system, it was very “it’s the thing, above the thing and the thing!”

In the end due to a HR issue I was restructured out of my job. Two incompetent women in office claimed I was bullying them. It was actually the other way round.

After I was gone, they soon followed Effectively, I got the shaft!

Unlike others I had no real presence in the industry as I’d always been in the office working.

I eventually found some work with a TAFE, doing the same job and while they all ran around like headless chooks, they had me “culling exited files.” I was under-utilised because they didn’t trust my ability to do a job.

Rather under-utilized. Sadly that job too ended. This was a job I had in my early 30’s for about 4 years. And because it was very stressful, my medical condition started to show, some odd symptoms and I was diagnosed in the same week, I was let go from the 2^nd employer.

That was a really shitty week.

So if you didn’t work out the industry from all those ACRONYMS. I’ll give you one last one to help.

W4D: Work for the dole

CWC: Community Work Co-Ordinator

And around the office we had many nicknames for it “Work for the coffee scroll” being one of them.

I used to think I was good at my job. I was nice to the people who needed it and I laid down the law and was the “hard-ass” to those that needed it! I was the only one in the office who knew how.

There is one big thing this job prepared me for and that was the understanding of ACRONYMS!

Please be prepared for Part 2 to this.

Hell’s Treats

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

Ginger Kisses Hell’s Treats

So, for many years now I’ve made my ‘treats’ and given them away. I’ve done this because it motivated me and giving something yummy to people is a nice thing to do. For about 6 or 7 years I did this every month to some of the ABI groups I go to and to my neighbours where I live so I can introduce myself and they can know who I am and what I’m about.

About 2 years ago I made the decision I could no longer afford to give these treats away and that being generous was making me poor. Sorry poorer (is that even a word?) and I was told I would need to start listing my ingredients and to do a food handling certificate. The first, I said “Hell NO” and the second I said “find me some funding” and that never happened.

I assure you, I come from good CWA (Country Women’s Association) stock.

If you want to risk it, I suggest you get out an Epi pen and train a colleague and give it a try.

I really favour my favour my Ginger Kisses as even one-handed they are easy to make, even if I start the filling late on a Sunday night I can still find the energy at 1am to smash out 3 packets before going to bed.

Please help support my Independence!

Occasionally I’ll make a packet mix and when I do you will forgive me. I’ll not tell you it’s a packet mix, but when I make something from scratch I will definitely tell you.

There is a recipe I like to make that has a difficulty rating 20+.

Because it has many ingredients and they all require careful measuring. Tablespoon of vanilla essence, 1/4 teaspoon bicarb soda or baking powder.

Try doing that one handed!

Yes! ONE HANDED!

And you can get back to me with your grumpy attitude about occasionally smashing out a packet mix. This particular recipe I love to offer people – guess the secret ingredient?

No! Straight out. IT IS NOT POT! MARIJUANA OR MARY JANE. Not my thing, but I imagine if I could afford it I wouldn’t be giving it away.

I’m yet to cost these so that’s going to be a while.

And when I do make a packet mix if asked I will admit, this by muttering it out the corner of my mouth so it’s mostly indistinguishable. Such is my shame.

Hell on Wheels/Life One Handed

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

Hell on wheels

So, you have probably worked out my blog is not like all the other blog’s you have read and you could fairly presume so far it’s a little on the dark side.

So I think I’ll take the time now to explain the title of my blog.

“HELL ON WHEELS/Not my Best!” (changed it to Life One Handed)

To be clear, my blog has nothing to do with the super awesome AMC TV show called Hell on Wheels. Yes! I watch it! It makes my list and I’m happy to report I’m actually up to date.

So Hell on Wheels is a nickname a friend of my sisters gave me about 20 years ago. I don’t know why, but he is the only one who calls me that and I always kind of liked it. About 8 years ago, I developed a disability that “someone” in their intimate wisdom decide to sort me out with a Mobility Scooter. Some might call them a Rascal! I’ve always called mine ‘Hell on Wheels!’

I’m still working getting the “stickers” to go on the Red plastic. Hell yes! I got red! Red things go faster!

Sensitivity

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

Sensitivity

Best advice I can ever want to be a personal carer or anything that requires to go into someone’s home. Go easy on the perfume…

As in “Don’t wear any”

Once had a temp carer arrive at my door to take me shopping? As soon as I opened the door I was assaulted by the bouquet of perfume and cigarettes and I was about to get in a car with that. With the windows up because it was winter. So Help Me GOD!

One Foot in Front of the Other

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

One foot in front of the other

Sometimes I know you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and at times every step is agony and it hurts just to keep breathing.

When does life get easier? I’m just trying to survive and I can’t seem to cut a break.

No Way to Live

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

No way to live

It’s such a simple greeting “How are you?” I get asked it at all my regular stops and appointments. I often get asked the wog version – “How are you? Good.” So they answer it for me also. I just agree. People just presume I am good and I let them believe that because if I was blunt and honest they might be afraid to ask me in the future.

Someone once told me to be honest and tell people the truth. I put this in to practice with someone who deserved to be told the cold hard truth. It was a friend who only see when his life obviously crazy/busy, still has a better outlook than mine right now. I see this guy every few years only and he is more about the promises than actual reality.

So, I was blunt and I told him I was on anti-depressants and he told me straight back he was too!

In reality, he is on that knifes edge when he has invested serious cash in a business and he’s waiting to see if it pays off. Some of the success hinges on their choice in location, which is always a gamble.

But through the course of our last catch up I became aware I’d not been considered worthy of an invite to his 40^th! Nor, despite being his friend for about 15 years, did not get invited to his wedding!

Let me impress upon you when his last relationship fell apart, I was the ‘friend’ he called every fucking day with the same “poor-me” issues.

So we’re both on anti-depressants and I decide to tell him I’m on the PILL! He is startled for a second and I think he is thinking I’m getting very, very lucky, so I point out in my 40 years I’ve never been on the PILL and I’m only on the PILL now, so once a month I don’t burst into tears at everything. I’m on the PILL because I’ve got crazy hormones!

I once only wanted to kill people every month, just one day every month but I wanted to kill someone. These days, crazy hormones makes me want to cry. I mean really cry. At everything!

I get out of bed, I cry. I get in the shower. I cry. I get out of the shower. I cry. Puppies! Kittens! Did I make my point?

That’s no way to live.

Sometimes I think I should create one day a year, where I’m brutally honest with everybody! And there should be no consequences…

It would go like this; I would call my local council who provide my carers and I could tell them they were incompetent! I could call family members and tell them they were doing sub-standard job as family members (note, now I softened that) I would call all my ex-boyfriends and tell them they were a ‘dud-root’ (it’s a classic term!).

I don’t know if I got to the point I started to make when I first sat to write this, but I think I did still succeed to make a point.

Being Italian

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

Being italian

I should also mention, I will use the term “Wog”, from time to time and to those who are unaware.

Wog.

Now, I tried to do a Google search and after an attack of OCD and being distracted by rubbish for 20 minutes, the basic definition of Wog is ‘a foreigner’.

I learned from an early age , it actually meant “Western Oriental Gentleman”, but in Australian culture we really save it for Italians and Greeks that immigrated to Australia back in the late 1940’s and after. The immigrants also came from other European places too, however w!!hen Aussies use that term, we generally mean Italians/Greeks!

I went to a Private Catholic School where even the kids with 2 Italian parents would yell out and call me a wog! And I only have one Italian parent. I don’t consider myself a ‘wog’ per say, but I think I’ve .”

Great Italian food culture and that ‘feed an Army mentality’ and all the other good stuff from my mum. The great CWA –cooking/baking.

CWA being Country Women’s Association of which she does not belong and does not need to. Anyway, occasionally I’m going to drop the ‘Wog-bomb’ and I feel I’m allowed as I’m a little Italian as I like to say…

I speak a few words of Italian and even less Greek, but when I walk into my GP’s office, the 2 Greek ladies start speaking briskly in their native tongue and you can pick up a lot from their hand gestures and tone!

I have often discussed this with my GP who is Greek!

They’re tone says “Oh, that’s a pity, but she’s so pretty! Hopefully she has a husband!”

WTF?!

I usually get asked by the Greek ladies on my tram in guttural/broken English “you Greek?!”

I return in the same tone “no Greek, a little Italian.” I tell them from my father and they often ask from what part of Italy?

After the last 10 years or so living in an area with plenty of ‘wogs’ that can put my finger tips together and tap my forehead and reply “Calabeze!” Given up years ago saying “Calabrias” The hard movement is to symbolize “stubborn!”

The Italian from that area are known to be stubborn. Sounds about right!

Years ago, I worked across town in a Supermarket and a guy asked where the Tzatziki was? I confess I was younger and didn’t know what that was. I tried a cheeky question to ascertain what it was. FYI: If you aren’t sure, it’s a dip! It’s kept in the Supermarket in a fridge.

He looked at me rather disgustedly and asked how I would not know what this ‘thing’ was.

I asked “why?’, this wog motioned to my name badge and said ‘you’re Greek!”

Why do you say that?

“Your name is Helen!”

FUCK OFF! (Obviously not what I said, but I then explained I was not.)

So many times I’ve had to respond to the query “You Greek?” Always asked or as a statement and I always respond with “No! No, Greek!” Greek ladies always look so disappointed. I am surrounded by Greeks these days. The good ones luckily. My GP! My Chiropractor! My taxi driver, young John! So lucky!!!

I have a mobility scooter, which I like to call Hell on Wheels!

Not all Doom and Gloom

Published November 26, 2015 by helentastic67

Not all doom and gloom

I would like my blog to be something more than dark matter.

Doom and Gloom about disability, so as I had a life before I developed my diagnosis. Thirty plus years of normal life and a really good memory to draw from, so on a lighter note; here’s a little amusing story that I hope people appreciate.

THE FUNNIEST TEXT MESSAGE EVER!

In the very late 90’s I moved back to the country side with my mum and younger sister. I was there for 2 very long years. About once a week we make a trip to the country town I grew up in, about an hour away. Just outside town there is a sign on a gate to a property. The sign clearly states “Cattle!” Shut the Gate. We had many discussions that the cows must be ‘smart cows!’

Fast forward to about 4 years later and I was sitting at my desk, living in Melbourne working.

It wasn’t an extremely happy workplace as I was working for an NGO and had been there for about 3 years always applying for my job and being bullied by some colleagues who had no shame, collecting their pay, despite the fact they spent more time trying to get out of doing their jobs, than actually doing their jobs, which would have been easier.

So this particularly tense day in the office my phone pinged and I quickly glanced at my phone. The text message was from my younger sister. Four simple words that made me laugh so hare I couldn’t breathe and I had tears pouring from my eyes.

Clearly, not the best reaction in an open office, when two staff across the office want you gone and would not be at all thrilled to hear you enjoying “work”.

In front of me, about 4 metres away were my two admin. They both looked at me like I was a little peculiar.

One of the admin was a petite older woman with not a great deal of confidence. I smiled at her and beckoned her over with my finger.

I couldn’t just show her the text as it would have been completely out of context. But I couldn’t immediately tell her either as I was still laughing.

After a little while, I told her and with her British upbringing she patiently awaited the punch line.

The text plainly stated;-

“Smart Cows Got Out!”