Dad

Published July 15, 2019 by helentastic67

Dad

I rang my dad last week. Oh? You may wonder where this is going. It’s not going anywhere you imagine. Just trust me.

I rang him, he never rings me. He is my Italian parent, if you recall and it is fifty minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

The first five minutes he starts with ‘oh, I don’t know if you know/I don’t know if I told you?’ and I have to be rude and interrupt him to remind him, I saw him at Christmas and he has Sciatica and his left leg hurts.

Yes. Then he’s confused and surprised I am aware. A bit of extra information re my Pa, is that he was a builder all his life, he retired a little early, due to having bowel cancer. Don’t stress, he had chemo and radiation, he beat it.

NOT COMPLAINING

Then he got/had bladder cancer. (at least he is consistent, same are of the body) and he’s beaten that (again not complaining).

While he hasn’t got dementia, he is seventy-years old, I think undiagnosed, he may have had a series of heart attacks and strokes or just a bit of ‘brain-faze’ from all his treatments. Relax, he’s cancer free.

In reality, with his very serious dedication to smoking, cancer may eventually be his downfall, but he will not go down without a fight. But right now, he’s doing everything he can to complain about everything and not listen to anything I have to say to help.

Anyway, I digress, he then went into a rant about he would do anything to not have to use a walking stick to get around and how hard it is when half your body doesn’t work.

Oh my God, when he uttered those words and he could not be interrupted because he was not done. So, if you can’t feel my eyeroll and if I’d been there, he would have received a sever bitch slap (or a back hander).

He was so severely oblivious to who had had just made that comment to, I decided to give him one of my classic Helen lines.

“Shut the fuck up”

He actually stopped talking (I was impressed). Now, you may think that is the rudest thing and completely disrespectful to speak to one’s father that way. But, however, I will say that to my mother and she does. So, I should be able to say it to my father.

I love both my parents; I just love them differently and I deal with them both as sternly as they each need and can take.

Honestly, I am much tougher with my mum because if I don’t pull her into line no one will and on somethings she will never change, so I’ve learned to let it go. I guess I’ve learned to choose my battles there also.

Ah, the fifty minutes I said I’d never get back, yes! My father, at 70 decided to get a smart phone! His first smart phone and likely his first taste of the internet!

And I proceeded to help-desk him through how to use his search engine! “Dad, just put your finger in the white bar up the top!” And he grumbles the (and I stress) “typewriter” has gone away!” God help me! “Just tap in the white bar dad and the keyboard will appear!”

And fifty fucking minutes later! KMKMKMKM!!!!!!!(Kill Me!) That was the fifty fucking minutes of my life I will never get back! And I’m not even the Samsung daughter! I’m the Apple daughter!

And hit Like!

Sisters

Published July 12, 2019 by helentastic67

Sisters

So, this will be a totally rare time I include the name of a business/company/service, I currently use. You will notice I don’t ever mention the name of my favourite café? Yeah, most of my followers are on foreign soil, so it’s irrelevant, but sometimes it’s hard enough to get a seat as is. That’s the only reason why though.

So, today I will mention one of the Care Providers I use, same reason as above, but it’s relevant to the story. This is also a likely example of how life has a tendency to go in full circles.

Ok, Circa 90’s when I worked in clubs with Malcolm (you can read about him here)

https://hellonwheelslifeonehanded.wordpress.com/2017/09/01/gdg-grand-daddy-goth/

He had (just like any DJ of that era) Yes, Yes what was generally referred to as a toilet song. You hear a certain song come on. Don’t get in a DJ’s way. It’s usually a rather long song/track that is long enough to get to the toilet, the bar and back to the DJ’s booth.

It was usually this one

My Carers come from Mercy Health. They manage the homes where all the retired nuns live. There is a women’s hospital (Mercy Health).

I am by all means not suggesting they are the best, but I’m never going to bother mentioning the ONLY agency that didn’t ask for me to participate in the regular NDIA audit and provide feedback about their services. Am I correct?

So, anyway, my carer today was telling me where she had to go after me. Most of my carers visit the nuns. I hear about it all the time.

So, my carer today said she was going off to the Sisters of Mercy and everything after that went straight over my head.

Back in the 90’s when I worked in clubs, I was NOT GOTHIC. But sometimes, I wore more, shall I say, socially acceptable styles to not ‘offend’ the Goths. There was always a boy with this…..

It was the era after all and sometimes I would just outright wear my dungarees (because they were light and comfy) and other times I wore my bright coloured raver street wear.

I miss those days.

However, The Sisters of Mercy (the band not the nuns.) is touring later in the year. I’m debating about seeing them. The play at The Forum, two days after my birthday.

Dreams

Published July 8, 2019 by helentastic67

Dreams

I had a dream yesterday; well I dream a lot. But mostly I have weird dreams where 3 or 4 crazy things are smashed into.

I dream, it usually includes house that are apparently my home, there is definitely a feeling of this is my home to it, but they are places I don’t recognise, in area’s that remind me of the 90’s, my earlier days but yet not in areas I would live in now.

At such times the details are insane, a door handle that isn’t working properly, reminds me of houses I have lived in. Opening a door to the outside and seeing an abundance of plants hanging from the eaves with bright red tomatoes in abundance. Then my sister is there. Well, either of my sisters would be strange.

The other times I’M ON ROLLER SKATES. Anyone else having these dreams? Yeah, I did roller skate when I was a kid and I’ve a friend who does Roller Derby.

But my dream, I was roller skating around the city, around Federation Square and I had some speed, was cutting in and around people and not hitting anybody and still managing to stay upright.

HOW? I don’t know…

Then I got to the top of some stairs and I just flew down them, my wheels catching the platform in between the second drop of stairs and still UPRIGHT. People cheered!

I guess I am not prepared to try roller skating as I imagine I don’t need scrapes and wounds to add to my drama. But it was a nice dream with a feeling of freedom, success and achievement.

Sleep Clinic

Published July 5, 2019 by helentastic67

Sleep Clinic

A few months before Christmas, I had an appointment for a specialist clinic. It was the sleep clinic.

Never have two words put a greater fear into me. Well not fear perhaps, that’s exaggerating slightly, but still I sleep, I just sleep at the wrong times and I’ve just made it work and I don’t want to change.

The doctor told me he’d book me into the sleep clinic for a sleep-over. I was concerned I had sleep apnoea. (it’s not only when you snore, but when you stop breathing) I woke with my throat, glands in my neck and nose feeling kinda weird, sore and dry, plus a dream or two where I’ve felt like someone was choking me. So, sleep clinic good.

The doctor told me he wouldn’t get me in before Christmas, but maybe before Easter, which gives you an idea how much of a waiting list there was and also how he didn’t think I was going to be at a rick of dying before he would book me in. So, all was good.

Until, I got a call early December, they had a cancellation before Christmas, did I want to come in Early?

FYI: ALWAYS SAY YES!

So, I was booked in about a week before Christmas. I parked my laptop, took my overnight bag with my PJ’s and my toothbrush, my dinner and off I went. I caught the tram from my door and the extra baggage was pretty hardcore pulling me off balance, but nearly took me.

Sleep

Published July 1, 2019 by helentastic67

Sleep

I feel I’ve had a lifetime of sleep deficit, because I’m always trying to catch up. Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Never enough, but it’s also somewhere (bed, anyway) where you think it’s the most comfortable place to be. Except if your only disability is depression. (Not discrediting the darkness is depression, however) Get up, move around.

So, for me going to bed to sleep is pure heaven, until, but wait.

For those older (I didn’t say old) I said older and more traditional stroke, it might require two people (cheers) to roll them over partway through the night. I can’t comment too much about that, as thankfully it hasn’t been my experience.

Early day’s I gave up my flannelette sheets, I think the first winter. HARSH. But necessary as I refused to give up my flannel PJ’s because when I rollover it’s like Velcro. The top sheet would get stuck to my PJ’s and covers would just go with me and a cool breeze would go down my back.

There was a lesson I learned pretty early on and I have only had to be reminded another two times. Try this, lie on your back and roll over to one side, as you do it, try to single out and remember all the parts of your body you utilize to roll over.

Now, what happens with your arms?

Allow me to tell you what happens with my left arm when I roll over, say to my right side, my left arm will fall behind my back, which is more than a little unpleasant. Because I can’t reach behind me to grab my left arm to pull it to the front. I literally have to roll back over onto my back, onto my arm even and I almost have to keep rolling to sit up over the edge of the bed to get my arm back in front of me.

Are you feeling my pain yet? No? Ok, let me next level it for you. In the early days of my disability, I fell over at the front of my house. My left foot got caught behind a post (a supporting post) of my front fence at the terrace house I was renting. I went down like a sack of (shit) potatoes and I smashed my head against the side of the wall and my left shoulder.

Behind me the screen door was closed, the front door open and down the hallway in the lounge was my mum. She heard the meowing I let out and came down, by the time she got to me, I had levered myself up onto the fence and noticed across the street, the creepy-but nice dude in the public housing flats on his balcony. He had seen me fall and I could tell he was concerned and was contemplating coming to help me. I gave him a wave to tell him I was OK. Mum appeared at the door “what have you done?” she demanded.

Have I mentioned my mum is NOT my Italian parent, yet this is how she responded, I know she cares and the noise I let out was just awful, pain and surprise, all rolled into one.

Now, in short, my left shoulder (to this day) mum is angry that it’s dislocated and no one wants to put it back in. Officially it’s not dislocated, but it kinda is. If I’d hit my right shoulder, it would be dislocated, but my left one has the muscle tone of an old worn elastic band. So, when I hit the wall it all just move and stretched.

Again, it’s not in its kind ‘out’ but can’t be put back ‘in’ because there is no muscle tone to hold it back in place. I’ve seen a private shoulder specialist who said he could ‘fix it’ (I imagine Frankenstein and bolts) but, he said I would have ‘other’ issues across my back.

So, when I ‘forget’ my arm, when I roll over and end up lying on it even briefly, it twists just a little in my shoulder, making it a little extra ‘special’.

Every single time I go to roll over to my right side, I grab my left arm at the wrist and bring that arm with me taking it in comfortably in front on me for safe-keeping.

Generally, every morning I’ll get a little bit of sleep on my left side and it’s very comfortable, well from the belly button down, my left arm I have to straight-jacket down my other arm so it doesn’t creep up every time I yawn.

Oh yeah that, when I yawn, it’s an involuntary thing, all the muscles in my face (cheek) neck, shoulder all tighten up and my left arm comes up, my hand flares open and it is kinda weird, but I digress, when I even briefly sleep on my left shoulder when I get up and sit on the edge of the bad, I have my left shoulder click back into place.

So sleep Blessed sleep Yeah.

And don’t forget the T.O.S. (Thorasic Outlet Syndrome)

I generally wake up several times each night with a numb right hand or pins and needles, which is part of Carpel Tunnel Syndrome and it takes a bit of upright and moving around to have these symptoms to disappear. But it’s just another thing to add to the list.

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Apartment Living Past

Published June 28, 2019 by helentastic67

Apartment Living Past

Definitely time to throw in a post about apartment living. Late 2017 I moved into an apartment. It’s my fourth move since my diagnosis back in 2007. While I’ve not done any big distances between each place I’ve lived, this is the most ‘new-build’ I’ve ever been in. The last place was a unit, my address was Unit 1 at 111. No really, it was a great number to live in. It was only two minutes drive from where I now reside. That move was prompted by ‘sleazy’ landlord concerns. Because he just didn’t get it, he could not put his hands ‘ON’ me and tell me he loved me and wanted to have sex with me.

Did you, just throw up a little in your mouth? Exactly! So, I digress, apologies.

Apartment Living.

I have a carer every morning, maybe only for an hour, to an hour and a half and I keep them busy with tasks while I’m in the shower, doing a few dishes, putting buckets of water out on the balcony for my plants or taking down my rubbish and recycling. On Sunday morning my carer came into the bathroom and I polished a circle near my face on the shower screen door, so she could see my face.

This is what I said to her; “While you were out, I TOOK a call from S blocks that way. Stop slamming the door” She asked if I’d really received a call?

The apartment doors are rather heavy, I guess it’s for good security and sound proofing. I can’t hear what’s happening next door. Well, they might hear me, but my surround sound died, so it may no longer be an issue for them. But I often hear laughing and people running past my door to the lift and I really wish they would stop.

Retirement

Published June 24, 2019 by helentastic67

Retirement

I have a term for my form of retirement. It’s bullshit retirement where I’m poor, I’m underpaid, I have no holidays, no grandchildren to tend or husband (Yes, I’ve always wanted one, but it just hasn’t happened) and despite being retired, my week is pretty full.

In a perfect week, this is what my diary looks like:

Monday- Shrink, Medicare (the other bank) Osteo, admin, emails, blogging, brain training, bed.

Tuesday – Remedial, GP, admin, emails, blogging, sleep.

Wednesday – Chiropractor, acupuncture, blogging, admin, emails, some self-advocacy, sleep.

Thursday – Cleaning at home, data entry, admin, emails, sleep. At this point you might be thinking ‘What’s with all the sleep?’ You need sleep every night. I seem to these days and I get to bed so late and it’s noisy and I get woken up over and over again. I’m just impressed I’ve banished the afternoon kip during the week.

Friday – a carer for shopping where we get all the hunter/gathering done, any extra shopping I need, any serious cooking as a one-off for the week. Admin, brain training and emails.

Saturday and Sunday – I try to go off-grid on the weekend. No emails, no social media, no mobile phone. Note, I used the word ‘try’ I can’t let it slide completely or else Monday, I would have too much to catch up on.

Over the whole week with phone calls to keep all the balls in the air (euphemism for juggling) emails/calls to keep my home in working order.

Start everyday with a personal carer for one – one and half hours, so I can leave the house fresh and presentable to be seen in public. End most days taking washing off the racks on my balcony and then often having to hang the washing on other racks inside to complete drying, unpack/repack dishwasher process the mail and bills that come in, pay the bills or schedule when I can afford to pay them, order products to keep my independence needs next. This is why I try (there’s that word again) to go off-grid on the weekends.

Weekends are for sleeping, eating, watching TV, sleeping some more, then on a Saturday night forcing myself to do absolutely nothing by putting on a film where all of my attention is taken up by single tasking. Do you get ‘Single tasking’ is a dirty word to me?

All the balls don’t stay in the air by single tasking and if some of these things seem a bit of a luxury and that I’m super lucky. They are not. All of these things need to happen like clockwork, so I maintain at least the level of independence I have now and preferably no less.

Oh, there are also the once a month committee meetings or the ‘other’ bi-monthly committee meetings I participate in to give life meaning. It’s getting monotonous, there aren’t many exciting things to look forward to.

Oh, did we notice an absence of three regular meals a day? Yeah, I prepare in advance back-up breakfasts I can pack and have on the go, on trams, trains or have lunch at 5pm, when I get home. It’s not a great plan, but it’s what it is.

I would have been happy to work until 70 because it would have meant I would have been able to and I would have a decent comfortable standard of living and life.

Hence, my term a ‘Bullshit form of retirement’.

Daisy

Published June 21, 2019 by helentastic67

Daisy

Because I can’t help but mix it up a little, I’m not suffering OCD however, I am likely to circle back to other topics. Today’s post is about when people are in our lives for a reason, season or a lifetime.

So, once upon a time I worked at a large environmental company as an admin. Don’t get excited, I wasn’t an OH&S officer (that’s short for Occupational Health and Safety) let’s call her Daisy.

Whenever someone had an injury in the office, even so much as a paper cut and someone called out that they had hurt themselves, someone would call out “Daisy!” even though she was not located anywhere near us.

Rumour was, if you got a paper cut, she would bring you a tube of cream and I suspect she did a regular stocktake of the bandaids in the tearoom first aid. Paper cuts, big problem in admin, should qualify for hazard pay or just BYO bandaids.

However, at the time my boyfriend who lived with me, also worked at the same place as an Environmental Scientist. He was far more qualified in his work. But at home, Daisy followed us everywhere. If in the backyard I would be hanging my washing on the line, the garden hose curled out across the concrete, creating a delightful tripping hazard. One of us would generally call out “Daisy” and then we would share a little chuckle.

Daisy was a bit of a joke in the office. You all get her name was not Daisy, don’t you? Because one day on ‘site’ there was a gate to enter a site and Daisy had gone out to check on the ‘safety’ of the job. I suspect it was a disused petrol station or some such, which is what my ex worked on or ‘whatever’. Daisy should have parked outside the gate and entered carefully on foot or better yet parked and called out for the guys to escort her on to the site. But NO, apparently, she drove in and proceeded to drive all over the site.

But with the absence of the ex or the other people that were in my life at that time, the “OH&S chant “Daisy” has gone. Sadly….

I’ll share some more soon.

My Kitchen, My Way

Published June 17, 2019 by helentastic67

My Kitchen, My Way

One thing that is a particular challenge being one handed, is how my kitchen is set up. I think I’ve moved four times since my diagnosis and every time I’ve moved since my disability, my mum has been there for at least a week after helping me set up. It’s very important for my kitchen to be unpacked before she goes, she makes that a goal before she will depart, knowing I will get the rest sorted in time.

It’s equally important for me to be part of the sorting of the kitchen. Mum will shove all my oven trays in a cupboard to get them put away, but it’s some time before I get back to it, so I can see/feel/manage what’s in there. What I need to use regularly and put the items I rarely use somewhere else.

Last week I tasked one of my carers to get out a muffin tray and after she swore and carried on, I got up to help. As long as the carers aren’t swearing at me and I’m not swearing at them, it’s fine.

Crazy People

Published June 14, 2019 by helentastic67

Crazy People

Now before anyone jumps up and down about the heading, just wait. I have again completed another Neuropsych test and I like to say ‘Neuropsych test’ not just for crazy people. The term ‘Crazy People’ predates the whole politically correctness, this and it often referred to people who were schizophrenic or other equally awful serious infliction’s.

However, I digress a neuropsych test is literally a series of tests, verbal, that help work out how well your brain works. If you think of your brain like a filing cabinet, different parts manage different tasks, artistic, creative, problem solving, decision making, etc, etc.

One of the first tests (without giving too much away) is with numbers and you need to keep in mind the woman doing the test speaks in a calm, quiet, monotone, unemotional tone.

She gives me two figures, let me give you an example: 1, 4
I repeat back to her 1, 4.
Sounds easy, right?
Then the number of digits increases to three, then four, then five, etc.
Still OK, right?
Then she gives you numbers and you have to reverse them. The first example, again 1,4.
Answer 4, 1.
Then she increases the amount again.
Note: I’m not giving you a cheat sheet here, if you are ever required to do one, however.
Then she gives you a random collection of digits and you have to put them in order of value.
For example: 2, 5, 7, 8, 1, 6.
Answer: 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8.
Don’t try this at home!

The woman who delivers the test and comes to her findings, has qualifications. I say woman, because I’ve never had a man deliver this test, finally a test that doesn’t include needles and feeling like I’m being punched in the head from the inside.