I could honestly do a post every week just on weird conversations I start with complete strangers for no reason whatsoever. And why not?
I’m definitely that weirdo who can give people a different perspective of disability/brain injury or just going for gold in a way they will remember me at the end of the week award.
Most people are oblivious I have disabilities let alone that its brain injury related. They wouldn’t even realise I’m half blind.
Last Friday, went to the local supermarket and got a few things, at the checkout was a young Asian guy with a tattoo up the side of his neck. It was a line of a foreign language that was not very wide and about two inches long. You know I asked. While he looked a little perplexed. I offered him an “out” I suggested “Why do stupid white women ask what our tattoo’s say?”
He looked a little surprised but answered “Family. Friends. And Me!”
Our day continued but I really hope that wasn’t the list of his priorities in order. I don’t have any tattoo’s but like husbands and kids, I always intended to get another permanent scar to remind me of pain for the rest of my life, that’s what my tattoo should say. Because I’ve neglected, forgotten to get any of those so far.
Jesus, I wept. I had to say goodbye to some old friends this weekend and I did the ugly cry. Even ice cream didn’t make it easier to bear, I had to pause the show to finish the ice cream so I could use my one good hand to administer tissues! Stat!
If you haven’t worked it out? I was watching the last season of a show I’ve been watching since 2018 and the final season of those show’s I like to save because my friends are still a part of life until I’ve finished it.
The title is a reference to the saying “Friendship isn’t a big thing – it’s a million little things”. I got this quote from the wiki page, if you haven’t worked it out, the show was called “A Million Little Things” and it’s never too late to watch it.
I started this weekend needing to fast for a blood test. I really don’t love doing adulting on a weekend. (Definition of Adulting is Bra and Shoes) But alas, my Crazy Lady Hormone Doctors requirements are very specific. Vampire visit is required on the twenty first of the month. The upside to Adulting on a Saturday.
Weirdly, then felt hungover all friggin’ day. Which is weird because I don’t drink. Finished my Saturday with hydrolyte and ice cream while weeping and that was after the single feature on my Single Girl Date Nite where I watched the film that made Amber Heard and Johnny Depp household names. I mean “London Fields” was a reasonably decent film leaving you guessing until the end; however, I wasn’t interested in the blow-by-blow account of the court case then, I’m less interested now. If you don’t know, best left that way.
Also still dealing with the fallout from my recent fall. Pun intended. I keep biting my tongue. So, I have to have my Chiropractor adjust my jaw. Not looking forward to that. At least I didn’t knock out my teeth. I know right.
Here’s hoping for a calmer week so I can get some more blogging done. I mean I have a few in here where I’m planning to throw shade at vegans, strap in for that one.
Last week I had reason to visit South-Side and my old neighbourhood from my twenties. Melbourne for many is split by a river called the Yarra River. When I first moved to Melbourne at nineteen my friends quickly informed me the river was not for swimming as it was likely to hide people with concrete boots. Think we now refers to those days as the Underbelly era. Oh, good times. Melbourne from a different time.
But nowadays we refer to the river dividing the South from the North. Once upon a time I spent my twenties living around Prahran near Chapel Street. I’ve been past several of the places I once lived only to find time did not stand still, several houses were gone replaced by new developments. And some beautiful Art deco apartments my friends and I envied in the 90’s on Dandenong Road can now be look up online. Ooh-La-La! Still can’t afford to live there. I mean the internet is a sneaky thing because I went down a rabbit hole and found this old dump I once rented.
I mean, it did not look like this when I once lived here but seriously. Now I can’t afford to live either side of the Yarra. A comedian once said “Never sit down and work out how much money you’ve spent on rent. You will kill yourself!” So not doing that, might add to that list, don’t search places you once lived but no that’s too late.
Now, who thought this blog was only about living life one-handed? Well, that’s still true but a girl’s still gotta keep a roof over her head and want to be able to get out of bed in the morning and still be motivated to put one foot in front of another, so that is why we have real estate porn. It’s not realistic, but its aspirational. Not achievable for most but it’s nice to look.
And if I may? I know I don’t normally critique films here because I don’t want to let on how much I watch TV and films for entertainment, but I feel in short, I must. Saw the 2024 take on the 1994 classic “The Crow” Can we not please? Stop it! We just don’t need another generation of young thin men with tilted heads and bad posture looking down at girls. The end.
So, as it is after 1am on the day this is to fly free I will attempt to keep this short and sweet. As if I could, I can but try.
After a successful weekend of films, Bridgerton, food and sleep and a lack of adulting I surfaced to prepare a late snack and coffee around 4pm Sunday, I made a sharp turn and found myself on the floor between my dining table chair and the kitchen bench. Yes, in simple terms I fell. I even reached up to stop the dinner plate that was still trying to settle on the table. If there was any other place harder to wriggle out of in my apartment, I don’t know where I would find it. But alas, extraction was achieved. When I am home and I find myself on the floor it is guaranteed I am home alone! Thoughts of how much I need a husband never more important than these times!
Falling halfway between my apartment door where I need to slide over and put my cuff and collar outside so whoever I can reach out to help me, can enter without me needing to slide over to let them in. My best option to have a fall is my bedroom to use the edge of my bed to lever myself up a little at a time. The bedroom is a location that offers carpet for under my knees and if I can message some upward direction, I have. Soft landing if I can raise myself that high. Because timing is simple, I had been awaiting the arrival of a friend that has been busy for the last year since I saw her last. She recently returned from eighteen days in Turkey. A photo of a different cat every day as requested I did not receive. She did try to pass off the same cat photo two days in a row but stated it was so hot there I withdrew my request. Alas, she returned with treats and I had to message her that I was on the floor and that I would find someone and dispatch them to bring her upstairs.
If you are new here, pre-Covid I had created a social media page to build community to help each other who are living in this apartment complex. Living in an apartment complex allows people to hide, it seems to encourage hiding unsocial practices because poor recycling habits and dumping broken furniture can be kept hidden and those that do these things can avoid reproach. This group allowed me to message a neighbour to ask her mum to come down. She is a very slim, petite Yah-Yah and has enough arthritic issues as is. While I know she will hover really concerned I know she feels helpless and concerned. I give her some busy work and she puts my milk back in the fridge. I message another neighbour, a couple who were returning from Pilates. Yah, Yah went next door to grab that neighbour. She was asleep having been home from night shift as a nurse but her sister also a nurse came to assist. I was able to wriggle to the bedroom (equally tight spot beside my bed) this brought back Flashbacks to the OT who had assessed my home as having too much clutter. My then-carer Joshie (she shall be called!) laughed when I reported this. I queried why she laughed? She had confessed she had the same amount of “clutter” against walls as we both have stuff and never enough space. At least my clutter was normalised. Meanwhile, even while lying on the floor beside my bed I lifted the clutter to put it on the bed, at least it was out of my way.
The angle under my bed and I stated, “there’s a pack of toilet rolls hidden under here!” More help arrived and having given up on getting up onto my knees and engaging my unemployed “core” to be more upright. I rolled to sit on my backside. I directed the only male in attendance to move behind me and after I disclosed how heavy I actually am (I’m just saying I weigh more than a feather and if someone’s about to lift me they need to know this) I don’t know why, but there is always something comforting about a Nurse taking your hand and telling you they are about to grab you by the waist-band of your pants and that it will only be uncomfortable for a moment. Thank Christ for weekend baggy tracksuit pants I say, or I would have had a wedgy.
The first person I hugged was the Yah-Yah, and I reassured her she had been of great help. I also reminded her, had she attempted to get me up I would have crushed her and she would have been found days later having expired. I don’t weigh so much, I’ll be getting my on-TV show, but I make this joke every time because despite how serious it all gets, it’s a great stress reliever.
On days I’m home, I often only put shoes on when I go out onto my balcony, but I’ll leave them on until late when I go off to bed, just to avoid slipping over. At one point before help came Mika (my cat) decided to come past, while my fall can be credited to socks on timber floor without shoes, Mika came towards me and one of her back legs went out from under her. So, it’s not just me. While sitting on the floor I also discovered a nice lump coming up on my chin. Never let it be said “Helen only ever does things by halves” I’m going to have a fun bruise on my chin and down the left side of my face I can’t wait to explain away this week.
I’m already trying a few out “this is not the result of day shit date gone wrong!” Full dark Yes! Or “I took it on the chin!” That is terrible, but I see myself saying it a lot this week. Or “I really did fall!” Here is a nice photo of my chin. Excuse the view up my nose.
One last mention to my Sunday carer that put a leave-in moisturizing treatment in my hair before putting it back up. Even with the fall, it didn’t move It’s not the best way to test if my bun is secured but here, we are. Shout out to her.
Also, a sadness to let go of the group I created for this building. My departure is imminent as the affordable rent I have appreciated for now seven years coming to an end soon. More of this to follow soon. Wow, it is 2am and I think time for bed, I have already secured my first of two-chiro appointment’s. Hope everyone has a good week. Note, not a question.
Just starting today with some much needed business, with a Happy Father’s Day for yesterday. As some of you may be aware its soon the second anniversary of my father’s passing, its crappy but it is what it is.
Meanwhile, yesterday marked the first day of spring in Australia and the first day of September. When the hell did that happen? I’m struggling with how quickly this year has gone, anyone else feeling like this year has flown with seemingly not much to show for it?
Also, almost a little Hot Off The Press Moment. Last night I was at Hamer Hall in Melbourne seeing the Celeste Barber show Back up Dancer.
4.3K views · 58 reactions | Celeste Barber on tour | Comedian Celeste Ba… Comedian Celeste Barber has announced her Australian stand-up tour! She came on TODAY this morning to tell us a…
My friend went to get us drinks and returned with a can of “Not Coke!” and it came with a plastic cup that we were to tip into the plastic cup, we were not allowed to take in the can. “What do you think we are going to do with the can?” I asked. Apparently, the obvious was “throw it” I asked why someone would throw a can at Celeste? and I followed this with “She’s, our Queen!” (Can not believe I said that!)
My next fine example of wit was to the next staffer, an Usher who was to direct us to our seat. “Where are you sitting?” to which I responded, “On my bum!” and I think our seats were too far back to do any damage to anyone on stage regardless of who they were with a can or otherwise. We know this is not the point. I’m just saying my coffee must have kicked in. What can I say? I’m pretty witty.
Meanwhile, if you are unfamiliar with all things Celeste consider yourself having just been given homework? Go, immerse yourselves in all things Celeste Barber on both Instagram and Tik Tok if you dare. I’m just saying, I cried with laughter, but I seriously cried. and my pelvic floor was already in tatters.
From the start to the very end and occasionally when all was quiet from the stage a giggle would break out from somewhere in the audience, including mine. I must say, I really love when comedians bring the audience into their world and share parts of who they are and some anecdotes about their lives you would never imagine, so human, and so funny.
I’m yet to write my posts about the shows I saw in the 2024 Melbourne International Comedy Festival, but this year Celeste is the first of two shows I’ve booked outside the Festival and I’ve already booked a show for next year’s Festival. You know I have my Dad to thank.
I’ve had migraines since I was young. I don’t remember when they began, I just remember how my Mum solved them. I remember she made a furtive call to whom I didn’t know. Then she would take me on a drive, across town, out on the old freeway, down the road opposite my first primary school, down a dirt road that was a driveway, and after parking next to a building, we entered from the back into a waiting room. it had plywood panels on the walls with long coloured ribbons hanging around most of the wall space.
Apparently, my osteo was also a bull breeder that had awards, not your average osteo. He had a rather Dutch name. Upon entering a buzzer alerted the Doctor his patient had arrived and he would come in before we even sat down.
I remember the last time I went to see him; my dad had offered to take me as he had come home from work and as my Mum had been busy making dinner he volunteered to take me. He didn’t know where it was so with my migraine I directed him. I have to say, he did not trust the location for this “hocus pocus” form of medicine. I remember going inside and how uncomfortable he was. The Doctor arrived and I had to remove my T-Shirt, never does a 12-year-old girl feel so uncomfortable. a towel draped over my non-existent boobies, adjustments, massage and stretching and a payment made then back home again for the magic to settle the pain.
Forty years later, I still see a chiropractor and yesterday I told her I’d had a weeklong Walking/Talking migraine which is my regular these days, it’s just enough to annoy me but not enough to cripple me so I can ignore adulting and responsibilities and just go to bed.
She asked what parts of my face was I feeling it? Because I can usually narrow it down. Left eye, right eye, the thing, the thing or the other thing, this time, while lying on my back I used my hand to wave over my face. “My face! my whole fucking face! like I’ve been hit in the face with a basketball!” I’m really glad people can find humour in my pain.
I do sometimes wonder what happened to that Osteo who breeds bulls and I did about 15 years ago see someone down in Geelong that turned out to be the nephew with the same surname. What a tiny world we live in. It does weirdly help.
Sometimes, family that don’t spend time together, having to work on a problem together helps form bonds.
Once upon a time, the first time I moved house after my disability and after my removalist cancelled five hours after he was to have started the job, by which time when he rang me to tell me he’d had to go to hospital and I would have preferred to have heard from his next of kin to tell me he had DIED.
My Mum, then early sixties and me one-handed, arrived at my new home to find my bed had not been put together by my removalists. To their credit, it wasn’t actually their job to put things together and I had been warned because when I was contacted for payment, they told me they had eventually given up and left because they didn’t want to waste my money. In both of our defence mum and I were both exhausted. Mum with upper back problems, me with recent lower back disc bulge surgery, we walked in the door and mum had already decided I would sleep on my mattress on the floor.
Not far from the front door I went to my bedroom door, took about two seconds to assess and problem solve what the men had not managed to work out. “The base is the wrong way around!” Mum literally dismissed this and told me I could sleep on the floor. I, however, was not going to make this bed twice, nor make her. I should probably mention, my bed was made by my dad, a builder, or a carpenter (a Chippy!) back when I was twenty-four-ish. It’s a timber Sleigh Bed. Although wisely at the time he convinced me to not shave the foot of the bed as tall as the bed head. Half the bedrooms that bed has been in, I’ve not been able to move around even three sides of the bed. Even the bedroom I have now, getting down the end of the bed to my ensuite, I hover to go sideways and my bedroom door does NOT close. So, the base of my bed is a slat base, I’ve recently described it as glued and screwed and built into a sturdy box, so it doesn’t move. Even twenty-five plus years later.
I encouraged mum to push boxes with heavy art books in them across the floor to put under the timber mattress. I helped and using only four or five, it took the weight of the base. I wriggled the foot of the bed and leaned it against the wall. We both pulled just a fraction on the base to detach it from the bed head, leaning that also against the other wall. We then carefully replaced the base, reattached the bed head then perfectly slotting the foot back onto the base. All the bolt holes matched. I recall we were both spent but I was determined. I think mum left me to sort the bolts. Fair, wriggling on the carpet to each corner then two bolts into the middle of the centre of the base into the bed head. With the shifter to tighten and it was done.
As you may recall, it was as per usual bestowed upon me to sort out getting my mobility scooter back on the footpath (it does not go, or should not be driven on the road) somebody had asked me in this process, there should be somebody to do this for me? I really wanted to give her a “Yes! You Bitch!” but we all know that’s not appropriate? Hence, why this ‘Bitch’ did it with little help.
I think the same day service took two weeks in which time I could have been out every day on my scooter and it was all the more exhausting without Hellowheels. It also only cost me 80% of the NDIS funding (for repairs) I have for such things and all the other things I can’t get, for instance, reports etc. So I can get them done?
You will be pleased to hear I had asked if I could get NOS installed? It’s OK, he didn’t know what this was either.
I referred to the Fast & the Furious franchise, where even if you only saw the first film, I described it as that magic button the drivers use at the critical point in the drag race to increase speed.
NOS, apparently Nitrous? Google has not helped me further on this, but it’s enough, right? After Eric was done installing my new batteries, all while I was doing my intro over the phone on speaker, Eric returned, letting himself into my apartment with my spare keys, he had almost forgotten to return them. I offered him a homemade Black Forest Biscuit, suggesting me take it for his drive as he bit into it right in front of me.
When he returned with my keys, he touched the bridge of his nose informing me he just realized he had bumped his nose as it had dried blood on it. I told him to “Come here!” as I opened a jar beside me on the couch and “take this and go look in the mirror in there!” I transferred the cream from my finger to his in my efforts to provide basic First Aid.
Eric departed and I wound up my call, doing my own referral over the phone to my new Shrink.
It’s all in a day’s work. I’m also while very grateful I have the capacity to do this, if I couldn’t who would?
Today’s title seems like an angry way to start but it is what it is. Yesterday I went to get out on hellonwheels when the poor girl could barely get out of B1, (basement carpark) so after limping back to my shed to put her back on charge and confirmed she was actually charging (it was), meanwhile my phone in my bag was going off, surprising, considering the amount of concrete I was under.
Back upstairs, I called to reschedule my physio appointment again. I should be getting there to get electrocuted every fortnight but lately every time I book my appointment, I end up needing to bump it, to prioritize something else.
Then, I go through my mental list of the calls necessary to get my scooter back to being a problem solver and not a hindrance. So, I call the people that used to solve it before the NDIS.
I start all my calls the same way, “Hi, I’m Helen, how are you?” And after I start this way, they usually assume I’m calling on someone else’s behalf, WTF! She is ME people!
I am distinctly aware most people don’t call on their own behalf, but this is how I get shit done and I can’t rely on anybody (should I finish the sentence there?) to do all the things for me to keep me independent.
Don’t take my grumpy tone as complaining, I’m very appreciative I can do this stuff, but I could do without the Busy-Work.
It annoys the fuck out of me that when I dare to imagine life can be more about what normal people take for granted, that despite how I put all the things in place, shit goes sideways and despite my best effort, in my effort to put bandaids on it, the bandaids start to need bandaids and eventually it’s too late to perform a miracle. I need to be rescued or I need a lifeboat.
By then I’ll pull the plug on doing something more in the league of doing “Normal” and it takes a lot to get motivated to try again.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 