Young Ambo

Published May 25, 2026 by helentastic67

Young Ambo

Ok, today you should be pleased to finally read about the young man. The ambulance guy who was standing at the end of my bed seeing me in all my naked splendour. I warn you I’ve already over sold it.

The day after my Angio, was a Friday. I had my regular Friday carer who had conveniently been there the morning and afternoon before. I had spent a on and off sleepless night. I had, had my phone on my bed just in case. It was completely flat despite it having been on charge.

We compared notes, Ms Friday frustrated I’d been allowed to shower. I had a shower and we carefully peeled off the clear film-like Band-Aid that covered the wound site. It was more she let me do it while she directed. It’s fine, she was following things to the law and was aware any involvement if things went wrong, she could be liable. It’s always the right time to make a joke I’m not going to die and who would sue her?

She assessed the wound and decided it had a tiny spot of blood. she rang Nurse on call, by this stage I was cold and tired so as I was dry just wanted to hurry up and get back in bed. Obviously, Ms Friday above and beyond the call of duty had called an ambulance as the nurse on call had been unsure how serious the situation was.

I remember the questions they had asked her to be along the lines of, was I obese? Did I overeat? I could not help her communicate the finer points or the short version.

It goes like this –

“Female. 53. Has an AVM, right sided. Complete left-sided hemianopia. Yesterday, had a cerebral angiogram. Was Phenerganed, cannot emphasize that enough. Can not moderate temperature, small amount of blood spotting on the site of the Angio and she had been putting pressure on it while we had been waiting.

Again, I’ve unpacked some things there I’d not yet mentioned. But here we are. I’ll do it better next time.

OK, I’ll try.

I was responsive but non-verbal. I was aware of everything as I saw in my blind spot on my left a young woman watching me and at the end of my bed was an equally young man. When I suggest “young” I mean maybe thirty? And that’s pushing it. They both looked younger. As I recall thinking I’m cold and tired, can we just move this along. I used the back of my had to wave towards the site at the top of my right leg. No words. Just the hand motion.

Thankfully, I did not need to go back to hospital, and many discussions have been had with Ms Friday about this event and with my other carers that note how by the book she is. I’m just suggesting it’s nice to have carers that give a fuck. I remember thinking this young man has not seen enough naked bodies to be seeing mine.

I had discussed with Ms Friday the lack of covering for my modesty requirements. She said she had covered my breasts, or” Girls” as I prefer. They are not great at this age and lying down, but they were not what I was most concerned about.

I’m having laser treatments in the last few years has meant I can no longer make statements along the lines of It’s a jungle down there, but what remains was a bit hectic. (I’ve wanted to put that sentence in a blog post for a while now.)

You’re welcome.

A few anecdotes still get mentioned months later that will live on forever. Once my carer had seen me delivered to the nurse and assisted me out of my clothes and into the terrible paper pants. She said they were delightful. Anything that threatens to fall off the last time you get to pee is never delightful. Just saying. I needed a hit of lip balm, was not trying to impress anybody, just perimenopausal and always dehydrated. With my upcoming Angio usually means stop drinking. Girl Friday, is it too late to go with G.F.? dispatched to the chemist to return with lip balm. And this brilliant story. On her return she had found herself walking down a hallway behind who she described as a surgeon. Who farted? As he walked down the entire hallway. No shame, no embarrassment, no, I should take this anywhere else to do it in private. Just nonstop farting, down the hallway. Gold! Pure gold! Best story ever for me to go into my Angio with. Carers really bring the good stuff is what I’m saying.

I remember during all these moments at some point, even likely after my first shower, and potentially after the paramedics attending to me, I was in the bathroom standing looking at myself in the mirror naked. Don’t imagine that it’s not as good as it sounds. Self-depreciation much. and seeing how many white and blue sticky things stuck to my chest. Meanwhile wondering, how long have they been there? I took them off and put them in the bathroom hand basin. the number was considerable. I did take photos, but you are not ready. It is for the amusement of few and never.

You know the sticky things older men like to show off on their chests after a minor angina attack? Chest pumped out like they are still hot and twenty. Now we need to pity them because they have suffered. Yeah, note women don’t do this.

Circling Back

Published May 18, 2026 by helentastic67

Circling Back

This week I thought I’d circle back to last October. I read a recent post where I wasn’t sure I finished the storyline I was trying to share.

As you know, life is busy when you’re one-handed. And I seem to only ever skim the surface on some topics until I hear back from others or other people do their jobs allowing me to get some items ticked off my lists.

Note, Lists, plural, not singular. Don’t even bother creating a list these days. What’s the damn point?

Some of you may recall October ’25 I had my third cerebral angiogram? Yeah, hate those fucking things. That’s the one where they pass a wire up from your artery in your groin, up through your heart and into the arteries in and around your brain. When placed in said arteries, they release little amounts of contrast or iodine. It’s hot, others have told me it’s actually cold. I don’t know if they have had one but I’m saying it’s hot because it feels like it’s on fire. In all the parts of your head that shouldn’t be on fire.

This was the procedure that has me now making bold statements such as “Helen cannot be Phenerganed”

As preparation for the Angio, as I’ve mentioned I’ve had two previously. I reacted very badly to the first, where my blood pressure dropped in the procedure and a nurse literally started running round the room in a panic. Like, her running was going to help at all, or I was not awake and witnessing her panic.

Seriously, I’m right here and I’m awake and conscious. Don’t panic, it does not help me stay calmer. So, I had a reaction to the contrast and the third Angio I took an antihistamine twelve hours before and another an hour before.

Once at the hospital and in the pre-surgical area a discussion was had, with a nurse with a messy haircut and tattoo’s up both her arms. She was about my age or older and a particular tattoo looked like a purple bruise on her arm.

Think I’ve met this nurse before because I think I’ve had this conversation before. But not recently. I asked if it was a bruise and she informed me it was just a bad tattoo. I don’t have any tattoos, but I know they all tell a story of significance to them. Her arms were a canvas of simple lines and smudges. Hard to forget.

And the discussion was had with the medical registrar about “Giving me a little something” Another discussion about whether they would use an artery through my groin or my right arm. As I only have the use of my right arm it was important I ask if I would be able to use my arm after? He told me it would be a little numb at which point I insisted please use my groin.

I know it sounds wrong so I will explain at the top of your leg, both legs just next to your groin, or snatch as I prefer, is the artery that provides blood to your legs. They give you a local anesthetic and use a scalpel to slice open that location where they then feed into it a wire. I’m getting off topic. So, Phenergan.

It allows you to be mildly sedated could be the easiest way to describe it. I was calm and conscious and aware of all the things happening. I didn’t like it, but you just lie there and let stuff happen. One particular blast of the iodine I knew I had pee’d. I know, really highbrow stuff here. It’s not so easy while being punched in the head from the inside and lying in a coolish room in nothing but a pair of tied on paper underpants, and a cotton hospital gown and a light blanket. But modesty persists and I felt compelled to mention.

Just an FYI, Doctors couldn’t care less as the area they were interested in was purely my brain, not my comfort or dignity. I know when I tried to communicate this situation to the registrar, I was barely understandable. He told me to repeat for the nurse and I was again, not understandable. It was forgotten until much later.

Hours later, my carer returned and I was not ready to be released. As her shift was over and I would later learn how she had tried to push to extend her shift to get me home.

Apparently, all three of my carer agencies had been contacted to see if I could have a carer stay overnight with me. My then support coordinator who had stated her boss had told her to turn off her phone at 4pm so she was officially off duty. Apparently, I was meant to have a friend stay over with me, but nobody thought to tell me.

My next of kin, my mother is in her mid-seventies at this point and should not be expected to race down to care for me at 6pm. Not when she lives 3.5 hours’ drive away. They should have found a bed for me over night.

The kind nurse had tried to sit me up to get my clothes on me and I kept just falling down onto my back. My carer reporting to me later she offered her opinion in the form of a welfare check. “Helen is not OK!” I know right.

And I’m still not to the point of explaining how young male ambulance personnel was standing at the end of my bed while I was lying there cold and naked. It’s a very good thing I’ve got a good memory.

Alas, the owner of my third carer provider came to be my carer to get me home and settled. I ended up only being with that company for six months however that day, I was put into a wheelchair and wheeled down to the carpark under the hospital. I recall thinking it was too late to ask for a jab of tramadol as my left eye hurt and that’s the basic sign of a migraine these days and a jab of tramadol takes thirty minutes to kick in and would knock me out within that time so I could sleep it off.

Then I was in the car, no tramadol. I ride shotgun, front seat passenger. I can’t get my left foot with the AFO into a backseat, and my brain does not like motion. I have motion sickness at the best of times. Barely able to put words together I gave directions to my home. I directed the driver to pull under the building, so it was easier to get out.

BTW, I was in my pyjamas and my new black merino wool jacket if you were wondering. So, not being dropped in a clear way on a busy street was some basic dignity.

Went inside, upstairs. I remember sitting like a zombie on the couch. I remember constantly asking my carer who she was/what her name was? Took off some layers and had a shower. Learned the next day said carer did not follow any of the hand over notes, as I was not supposed to have a shower.

I was home and alone around 8pm as my carer had asked where my spare room was for her to sleep. My second bedroom is a study and definitely does not have a bed in it. I had offered her the couch to kip on. Kip is a British term I picked up in 1994 when I travelled there. It’s to have a nap/or a sleep. She declined.

Probably should mention, an overnight shift costs a great deal more. I’ve never needed one thankfully, but there is a financial difference between what considered an “Active” or a “Non-Active” shift. An “Active” shift means you will not get to sleep; your client is high needs. Not for the faint hearted. She did not stay over but left a few notes that she had left at 8pm after I recall discussing I would just go to bed and sleep.

I believe part of the reason you are suggested to have someone with you so you don’t sign some million-dollar contract in a state not for making wise financial situations you can never undo. Because that’s likely to happen, in no world ever.

Remember, I could barely string sentences together, retain names or information but my example stands.

Auntie Chistine

Published March 23, 2026 by helentastic67

Auntie Christine

It was 5th October 2025 I think sometimes I do love to mention people by name. Particularly when it’s for good reasons. But today I’m going to share an antidote about Auntie Christine. There were three at my council at this time and it was rather comical. In this instance Auntie Christine was the first to get the endearment Auntie. She was Jamima’s Aunty first and she was best known for teaching me the terms “Apron” and “Terrarium” These were the parts of your body that when drying require lifting to dry underneath. The Apron I think named after a 1950’s housewife’s kitchen garment is the part of your belly, men and women that does not stay flat. One older carer who had come from a nursing background would tell me the older bigger men she would shove her forearm up into a client’s apron to lift so she could dry underneath. She said mine wasn’t terrible.

Then, the terrarium? I heard you ask. She said Auntie Christine again, she once went to her doctor with an itchy belly button. The doctor said she had a plant growing in there. She had not dried it properly over time and it grew something. Obviously, the term terrarium creates a nice warm moist environment perfect for small plants or fungus to grow.

The most important part of Auntie Christine was when I learnt she had been a carer for about forty years. I asked her, “I bet you have seen a few bodies?” and I guess we are all critical about our bodies. And it’s hard to imagine putting all that aside to just do a job. Where everything you do is important, might be the kindest touch they have had in a long time. It’s the sentiment in which we communicate how much we care or even that this person is cared for. Auntie Christine answered my question with such a simple and wise response. “Bodies are bodies.” and when you put it like that it does make perfect sense.

Lastly, Auntie Christine was that carer who had to stand there while a family member tore me apart, even when I knew what was coming and tried to steer this conversation in another direction, she double down and kept verbally attacking me until I was in tears. So, it seemed this family member would not have been happy until I was in that state. This family member while beloved will also decide to throw criticism at me when my friend is merely complimenting them for their daughter. She will try to do this because I’ve found other elders to advise me and receive my kindness. I feel they do this because I am a confident and happy person when I’m living life, trying to smile and make people happy.

Meanwhile, Auntie Christine has been retired for about ten years she and her husband living in the country.

This post leads me to say the young male ambulance person that was standing at the end of my bed while I lay there stark naked. He was too young to have seen enough bodies. I was not delirious but mostly not able to string sentences together except to say I was cold and just wanted to go to sleep.

It’s hard and impossible when it’s most important that I cannot tell people who need to know, how I cannot regulate temperature. My head is not and the rest of me is cold. I need to warm my body and sleep off my head returning to normal temperature.

Happy Mother’s Day

Published May 15, 2023 by helentastic67

Happy Mother’s Day

So Happy Mother’s Day, this should go for Fur-Mothers Too. As it seems I forgot to have kids, or did I? To be continued.

As Single Barren Spinster we know the last thing parents of actual little humans is unsolicited advice from someone who has not spawned a baby. However please read this whole post to get the context to this brilliant parenting advice.

Last Monday I had an adventure to a shopping complex my carers and I call The Bad Lands/Knife Land. After a few purchases I visited the bathroom near a food court. Upon exiting to leave I could hear a screaming child. Immediately making my ovaries dry up. My eyes wild I searched for my carer to communicate to her to get me the hell away from that screaming child. Then we encountered said child and I felt awful. Said child and mum were sitting on the floor. The Mum trying to console her three or four year old daughter. She had run headfirst into a glass door then slid over. Probably in her own blood. I would guess this family, including the father standing nearby not knowing how to help were Indian. Another Indian woman was behind the mum on the floor looking on assessing the situation. I pegged her as staff of the shopping complex. She looked to be assessing if they should call an ambulance. She was looking to the Mum to make the decision. I made eye contact with the staff member hoping she read my non-verbal communication, as “Call an Ambulance!” Here’s the unsolicited advice? “If there are inconsolable tears and blood? Call an ambulance!” It’s not wrong though, is it?

I imagine the Mum had big plans that day and probably didn’t have the time to be waiting in a hospital emergency. But that little girl needed glue. They don’t do stitches these days and I suggest this because guess whose birthday it was that day? WORST BIRTHDAY EVER! She was going to have a scar from that memory.

Now, before you judge me for jumping the gun, take this into consideration. My father’s passing bought family from New South Wales and Queensland I either don’t see very often or haven’t seen since I was 18. Nice work Dad. My youngest cousin has a sixteen month old and her fiancé was sitting next to me at a catch up dinner around Boxing Day. He outsourced babysitting to another young second cousin, I would guess twelve. This was so he could eat dinner and so could his wife to be. The second five minutes of outsourcing babysitting the toddler was returned with a confession, “She had fallen over and hit her head!” Dad was brilliantly dismissive, with a “Don’t worry about it! Is she crying or bleeding?” I complimented him for this and I was informed “Ain’t my first rodeo!” (He has older children) I’m just saying they breed them tough in Queensland.

Lastly, I may not have had children, so people generally dismiss any advice I offer but people forget or don’t know I’ve been the older sibling to two younger sisters, the first of which was born on my 8th birthday. I used to bath her and do nappy duty. My second youngest sister I was studying full time, working part-time and still doing serious babysitting duties. I was then 16, it’s not only actual birth mothers that do the heavy lifting.

This is my fur-baby, Mika! She is desperate not to be a Lap Cat. She is very close on the back of the couch.

Cool Teacher

Published April 19, 2021 by helentastic67

Cool Teacher

So, my cool teacher. We all have a cool teacher, right. My favourite teacher was the Art teacher. Of course, he was.

As an Art teacher, he would listen to you, discuss techniques and he would allow you to do things the hard way so you would learn and then he would suggest a far easier way for next time.

If students thought to do art in their final year, to get an easy class, he didn’t pander to their demanding insistence to be helped. He was very firm, he couldn’t or wouldn’t help those that didn’t help themselves. When I had insisted to be moved to his homeroom for Year 12 as I had been put into another homeroom. My form teacher (Let’s just call him Art to make life easy) Art had, had some elective surgery over the Christmas break (don’t know, not relevant) and something had gone wrong. I think they had accidently given him nine times the correct dose of ‘something’ and he had ended up being taken to Melbourne in an ambulance, in Intensive Care. He survived. Thank God.

When he returned to his first homeroom, back rather nonchalantly he stood at the front of the homeroom behind his desk, facing the class and announced he had been absent for the year, until then with a “Sorry about that”, which was perfect. It was really blaze. Although I imagine now knowing what I do about the brain and surgical fuck ups, that it had been a road to recovery.

Lastly, he was so cool, I once overheard a conversation between two older guys (Year 12) talking about driving or flying somewhere at high speed. Art ducked his head into the conversation, stating “Try being in an ambulance on the freeway, 200 miles an hour.” With the sirens blaring.

Totally chill, Right!

Apartment Living

Published May 27, 2019 by helentastic67

Apartment Living

It’s noisy, but quiet, it’s a very odd contradiction, so I shall need to explain. When I moved into my apartment (I rent) over a year ago, I was concerned about if it would be noisy or smelly or if I would never see my neighbours.

Once you are inside your apartment, you can’t really hear loud TV’s or dogs barking or loud thumping music from your neighbours. Once you close the heavy front door, you don’t hear anything from your neighbours. I sometimes hear people race past my front door to get to theirs or heading to the lift.

Sometimes if I’m heading to the lift and hear a door slam behind me, I’ll hold the lift door for anyone behind me. Then we proceed to have a brief awkward conversation about good timing and never seeing anyone else. So, yes I rarely see anybody from my floor.

I’m in an apartment block on a very busy corner. There is a main street where at my corner it forks off in a slightly north/eastern direction on the tram line and at the middle of the ‘bits’ (not sure how to best describe this) there is a pub. Across the street are more apartments. In my block, we are six storeys and across the street they are even higher.

The noise from the traffic, the trams, the pub. It’s ridiculous, the cars and motorcycles, the service vehicles, I can’t tell anymore, is it an ambulance, police car? I hear several of those every day.

One morning my carer arrived after I’d woken early and attempted to get back to sleep. An alarm of some kind had started and been going for about twenty minutes. My carer was with me for about ninety minutes. You tune it out after a while and the silence between seem to get a little longer and we looked at each other. Hopeful? Did it stop? No! Damn it!

I heard noises before, but never been able to workout where it was coming from or what it was to alert us to. I presume it was the apartment building across the street. I don’t know what it’s to alert or for what. If I could call someone, I wold but who would that be? If that person knew already, why weren’t they doing something about it?

My carer left and ten minutes later after a migraine had set in and taken hold, it stopped. Posing the question, WHY? And of course, can it stop?

Fighting the Big Fight

Published April 30, 2018 by helentastic67

Fighting the Big Fight

You know those days you think “Wah” (like a baby) why do I have to be the one to stand up for when people are idiots? And if you don’t do something to make a change, they will keep being ‘idiots’. I had that moment as I often do a few days ago.

Now, by all means we all do it, sure, but then there are times it can be beyond painful.

Then there was yesterday.

I do like to upsize my meeting with my CM (Case Manager) to be help at my favourite café (Where I also go on a Wednesday) and then I wandered down to my GP appointment, so far, so good. Left the GP’s clinic and walked a short distance to the tram stop. I would normally walk to the next stop near the café so I get a little exercise.

Now the weather report. It’s a lovely day in Melbourne, it’s summer, there is blue sky and it’s not hot and muggy. T-shirt weather, everything is right in the world.

I was waiting for about four minutes for the tram, I could just hope the tram would be a flat-bed tram (Disability friendly) so I wouldn’t have to work so hard to pull myself up and get a seat. Then along came a woman, she literally huffed within a minute and she complained about the lack of trams. I told her they shouldn’t be far as I’d already been waiting a few minutes. I don’t normally check the timetable.

I decided to check the timetable myself out of curiosity. It was just before 5pm so trams run everything eight minutes. After 5pm, every six minutes. Not bad right?

A young lady came just as that time and checked the timetable and had her head in her smart phone. Then announced it’s twenty minutes until the next tram, but then there’s three of them.

Negative Nancy and her sore legs.

I asked the younger woman how she knew this? She mentioned some Apps on her phone. I felt so old. I have a smart phone, but it’s under utilised and I refuse to put Facebook or my blog email on it, because the excuse I use is that I’m not 14…

I have my personal email on my phone for convenience, but mostly so I can cull the rubbish and anything of value waits until the end of the day.

Anyway, I digress Ms Apps (not a negative term) mentioned there had been a medical emergency on the tram, hence the hold up.

Negative Nancy: “Oh those people on drugs! I just want to get home!”.

Seriously? Was there a Zombie Apocalypse I didn’t know about? I tried to level the situation by saying “You know, if someone is sick or ill or had a heart attack on Public Transport, they are legally bound to get them an Ambulance. If no one dies, it’s okay!”

Negative Nancy (you know she had something to say about that) “How long does it take to get an Ambulance?”

Don’t know if you’ve had to get an Ambulance, but I have and I wasn’t dying nor did I think I was dying and I was cosy in bed waiting, so it was no drama. It takes as long as it takes.

Again, I suggested whatever the commuters need, they would be triaged with everybody else.

Ms Apps stated she would walk to the next stop, it’s normally what I do and I nearly went with her, rather than submit myself to anymore shitty energy from Negative Nancy.

About a minute later a tram came around the corner down the hill. So, I decided our time together now had a deadline and decided she needed to be told. So, politely I started:

“I know you have maybe had a tough day and your legs hurt”

She attempted to cut me off thinking I would pander to her delicate temperament, but I did not let her.

“Yes, Yes, I know! But what you don’t realise is that right now, I can’t feel my left foot and most of my left leg.”

I started to also indicate a part of my left side and back I used to lift my left leg and despite my

“I have low vision badge,” she didn’t notice. I told her I had half my eyesight. Her demeanour changed instantly and she stated.

“I’m so sorry! Had I known I wouldn’t have.” and she told me I looked ‘Great’ and good.

Hidden disability is a curse isn’t it?

She really hadn’t had her eyes or paid any attention to my cuff and collar on my arm or my walking stick.

The tram arrived and she eventually stepped aside to allow me to get on first to get an appropriate seat for me to not fall over getting on or off.

Two people got up to offer me their seats and I took one of them up on the offer, very much appreciated.

Negative Nancy took a seat to my left in my blind spot simpering like she deserved the seat.

She started to try to make conversation with me but I was really over it, so pulled out my phone. Conversing with her on my left would have given me a migraine and if you think that meant the trauma was over, think again.

On my right was a guy on the phone, he was talking to a work colleague who was using drugs and driving around with his kids in the car.

Um, does anyone else want to hear about this shit on the tram? Unless it’s broken up with words suggesting they are going to get him help? No!

But instead, he punctuated every sentence with the biggest sniff and hark back, it was disgusting.

Luckily for him, he got off about five stops before me, otherwise I could imagine I would have silently help out with a packet traveler tissues and if he had been offended and told me he was not a child. I would have growled at him. I’m too young to be his mother. But here we are.

Dumb Down

Published September 30, 2016 by helentastic67

ambulance

Dumb Down

There have been three occasions I’ve been in an Ambulance in the middle of the night to go to hospital and a third where my mum took me to hospital in her racing car, but that led to an aeroplane ride but that can wait!

Generally, anytime I have to go to hospital when it’s an emergency, I am feeling beyond ‘seedy’. My head generally hurts so much I’ve already taken every pain killer I can that should work and maybe a sleeping pill so I can try to sleep it off.

migraine-pain

If that fails and because I live alone, I might go to hospital so I don’t wake up dead the next morning, if it’s more than I think it is.

Once at the hospital and the customary poking and prodding and interrogation, I’m usually given a few more pills, oxygen and a warm blanket.

They usually let me sleep and the next day when the staff are in and before they release me they will do a C.T. scan to confirm their suspicions. And that is that, I just have some brain swelling/I did too much/I need to rest and sleep.

I love when they go to do the C.T. scan and to remind me (as if they have to) the difference between a CT and an MRI.

In case you don’t know,

“The CT scan is when you get rolled into the big donut or as I see it (lifesaver) and the MRI is the BIG TUNNEL!

ct-scanner mricutaway