A Morning Person I am not
Guess what time Helen’s carer is arriving tomorrow? 8.15AM!
Someone did not get the Memo that Helen is NOT A MORNING PERSON! It won’t be the carer, but someone might be getting killed over this one!
I’m going to direct the carer whom I’ve only met once to my blog. I think she will laugh.
Carer Hunter/Gatherer
My carer often leaves me in the car to do my hunter/gathering. She leaves the keys, so I tell her every time without fail “if some hot guy comes along, I’ll offer him me and your car!” followed swiftly by, you will return. Your car will be gone and I’ll be standing here dejected and I offered him so much.
We know that Self-deprecating humour is wrong, thanks Hannah Gatsby, but often it’s my default setting.
Like the Good Old Days
Sometimes, I think I should revisit the earlier days of HellOnWheels when life was full, as if it’s not now and I used to do a Hot Off the press post.
So, I guess this is reminiscent of those days. Monday, usually a quiet day at home but not always. Had a video chat with a new carer agency. Proof that every now and again the stuff set in concrete moves and you need to ride the waves of change to keep the boat upright. Is that a good analogy or what. Note, not a question.
Dropped off an old doona, its cover and some pants to an op shop on HellOnWheels, local adventure and went to a business to break a note and drop off some takeaway coffee cups that my carers keep insisting on bringing into my home. Then for the weirdest drug deal ever. You know I don’t do drugs and even in my club days didn’t. So, I think this topic deserves its own post. Went to physio after running into said Physio at the local business in question. Gave him some smack talk suggesting to lessen the imminent pain he was about to cause his patients, to have a nice chamomile tea. He didn’t.
Tuesday had an extra four-hour shift with one of my favourite carers. I know like parents with their kids, you don’t have favourites you just love them differently. When the two Helens get together, we get stuff done. We even did a little local adventure. A regular lady I am friendly with in my travels noticed a different face out with me and asked if she was my sister? Sure, why not?
Admin Day, things were started, booked and we did a little real estate searching. Because, why not? I don’t want to kill myself enough already. Don’t ever look at properties you’ve lived in years earlier and look at the sale history, you will want to kill yourself.
Wednesday, standard chiro. Gave her what’s the term for the – I moved my practice to its new home gift. Was going to go with flowers but they die. Settled on orange Toblerone. The really huge box, I got one for me too and it’s already promised as orange Toblerone mousse in mid-February when some friends come for dinner. They are bringing moussaka, I made lasagna last time and they brought a delicious selection of tiny cakes. Crowd pleaser. It’s a good way to do a dinner party these days. Delivered a bag of my old well-loved Adidas Gazelles I used to wear prior to life with an AFO, those were the days. Gotta run fast to catch the other Helen.
They will find new homes with young refugees who want to play sport. Likely connecting that carer with that locomotion to donate food that is normally disposed of in the bin. I love connecting my people with my other people. Then went to the toy shop I mentioned previously. This brings us to the end of Wednesday, basically.
January has become the time of year I do spring cleaning, carers, businesses I deal with, services I use, take time off. People with children have lives dictated by school holidays, etc. So, I do stuff. Onward
Tomorrow is a new day. Maybe I’ll catch up on some data entry, that alone is a never-ending battle.
Adulting
So, today, best of intentions to go do things. Made some calls to make sure all the balls stay in the air and I maintain something of what I had yesterday.
Had a great day yesterday. Had an extra few hours with a carer and went out to return the hipster paper shredder I purchased just before Christmas. Not a good sign at all.
Ladies Day
Yesterday, I had to decide about whether to bother putting on a bra or not. This is generally half the part of Adulting, bra and shoes means I’m going out. As you well know, yesterday was a Sunday and I don’t do Adulting on Sundays, I didn’t even go out. I’m not talking about Out-Out. I just mean leave my apartment.
As you might have gathered my birthday last October set the tone for both Christmas and New Year. So, I planned a Ladies High Tea.
Lunch thing with my Real Family and that’s my carers. All my carers bring me a little something different. They bring me stories, family, friends, and treats. And I share their stories between each of them. Yet they rarely encounter each other. I share their stories as I am the water fountain in the office tearoom and I’m the holder of the peer support opportunities. So, it was finally a chance to hold a Ladies Lunch.
I even pulled out the Fine Bone China and the French Gourmet Side Plates. We started with the savoury. Homemade sausage rolls, triple cheese croquettes, arancini balls, even cheese and spinach and some other pastry things. The sweets included the ginger Christmas pudding I had yet to get to, the chocolate and orange Christmas pudding, the scones one of the ladies bought to go with the hot jam donut a friend hand delivered before Christmas, with whipped cream. Ginger kisses and the brandy snaps I didn’t get to over Christmas. (These are still uneaten in the fridge) I have been chipping away at the contents of the fridge for weeks and alas, still not getting anywhere.
One lovely lady dug around in my fridge for something, I had to direct her to the crisper. FYI. That’s the section or drawer at the bottom designed for fruits and vegetables, or in my home the containers of things that don’t fit anywhere else. Then when the girls were all departing the mother-load Brownies were still in the crisper. Guess we know what I’ll be sharing out for the next few weeks.
Finally, I should mention my carer in the morning did point out, I didn’t need to bother with the bra since they had all seen it before. Great to be roasted by people that know me the best.
I did wear a coloured T-shirt the girls wouldn’t normally see me in. I bought a few cheap T’s this early and I wouldn’t go past an aqua/teal tee that was everywhere in the men’s section of Big W. I don’t go there often, but it’s where I get my standard black summer pants.
It’s after midnight as I’m tapping this out on my iPad and not long ago, I realised some gifts remain under my tree. A particular carer had been working her other job and it had been too busy to get away. I had suggested I could call in a bomb threat, but we all know I was kidding. There are plenty of treats saved for all the others that could not make it. Note, the gingerbread house one carer delivered before Christmas She said it took five people to make it. It’s going to take more than that to eat it.
So, however you spend your time with family sometimes the people that love, respect and take the time to understand you are not the ones related to you by blood and as a few of my invited guests had not been able to attend I would say, I definitely want to make this a more regular event.
New Carer
So, as per usual I’ve had a few new carers recently. One has picked up my Friday shift, so I’ve got a new Girl Friday.
We got along instantly like a house on fire. She is close to my age which is rare and good to have some variety for sure. She has a long red plait hanging over her shoulder with petite features making me want to refer to her as Elsa from Frozen and I haven’t even seen it.
All was well, in my first 8.5-hour shift with her when we got on the topic of football. We were doing so well. Our teams were playing each other that night and she’s a Magpie’s supporter, that’s the team mascot for Collingwood. It was nice knowing you.
Over for the last weeks of the season I made several early morning texts to her, the morning after, along the lines of “I’m your face!” When Carlton beat her team. It’s OK, I knew she could take it. The game was on.
I suggested if our teams faced each other on grand final day and her team won I would get a tattoo of a Magpie on my butt! (it would be my first) and tiny. I suggested if the Blues, (yes, the Carlton mascot) won she had to get a Huge Blues tattoo across her upper chest on the left, it’s fine. She laughed. Stating “not a huge one?”
I continued to mention I would get started designing our tattoo’s. Could have been a limited release. Alas, no tattoos were undertaken. That’s the right term.
So, you might ask yourself, how hard is it to get as jab of tramadol? When you really need it. First, I do have an injectable supply at home. No syringe or ability to jab myself but a start. A nurse can come to my home and inject me, but I’ve not had time to get the paperwork in place to have my MEPACS be able to do that and when I contact them, they don’t have a Nurse on shift.
Isn’t that their one job?
I, of course rang my GP Medical Clinic first and they had no appointments free. I explained my dilemma and they never got back to me. My acupuncturist who is also a GP was happy to stab me as per usual, but not with Tramadol. I’m not getting out of bed, showered and dressed just to go sleep in one of his rooms with needles in me. It was the first thing I had cancelled that day.
One of my newer very cheeky carers inquired as to my wellbeing. I told her it would be easier to get laid than get a jab of Tramadol, she told me that would have sorted the migraine. I reminded her getting laid did not actually equate to an orgasm that might solve the migraine. She reluctantly allowed me to have that.
Turns out it’s also easier for me to beat my carers with my wit than get a jab of Tramadol.
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You Get a Point
I’ve a new carer right now and it seems a genius time to mention my point system, as it’s as good as time as ever.
My Monday carer washes a nonstick frypan that I’ve used to make my Sunday omelette. She tells me the handle is a bit loose and asks do I have a screwdriver? Do I ever!
I look at her and announce, “YOU GET A POINT!” and I went for my Phillips head screwdriver. She saw where I got it from and knew where to return it when she was done. There is no whiteboard in my home where my carers can compete with each other for an elusive prize. My carers might never meet each other.
Before this carer left, I had reason to open my dishwasher to put something in. She had unpacked it and packed in a few things that had been stacked the night before when the dishwasher was in a cycle, I notice how she had put them in.
Sweet Jesus! It’s the weirdest thing about human nature. No matter how many times my carers unpack the dishwasher, they will always stack it completely different. She LOST A POINT!
It’s really an amusing way I communicate to my carers when they do something that makes me extremely happy. Not just little as well as big things they notice and take care of for me. The above statement issuing and taking points are always delivered with a sharp glance and a cheeky smile, so they know the point system does not have any relevance as to if they get to come back.
Oh, carers can also decide if they do not want to return. In case you wondered?
Secret Message
Today, a little secret addition, a subliminal message, imbedded in each post for a bit, see if you can pick it and comment. Hang on there and all will be revealed. (No evil intent I assure you all)
As last week I promised an update on my latest fall and a surgery. Generally, when all I have to do Is put my left foot back, I will be guaranteed to fall. Without fail.
I had taken just a step out of my shower in my ensuite and noticing water snaking across the floor I twisted slightly to reach for the mop that resides there just for this purpose and I think I put a rib out while losing my balance, I started to fall. Like in slow-motion, straight down onto my Ass. I luckily manage not to flail my arms and legs about so that’s something. I did collect the shower stool on my way down on my left, in two places on my back. That didn’t tickle, even weeks later.
My carer came hearing the ruckus and asked two very important questions. 1) Was I alright? Yes, as I wriggled and made squelching noises on the floor of the shower having just missed the ridge of the shower base. That could have been very uncomfortable. And 2) did I want her to call an Ambulance? Hell NO! FYI, they do not get you up and set you on your feet then leave. They get you up and take you to hospital.
My left leg was caught on the edge of the shower screen, the bathroom heater had to be turned off as I would like, burn my left leg before I felt it. Wet! Naked! And trying to work out how I was going to get up. (Try not to imagine that.) It took half an hour for me to commit, the best way for me to get up is to make things worse before they get better. I had to grab my left arm and roll over onto my stomach. Then, up onto my right hand and knees. Bathmat under my knees because the tiles really hurt. I could not straighten my body and I called my carer who I had, had to direct to sit in the chair I had asked her to bring in to my already cosy ensuite. It ended up giving her something to do as the things she had suggested I grab hold of would have made things worse not better. Once more upright, I lifted my right foot to put it under me, my right elbow on the edge of the handbasin and I levered myself up. Ironically, by the time my carer was assisting to dry me, I was already dry.
I had two small patches on my beck, hip and near my scapula that required our family’s Gypsy cream. (To be explained later) Oh, bruised and sore, actually sorer than my bruises suggested I continued my morning as usual and my carer departed. I undid the appointments I had been scheduling at the start of my next shift just close to home. My next carer arrived and as I groaned and swore my way out of my apartment, down the lift, I got halfway to the front door to go out and do my shopping and my carer asked just the right number of times before it was crystal clear I should stay home and let her do my hunter/gathering.
Later that afternoon, I had my weekly chiro appointment, I did get out for and I couldn’t even lie down on the table. She was kind enough to bring the table up to me, before putting it back down. The powers I refer to as the rocket ship launcher she used a lot back in 2011 when I was awaiting disc bulge surgery.
So, I posted a comment about my fall to socials, you know like you do, I got a comment from a family member suggesting I get a bathmat. As in the rubber kind, I replied “have one. Didn’t fucking help!” Is it wrong I imagined family might call to check if I was OK? That did not happen.
On the upside, being sore and bruised meant I could stay home and avoid getting the plague. Elective surgeries get pushed to the back after all the crazy Covid restrictions, don’t need to get bumped by getting the Plague now.
Had the surgery at a Women’s hospital, so being that I’ll keep the details to a minimum. Not a question. Before the surgery, I was told it would hurt as much as surgery to my Virginia. Ladies, sorry if your eyes just watered. Any male readers? Deal with it! Um, meanwhile, thankfully I have not had that kinda surgery, so I wanted another example. She walked away. OK then.
So, a few more weeks I’ve been mostly housebound, happily catching up on TV and sleeping. There is never enough.
This was my second surgery I’ve had this year, but you will need to wait to hear about that one. It was far less torturous in compassion. To be continued…
Lastly, anyone asks what my surgery was about. I’ve been telling them these two words. “Boob Job! NOT GETTING A BOOB JOB!” But it leads to very amusing comments.
Can’t Pick ‘Em
More recently when I had my regular carer away on holidays for two weeks, I had a replacement carer. This lady had three shifts that week of more than three hours each shift to cover.
On the Tuesday, I had carer “A”, she quickly unpacked all of her emotional baggage. There is a tendency for friendly banter. She was very new to being a carer and she was telling me all about her husband’s first wife’s impact on her marriage and how he didn’t understand why at her age, she had gone back to study.
She was in her fifty’s and she had chosen to change her career and being a support worker requires qualifications. She was expecting me to be her mental health care provider.
On the way home from this shift, I received a text that this carer “A” would cover the rest of my shifts while my regular was away. I knew I would not cope so put a block on her. It seems to mean, but I’ve worked out in my short time which carers I can cope with and which ones I can’t.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 