I mentioned to a friend these were the conversations I’d been having plenty of. Rather than asking me what these “old and nonsense” conversations were about exactly, he told me I would have them one day.
So, I’ll allow you to pick from this next excerpt which three things qualify this as nonsense old people conversations.
Which I loved by the way because it gave me the perfect opportunity to tease him. Purely a statement.
“I made some brown rice the other day! It’s been about twenty years since I last made brown rice. It took ages! I’m never doing that again!”
Oh My God! Can you just feel that nonsense? It’s my jam. I have recently been making it more than I have in the last twenty years, I think because, while slow to the party, I discovered the rice cooker.
You know I insisted he get one but he’s still got it in the box and I now understand the old people thing about why they keep them in the box even after using it’s so they don’t forget all the bits and pieces that go with each gadget.
Lately I’ve completely nailed how to get the most from my conversations with old people and if you want to know? Just keep reading…
In recent years I’ve timed my outreach calls to my father by booking it every two weeks. I call one fortnight and he is to call me the next. If he doesn’t, I will prompt him with a text… “Your turn!”
Recently, my beautician has mentioned she misses the nonsense old people conversations, so now I call him on speaker when I’m with her being tortured. It starts off dad being rather anxious. My beautician uses a few Italian words here and there which he often needs reminding what she is referring to. It’s a part of his memory he doesn’t use much. My beautician is often hungry as I’ll arrive too early and she has yet to eat.
She asks my dad if he’s had lunch? His response… “I had a sort of salad sandwich!” I hold up a finger to indicate for her to wait. She tells me to let him go. I interrupt him because I smell a rat, please define this word “sort of” and “salad?” I will cut to the chase, there was neither “sort of, nor salad”.
What he had was a very tasty sandwich which was fried chorizo on bread. A great treat I hope he’s not having every day.
Later in the conversation, beautician getting hungry enough to threaten to hit one of us; and not wanting it to be me, we stop talking food. We will mention this myth “sort-of-salad” in a teasing way and we all have a good laugh. In the end he usually tells us when he’s had enough. Beautician laughs and informs him he’s her favourite of my parents.
It’s turned out to be the highlight of my treatments. My torture is in the form of electrolysis to my face. Originally, it was to fix the damage from years on steroids for brain swelling, now it’s for my crazy hormones. I’m not going to be in the nursing home with a beard.
Sometimes, when I get a new carer and I do my induction phase and ask how long they have been a carer and who they have worked for. I get an early impression they are ‘Good People’. “Oh, you have done palliative care”
Then I work out she loves an environment she doesn’t take direction; she takes over, which is fine if the mum is dying and the husband is just trying to cope, the kids are losing their mum and their dad is not completely there either.
That’s not my home and they can’t shift gears to cope. Nobody comes into my home and takes over; I don’t need that. This particular carer, some ten years older than me. Very early I worked out, did not have friends her own age. So, she quickly got all the naughty girl talk sorted. Even when I do that talk with my carers, I try to keep it G rated and I worked out she was a complete narcissist.
This woman very obviously wanted to leave early on a Friday so she could go be with her 13-year-old daughter. She did helicopter parenting via phone while she was meant to be out shopping for my groceries, then doing my home care (cleaning). When I mentioned while out with her that I have a blog, she rather loudly enquired if I was going to write about her. I did not answer, already knowing if and when I did, she would not be bothered to read it, nor would it be complimentary.
The nail in the coffin was at some point and when it comes, it’s the final straw. The week I took Jemima to the vet the final time back in 2018 and I made the decision hastened by the fact that I had tickets on the Friday to see a band in my neighbourhood I have loved from my teens and while Jamima had been getting older, I’d been putting off the decision and she might have lived longer, I felt I couldn’t enjoy going out for the evening and enjoy myself if I was concerned about Jamima at home. It was a shitty, rough week, I cried before, knowing I was going to have to do it, I cried before I even booked, I cried. Let’s just say I cried. Shitiest week ever.
On the Friday, I had the carer from Hell, who tried to cheer me up by saying it would be a good night and I deserved it as a distraction. I’m picking up the thread of this post three weeks later, let’s see if I can do it justice. Anyway, so Friday carer arrived after a shitful week of saying goodbye to Jamima and then doing all the spring cleaning and cleaning up after Jamima’s last evening in our home. So, pretty quickly, I told said carer about Jamima going to God! (Apparently the term is crossing the rainbow bridge!) and that I had an exciting night planned to go see a band in my neighbourhood I’d loved from my teenage years.
I kept saying to my carer it was a little hot and sticky, towards the end of her shift so I might need her help after to shower so I could go out feeling fresh and clean. She was one of my standard PC (personal care) carers so it’s not like it was a huge imposition. It is not like she hadn’t seen me naked before.
We went shopping, we did all the standard hunter/gathering and towards the end of my shift. Always planning to have a shower, I made notes to do so. This carer often became very distracted around 4pm, which is about the time her kids get out of school. That’s when she’d be checking her phone all the time and the helicopter would lift off. She had a 13yr old and her behaviour altered around her noticeably. Offering to water plants then ignoring me and going ahead and doing it anyway and ignoring me asking her to stop. My indoor plants are a very careful balance of how much/how often. So, I think she just wanted me to dismiss her early so she would still get paid.
A friend dropped in to commiserate with me over Jamima. She had been a carer through the council and had loved Jamima from the first time she met her, threatening one day she would leave here with a big bulge (of Jamima) in her pants pocket. I told her if she could get her in there, she was welcome. She also had a cat the same age as Jamima so was grieving her cat that would one day soon cross the rainbow bridge also.
While I had a visit from Mrs T, I closed the door to the lounge so I could have a moment of peace from the carer who was getting paid to be there. She did not like being left out. She pushed open the door separating us to join the conversation.
“I know how you feel!” “Yeah!” “That pearler!”
Then she told us how she once had to take the tube from her son’s throat surgery years earlier. Now, we all know it’s not a mother’s job to take a tube from their child’s throat after they have had an anaesthetic or surgery, right? If you are unsure? The answer is no. It’s the doctors or nurses’ job, because your kids will hate you for doing it, the doctors and nurses get paid for the privilege. Your mum has the soothing and parenting jobs/roles you love them for. You have a Boo-Boo? Mum kisses it to make it all better. FFS!
Anyway, not digressing at all. Mrs T departed and I was sad and the night was young. So, I made a move to have a shower, the carer on shift had not been at all interested in assisting me when I finally headed to the bathroom, she decided to tell me she was reluctant to assist me. She decided to be very passive aggressive obviously and inform me if I’d wanted to change some of the shift, I should have informed the office, which by this stage it was Friday after 5pm, so it was closed.
What a stress I did not need, she helped me, but it was very obvious by her behaviour it was imposition on her that she complete her shift and help my get ready. She left, I made coffee, got ready and my friend came when it was closer to the time the venue was to open, we left to go see the band.
It was early. Daylight savings so it was still daylight, the venue was the Thornbury Theatre and I was going to see MIdge Ure, whom you may or may not know from the 80’s synth pop band Ultravoxx. If you are into something a bit less beaty (and electronic) are cruise and good to sing along to. Try this:
After the gig we walked home again. My friend walking ahead of me to cut through all the spider webs spread across the paths doing her best 1980’s goth arm waving. It was still light out and the streets were quiet. Got home. My friend left and I cried. I missed Jamima.
So, this is what you do to solve having a fucking shitty carer. Monday, I rang the agency and asked to put a block on her. I was asked why? So, I told her, I had a decent rapport with my rostering woman, as I always make sure to do. She was surprised, to be honest she deserved an incident report, but I was just happy to not have her again.
Unfortunately, I’d left a CD in her car, offering to loan it to her so she could listen to something a bit different. It was the BEST DEPECHE MODE CD EVER, Ii’s circa ‘88! (called Violator).
I didn’t buy my CD copy until about ‘92 but it was an old favourite. I have all DM CD’s but by far this is the standout best album. I tried to get back my CD but she didn’t respond to my texts and when I escalated it to management, they told me if I’d offered it to her as a friend it was my loss. So, soon I changed all my services from them to my current two providers, with who I’ve barely had an issue.
Over three years have passed and I recently was in a box of CD singles and came across said missing CD. Would never have looked for it there, the carer had bought it in and snuck it in a box. She must have not intended to return. Stupid Cow! No, she deserves worse.
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.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 