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.

Project Managing

Published December 7, 2025 by helentastic67

Project Managing

Lately, I’ve cut back on my appointments like physio, hence the lack of motivation or time to blog. I am not looking forward to the grumpy chastising from my acupuncturist who I should be seeing weekly as he is free. He is a GP and covered by Medicare so I really should be getting my ass there. And I think I haven’t been since April or earlier, but while I’ve been skipping my physio/neurophysiology and a few others, my pain increases as does the discomfort. It’s all been because they are using my funding to do report writing. Yes, you heard correctly. I’ve had to prioritise reports over pain management because I’m going to review again with the NDIA! Because I’m running out of funds.

I’m currently on my third Support Coordinator, who is like a case manager. Except, mine has run out of funds to do her job. I’ve been nudging with emails most of this year for her to get reports to people that are doing things for me anyway. So, I think every year I do more and more of that role. I’ve finally got a new Gun of an OT.

I’m hoping now, just celebrating the one-year anniversary of being in my forever home, that I can have a mobility scooter and somewhere safe and secure to keep it and charge it. And the NDIS funding in which to make that all happen and finally, not me to project manage all of that to make it happen. Even getting the Owner Corp and the board of residents, on board to allow these things to happen is a hair-pulling exercise as my existing shed is too tall and gets in the way of the sprinkler system.

I think the OC is largely against my installing a shed because it might set a precedent for others, also wanting to put up sheds. That whole “but she’s got a shed mentality…?”

In the last apartment complex the OC asked what I was storing in my shed. I didn’t immediately take their interest or concern seriously. I answered with my usual wit and humour “I’m not making Ice in there!” Breaking Bad made it seem like a good starting point to run successful manufacturing enterprise in a caravan in the desert. People these days make ice in rental properties which means they are no longer safe to live in. My real answer later was “My mobility scooter, gardening supplies and sometimes my excess tinned tomatoes and passata and panettone” I offered to use the light from my scooter to help better see what was really in my shed and I provided them with photos. It was exactly as my last statement and they dropped the issue.

Spitting Chips

Published August 11, 2025 by helentastic67

Spitting Chips

Now, this post should come with a warning, there will be swearing or alluding to words I normally will not so much as utter, but I feel you will allow considering the circumstances.

There was one particular Monday, I went down to fang it to a 12.30pm appointment. I had another appointment at the same practice, so Hellonwheels comes in handy. Even allowing me to scoop up take-away on my way home and maybe some items from a supermarket. Fresh milk anyone?

I went into the garage and had two sets of keys in my hand as well as my walking stick and the flag for my scooter. I keep the flag inside as it’s not my first flag. If it’s a selfish person or a low hanging branch they seem to walk.

I walked in the direction of my scooter and looked up, my step slowed when I realised it was not where I expected it to be. The transformer cords dangling loose out of the EV cabinet. Eyes wild, I couldn’t decide if I leave the flag where I expected to find my scooter.

But time was short, I only had 20 minutes until my first appointment, I couldn’t afford to reschedule. I had to get to both that day.

Mother trucker!

What kind of LOW LIFE Scumbag steals a Mobility Scooter? I’m still months later yet to cry. What’s the point? Too angry! One-handed without pockets I was juggling two sets of keys, my walking stick and the flag. Don’t even know why I was still holding on to that.

All while calling my lovely Young John. No time to talk. Was he free? Could he help me get to my appointment? Use the key to get from the carpark into the foyer and then the lift.

Next call to who Young John would refer to as my Indian boyfriend. Basically, any other taxi driver I call to be my transport.

I had to problem solve getting to my appointments. Unlock my front door after going up in the lift. Put flag and scooter keys inside. Back downstairs and out to the street. Get in taxi. Call Owner Corp regarding CCTV Footage. That process alone should have been easier. Made it to my appointment only fifteen minutes late. So grumpy, I did not manage to sleep at my physio appointment. So angry I was.

It’s Still a Win Right?

Published July 21, 2025 by helentastic67

It’s Still a Win – Right

You know those days, this is literally how my Monday went. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

Went to bed early, 12.30am, that’s early for me, trust me. Still awake until 5am, but I had an early start plus a full morning planned. First mission, fucking disaster.

Carer arrives at 8am, even my cat is listed off and confused. She knows when I should write off the day and go back to bed, but I had a specialist appointment that is every three months. On a Monday, at 11.30am, because it’s the last appointment for this clinic on the day.

This is often a Team Helen mission. Mondays I have a carer called Helen; she’s a Heavy Hitter! (I’ll circle back to that later!) We taxi to save parking dramas or me going in without her. Her agency also hits me hard for kilometres in my carer’s car. (ie. they hit me for it instead of my funding.) and the carer always is worse off. I digress, taxi to appointment, I inhaled my entirety of pills before I left and pack something to eat on the way. Learnt from the driver that burnt toast smell I always catch on the way is a coffee roaster. No, I’m not having a stroke. (Apparently, that smells like burning car tyres?)

Arrive safely and early. Hear a Code Grey while we wait this triggers a Google search of the different codes that are used in a hospital. My carer is on my left and that is my worst blind spot. I regal her it’s a story of a visit to hospital over ten years ago when a code was called for me when I’d tried to get a sleeping pill at 1am when they kept putting me off. “Just close your eyes and you will go to sleep!” I was told, like I’m a four-year-old child not a forty-year-old woman who never slept at the correct time. Anyway, started to feel a little seedy while we waited. Helen asking if I was OK, did I want a drink?
You know when you just want to power down and not be present? Started to feel sick. Suggested Helen should move to my right side. We had discussed it, but we went with it anyway. So, I threw up. (Just saliva! Not my breakfast even but worth noting!) and peed my pants. Honestly! This has never happened before in public.

I used the bathroom and when I returned Helen mentioned the Doctor had asked if I was still OK for my appointment? Like, I didn’t come all this way to throw up in the waiting room and not get Botox in my leg? It’s also usually these times my carer comments on how pale I look and after throwing up how much “better” I look. I am generally sun-averse anyway, but “pale” is normally fine by me.

My recent visits for Laser hair removal start with the question “Have you had any sun?” And my witty response. “Not if I can help it?” Anyway, asked for something to put on my seat on the way home. This was granted and off we departed for home. She asked me if I was OK, and I reminded her if I wasn’t I’d come to the right place. It was a hospital after all. Mission to get home, half showered and into clean clothes and back to bed my only goal for the rest of the day.

My lovely carer departs and I manage to sleep for two hours. Wake in time for an appointment with someone that thinks my appointment is on Thursday. Don’t know why this keeps happening, but it’s about the only thing I can read in my diary. Lazy standard rest of the day. Prepare the next week of pills, while standing in the kitchen. Feed Mika, eat standing up to better utilise time. Hope the Botox doesn’t kick in while I’m moving around my home. My leg will give out mid-step. Botox in my leg doesn’t make it look younger, just work better.

Botox puts over worked muscles to sleep for a few months, so other lazy muscles have a chance to build and take an even balance when the Botox wears off. This is to manage my drop foot and hyper extending knee so, I don’t need a knee replacement one day and I move and walk better. Who knew right? So, that was my Monday. Am I done yet?

Crisis

Published June 2, 2025 by helentastic67

Crisis

And here we are again, sitting with the intention to smash out my next batch of blog posts, to catch up on all the things. With the best of intentions I’ll see how this goes?

The best meme I’ve seen at the end of January 2025 stated, “This month was a long year!” and I whole heartedly agree.

That is to say by the end of 2024, it was a bit of a shitstorm. About a month and a half, ending in late November I was in absolute crisis. I’m relieved to say I rarely have had to resort to that particular word but it’s accurate.

You see, late last year, I moved my home. Well, just me and the contents. Not far at all as the crow flies, but packing up after seven comfortable years of more affordable rent the earth shifted and I relocated to my forever home.

The lead up to which, as much as I’d tried to have everything sorted and come together resulted in me not having the much needed funding, the extra carers and the so called promised help on the day. I’ve only just found the accurate word for how the big day moving was.

The following week after the trucks came, I had two Little Red Trucks (I only use them) and four people. They spent seven hours relocating me this one last time.

I have moved lots in my life. Plenty of times in my twenties, four times now since my disability and I’ve taken to making the statement, “I’M NEVER MOVING AGAIN! I’M GOING FROM HERE TO THE GRAVE! OK, I’M GOING FROM HERE TO THE FURNACE! WHAT! TOO MORBID? YES, I’M GOING TO BE CREMATED!”

When telling people about my new Forever Home, I’ve hinted at several things until I’m asked, “How much is the rent?” I smile just a little and shake my head in the negative. I’m never paying rent again. Quickly followed by “Don’t hate me because my father loved me!” Next.

Analogies

Published April 21, 2025 by helentastic67

Analogies

My brain is very busy with analogy’s today, it’s either a good or a terrible day to blog. So, we will see how it goes. You probably want an analogy now? You can wait.

I present really well for someone who’s had a brain injury for fifty-two-years. My carers tell me this all the time, because we discuss that in person, people are oblivious to what’s going on behind the scenes. But, in reality what’s going on up “there” feels like a bag of rattlesnakes. Thats 1 (Analogy delivered!)

I wonder if people realise there are days up “there” is like having five people with ABI’s, five people with depression or anxiety and five people on the spectrum in a room. Shaken and stirred, rather like the rattle snakes in a bag, right? And I suggest, within a few hours the room above will look like some kind of mass casualty has occurred. Think blood, trauma. Mass casualties, I realise, for many this is going way too far. But I’m making a point.

Up “there!” in my brain, there is so much chaos. Just anarchy, and I know it’s happening.
I just can’t stop it. It’s so busy I just try to get through the tasks as best as possible leaving as few people scathed as possible.

This is why people like me spend a lot of time self-isolating. It’s why we coped (apparently) better during the quarantining during Covid. It’s also, why we noticed how other people didn’t cope well during Covid. When I isolate too much, then when I do go out my brain is like “Oh my God! Look at all the thongs, the food, the people.

There are a people. What do you do? What are you peopling? Can I people with you? Let’s people together. Yes, we can.

Now, that is clearly an example. But we saw it a lot during the plague. Walking past chemists where I’d see a person behind the counter getting peopling, full blast by a customer out being around people for the first time in days. The staff members eyes flick out to notice if anybody out there that could save them. Is this even really happening? Am I the only one seeing this right now? Can somebody help me? And all of that is happening up there and on the outside, its Calm! Calm! Calm!

Everybody act calm and then, I think this is why I gift people treats a lot. It’s a reward, sure. But it’s my way of saying, you put up with my “Crazy!”

Later, I may stay away for a bit, so you miss me. Because you nipped at me and hurt my feelings. I try to bring a little funny, a little sass to everyone every day. But sometimes, others have too much owing on and it falls short. But this is why when I hand over a little love, I mean it.

The Things I Missed

Published December 16, 2024 by helentastic67

The Things I Missed

After the recent radio interview, I recalled other things that add to my disability, even I just take it on the chin and get up and keep going.

Shortly after my disability, I had a little fall at the front of my home. My left foot got caught behind the supporting post of the fence to the balcony of the front veranda of the terrace house. It was a ground floor only terrace before you get too excited. and when I fell, I hit my head against the brick wall, also hitting my left shoulder. When I fell, I hurt myself so much that I let out a mauling noise my mum heard from the lounge room, coming to my aid. She called out “what have you done now?” As she walked down the hallway, I levered myself up using the gate under my tummy to get my feet under me then stood up.

Across the road the friendly neighbourhood lookout was on his chair on his balcony. He looked poised to get up and come to my rescue. I waved him away that I was ok. My mum was only down at that time because I’d been in hospital having had my disc-bulge surgery. So, my shoulder has forever been dislocated, or Sub-Luxed. But not. Are you confused? Yeah, me too.

My shoulder is out more than not. If I’d hit my right shoulder, it would have been knocked out of its socket. It would have been put back in, had surgery, strapped up. It would have gotten better. But my left shoulder? It was pushed out of the socket, but the shoulder muscles stretched to move with the shoulder and because those muscles act like an old elastic band they stretched and the muscle tone no longer exists to hold the shoulder in place, if it was put back in.

Early days I went to emergency, I went to the counter and told the nurse behind the Perspex glass why I was there, I’m good at this stuff these days. FYI: Use all the trigger words. I’ve got an ABI and I was there this time for a dislocated shoulder. She turned towards the back of the staff area calling out “dislocated shoulder!”

It was rather amusing really; I was seen to eventually. Lots of “Does it hurt?” and surprised because it doesn’t but it could be on account of my complete left sided hemi. I have limited sensation on my left. Who knew that would come in handy? Fuck all that could be done. I was given a sling that barely seemed to fit and sent on my way. Basically, mum encouraged me to go see a shoulder surgeon.

I finally got to see the inside of a beautiful building in The Avenue in Windsor and he effectively started with “Now, what’s wrong with you?” and I asked him “How long have we got?”

He told me surgery wouldn’t help as I didn’t have the muscle tone to keep my shoulder in place and surgery would give me secondary problems across my back. When I’m out I wear my left arm in a sling called a Cuff and Collar, or a Collar and cuff. Physios all look to each other when I enter a physio/rehab clinic like who is going to explain to this one why we do not prescribe to wearing those, I remind them I’m carrying around dead weight that drags and pulls on all the muscles up to my neck, adding to my migraines and the added secondary problems I think I have already across my back. Seems I got those without surgery.

So, if you haven’t got it sussed already. Problems arise all the time you seek treatment, sometimes those issues are resolved, but there is always the potential of other undiagnosed problems you don’t yet know about and you are always needing to do the Pro’s versus Con’s game to work out if you fix the thing and hope there isn’t something else around the corner? Or can I live with this and for how long?

Chronic Pain

Published March 10, 2024 by helentastic67

Chronic Pain

So, here at 51, I’m learning new things all the time about chronic pain. I have a terrible sleeping pattern. If you didn’t know? It’s terrible, I love a good afternoon kip. I try to keep it just to the weekends, but it’s not always a given. It’s not seven days a week, most people would blame my years of working in hospitality. I always thought working in clubs had its own category, but apparently, it’s lumped in with restaurants and cafes.

Then, there’s having a brain injury. Also, messes with your sleep. Then, disability, depression, taking anti-depressants, etc. then the racy Lady Hormones. Must I go on? I mean, I hear rumours about people getting eight hours of sleep a night. I mean, who are they? They must be killed.

But the eating. I didn’t know fitting in three meals a day every day was hard for people with chronic pain. I just thought it was just me. I am not a morning person, so I sleep later. I therefore eat breakfast later. I have a light breakfast then get out and do stuff. I don’t prioritise lunch. I’ll eat lunch late, then I’m full. I skip dinner a lot. Sometimes, I’ll have the motivation for dessert. If that’s ice cream, because that has a separate stomach, right? Like, cows have four stomachs.

So, I know my brain and my body is constantly going between I’m digesting, going into a food coma, and I’m happy, but too full and it’s all a vicious cycle that I don’t know how to change.

Did I mention, after my kip on a Saturday I have my later lunch so much later, people have been known to comment that I lived a rather bohemian lifestyle? Yeah, that happens.

Note: any suggestions of killing or murder is not an actual threat intended to harm. Do not go and kill people that sleep better than I do. Just gently nudge them and remind them they don’t know how good they have it.

Ladies Day

Published January 8, 2024 by helentastic67

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.