I define adulting as making decisions. I’m not even talking about good decisions versus bad decisions, but just decisions. Adulting in the other form is putting on a bra and wearing shoes ie, any day I leave the apartment.
For the people who don’t have disabilities, you take life for granted. You who have cars and jobs, family that care.
Fuck Me! You don’t know how lucky you are. Then, what? You can travel and have holidays. Shut the fuck up. We do not need to hear from you.
Reasons why Helen should not blog when she has the sads. I intended to write parts of this earlier before the cause of Sally the shit that led to the actual “Sads!”
I’m starting with an analogy a friend used recently. She was selling her father’s house and lawyers or some such insisted the friend’s father sign something. She stated he couldn’t as he was a “little bit dead!” Now, hold that thought.
I sometimes wonder if people attempt to kill themselves not because they don’t want to be alive or, don’t want to deal with the shit they have to navigate every fucking day, or as a friend recently bluntly stated “had just had enough!” But because they wanted whoever the bullies were to know they had had enough and using words seemed not to get the message across.
Let me be abundantly clear: HELLONWEHEELS IS NOT SUICIDAL, HOMICIDAL, maybe?
Might be a surprise to know I once upon a time worked in Admin, I was that busy little admin person whose desk often looked like a bomb had hit it. My boss once wandered around to loiter around behind me. Bit like a Creeper. He seemed to be just checking out what the hell I had going on.
I had a splash back/divider between my desk and the next person and it was covered in lists, post-its. Sell kinds of things. The coral I had created around one desk so I could have layers of in and out trays. This boss I prompted this particular day with a grumpy “What!!!!!!” (Note, not. Question?) He dismissively expressed he’s not being impressed with what a mess my desk area was. I told him I knew where everything was, he only had to ask and I would put my hand on it. He disappeared and went back to his messy desk.
Occasionally during preparing for an audit another Satan member would pullout the clients files she had not been able to find. He would ask “Where is this file?” I would put one hand on my head, he would do this to take my hand off my mouse when he would “train me” how to do something on my computer so as not to put his hand on mine. And with my other hand I pointed to an overflowing in tray on his desk, he had neglected. The other colleague then mentioned the next four client files she’d been unable to locate. Again, hand upon head and the other pointing to his desk.
Later he would check the files, the referral, the notes and put post-its on each, then deposit them on my desk with instructions of who to contact, each potential host to send that client to that corresponding host to do their mutual obligation. Then, I would do the rest. I guess his desk was often an extension of mine.
Time for an Acronym. MO, Mutual Obligation. Otherwise, known as Work for the dole. Damn it. Also known as WFD. We commonly nicknamed it Work for the coffee scroll.
On one occasion the Grumpy boss asked the office in general “What’s Frank’s number?” I altered my sight of vision ever so slightly and read him out the number. He had, A) De-skilled. B) Gotten lazy in remembering Frank’s Number. C) He never questioned my messy desk again.
And before anyone feels they need to ask? Yes! I did feel like a trained monkey. I also could point out the location of his coffee mug to remind him where he had left it.
Yet, I’ve still not covered the post I had intended to write today. Always happens this way.
This is probably not the post I intended to write when I sat down but maybe I’ll stay tapping at my iPad long enough to do some catch up.
There’s nothing like going to see your doctor and they throw a random question at you and you are not sure how to answer, like “Do you bruise easily?”
It means to find a bruise you don’t remember how you got it, hate to have dementia. How are they going to remember?
I currently have a bruise on my jawline. NFI how that got there but every other day my carer tells me it’s there, asks how I got it and puts a dab of arnica on it.
But this is not a diagnosis, generally, I get a bruise often and I consider which piece of furniture I’ve collected. Often, it’s when I repeat the knock or bump and it hurts the original bruise while it’s still bad enough to hurt.
I’m not crying over spilt milk. Bruises are not killing me.
Don’t know if I’ve mentioned recently, HellOnWheels don’t do hot weather. Summer in Melbourne over Christmas often means storms and even rain. But this year it included a level of humidity nobody has been excited about.
I am generally out all day on Fridays with my carer Girl-Friday, doing all my Hunter-Gathering and solving the problems I have not managed to solve solo. However, this Friday, it was 34 degrees. That’s not even in the shade. Even on stupid-humid days I can make a joke.
We stopped briefly at Officeworks today and as we pulled into the car park I commentated and suggested Park in the shade. She suggested she thought that would be impossible, I was surprised she even bothered to answer.
I still managed a lazy 3,700 steps in this heat, although another friend informed me, she’d also had a lazy day, just 23,500 something, her son is in a wheelchair and I suggested I might need to start asking and competing with him. He has also completed some laps up and back in the hallway with his walker. And they don’t have Air con. Doesn’t seem sporting of me to try to compete with him. Not because he’s in a chair but because he has no AC.
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.
How is it 2024 already? Where does time go? I mean don’t answer that! I’m still trying to wrap up 2022 and ten years of my taxes, it’s on the list. I stopped doing those when I had to claim financial hardship about ten years ago, the last time I bothered to do my tax.
What? You think we get to start a New Year all rainbows and unicorns, since when? I’m still trying to get a better sleeping pattern and the right number of meals in a day. Let alone get through my Tim Tam collection in my fridge. I have implemented Tim Tam Sundays, if you’re in my area on a Sunday and want a hit of amazing goodness. Hit me up.
I want to propose less is more time for me in 2024, last year flew past with way too many appointments and zooms and less days just for me. Stuff gets thrown in the mix and I still deal with chronic pain and shit still hitting the fan, so what to do? Let’s put it out there that 2024 has more wins than losses.
I can’t see my schedule being any less hectic, so maybe there is always a way to make life more efficient and pain free. Hope everyone scraped through 2023 with more wins than losses.
It’s that tough pointy end of the year again and I’m in a battle of Tetris-Like levels with my fridge and only me to eat it.
A conversation with my cousin on my birthday at the end of October instilled in me, I would be very happy to be able to sleep for the whole week of Christmas, eat and catch up on TV.
Here’s to staying home alone, where I don’t lose my independence and I already know I’m going to be spending time alone. Its weirdly better than being around family, but still being all alone.
I might even be able to talk a carer into making me a ham and cheese toasties and putting it on my bedside table.
Here’s to an easier 2024 and for December not to fly around so quickly. So say all of us.
Once upon a time pre-treatment, I was given some very handy advice for when seeing specialist doctors.
I was told “take a book!”
I was actually going to see her neurosurgeon. So, she knew I’d be waiting. Reading materials in hospital waiting rooms my mum and I would compete as to who had the oldest magazine. Best game ever.
Meanwhile, fifteen years on and I’m still waiting in the waiting rooms and I’ve next levelled and packed my iPad.
Only thing is, I’m one-handed and have half the eyesight. I cannot balance my bag, keep-cup (medicine) walking stick, let alone iPad on top of all those things. So, here I am taping out a blog post on to my phone and I’m now feeling weirdly seedy, Super.
If you recall? I gave the advice early on, any doctor you have to wait for is a doctor worth seeing.
Still true. Next time? Not bringing my iPad. Too heavy.
Hell onWheels/Life One Handed 