Sheds and Landlords

Published August 3, 2026 by helentastic67

Sheds and Landlords

These days I like people who offer me more solutions than problems. It is to say even if I’m not paying them out of pocket and its coming from my NDIA funding I want solutions. Efficiency is also ideal. One of the many conversations trying to solve the problems around my scooter and storing it and powering it, etc.

Oh my God and when I moved almost a year ago now, I cannot tell you what I would have given somebody to not need to discuss dishwashers ever again, but my scooter. Just kill me.

Had a meeting with an OT, who I will add should probably have been project managing solving this issue! and when she looked to depart, I said to her “Aren’t you going to stay to discuss shed’s and storing solutions?” I was informed she had another client to go see and she didn’t know anything about “sheds!” Fuck! I didn’t either but I might have considered she could have learnt.

I will point out now for over fifteen years when my first OT sorted my scooter, the funding for which and separate funding for a shed from a separate NGO, for which every place I’ve rented since I’ve been able to put the shed on the property somewhere to house and charge and secure the precious hellonwheels.

Landlords came to the party with little effort to install a live power supply. One property manager when I dropped in for a friendly chat to let him know I would be formally giving notice to vacate he told me, “You’ll be leaving the shed?” My landlords were wogs. As was he, and I had no problem reminding him the shed was mine and he could “Fuck off!” so it was never mentioned again. They are lucky the police had not been contacted after my landlord had gotten handsy and I on a second occasion took the time to explain to him he had no right to ask what he had of me and no right to imagine what he had. I will hope you get where this was going? He did not think he had done anything wrong and he was only dissuaded from his thinking when I suggested we ask his son to join the conversation and see what he thought. His son parked out the front to deliver his children before breakfast, then he collected them after work at the end of the day. The landlord lived very close by. The son was close to my age, I know he would have not been impressed by his father’s actions.

I’ve not told many of what happened on several occasions in my home where you should feel safe, where you pay money to someone who therefore has power and responsibility over you, but the few people either did an incident report and another told me I definitely had a skill set that many did not.

In case you are concerned I was not assaulted. I’m not a victim or a survivor; I just didn’t appreciate his hand being anywhere on my person he thought he could put it for whatever his intentions. Not complaining. I think I look back at all the jobs, in clubs or elsewhere and they all gave me certain skills, a calm confidence to deal with situations most do not have to in a workplace.

You should take it for granted that I’m nice, I’m sweet, but you don’t mess with me. Few people have learnt this the hard way and karma is a Bitch! And so am I.

That got dark, didn’t it? I just mean when people do me wrong, I point out to them the error of their ways so they are not misled to think they can take advantage of me or others.

I should also say if you have been inflicted with attention you did not ask for whatever the outcome, please talk to someone you trust, a friend, a person in a position to help guide or navigate unfamiliar territory. But tell somebody. It’s not your fault and you didn’t ask for it. I wonder if I should have offered a trigger warning at the beginning of this post. It is not where I intended for it to go, so I apologise if anybody has reason to feel traumatised.

Hair Day

Published July 6, 2026 by helentastic67

Hair Day

These days I wash my hair twice weekly. I know today is going to be a boring blog post, but I think my life is full of little humorous moments and I like to share. Strap in, You’re Welcome.

Some of you might have read my early posts where I unpacked having had radiation treatment where I was left with bald, I mean BALD patches all over my head. I had a boyfriend back then who buzzed my hair back to a Number 1 and I’d had waist length hair, so my hair had been a big part of who I was.

The last fifteen plus years I’ve grown back my hair and had regular trims to keep it healthy. But it’s never likely going to be as long as it once was or as healthy. I’m also fighting the crazy lady hormones that doesn’t do our hair or skin any favours.

So, every Monday and Fridays my carer takes my hair down from the sassy bun I wear it in and gives it a brush. When I’ve had older carers, we have noticed my curly hair gives me a Diana Ross vibe. My carer wondering how I know who that is? Because I’m older than they realise.

This Monday gone my carer left the room and when she came back I was still sitting in the area referred to as the hairdressing area. She stated, “You know who your hair makes you look like?” I quickly responded Diana Ross? She is too young to know who that is, but I will give homework and if you don’t know you just got homework also. And she responded with one word. Dry, Succinct, Harsh.

Hagrid.

I snort a laugh. It’s not the first time and I have another sibling who is more Hagrid in the hair department. You have to laugh.

Word of the Day

Published June 14, 2026 by helentastic67

Word of the Day

Today’s words of the day – Nose holes, I mean it, um, What? I hear you ask? Yes, exactly. A youngster announces these words to me with great confidence. I comment we already have words for those; they are called nostrils. But to my great amusement she is sticking with Nose Holes. They have been causing much grief with both hay fever and blood noses and she tells me they are both suffering equally.

I have suggested she needs to eat more meat as she might be anaemic. I’ve suggested to go be seen by a doctor and even my Crazy Lady Hormone Doctor because the report back for my bloodwork is very specific and a normal GP will likely glance at some things and be rather dismissive.

My recent report has provided me feedback that I have Way Too Much B6. WTF I’m paraphrasing but that’s in most things that goes into or on my person.

I enquired at a Health food Store and he told me it’s in a lot of supplements. All I could say was “That’s all I take!” I had been planning to die healthy one day. Now, it looks like I can die healthy or I can die in pain. These are not great options.

Today I bought the only Magnesium on the market that doesn’t have B6 and I went home dug out my supply of magnesium and gave it to the Nose Hole Inventor of great joy and humour. And while I’ve given her as much direction and recommendation I can as “Not a Doctor.” I’ve already been nudging her towards getting appropriate medical advice. Best/worst case scenario, it helps her with her aching muscles, her sleep, period pain, and the worst case she doesn’t take it at all. Time will tell.

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.

Comedy Season 2026 – Part 2

Published May 10, 2026 by helentastic67

Comedy Season Part 2

Comedy season starts this week and I think I see the first show of many on Sunday night. I’m exhausted before it even begins. Yet I’m still contemplating if I can score Urzila Carlson tickets with a plus one to go with. She appears at the Palais in St Kilda, which is across town from where I live on the Northside. I conveniently live on a tram route however, it’s one thing to do a tram into the city towards the end of the afternoon, and change to do another along Swanston Street, walk to Hamer Hall at the Arts Centre by 7pm, when the evening commuters don’t always consider to offer me a seat on a tram that I had to pull myself up steps to get on to as time was starting to be of the essence, i.e. Couldn’t risk waiting for the next accessible tram. But, going to St. Kilda on trams, I don’t think so. Getting stuck on the carpark that is Hoddle Street, Clifton Hill or Punt Road in general is a carpark in peak so might miss Ursula this year.

Do I need to come out as straight? Urzila is a larger than life, unapologetic Lesbian. Not suggesting there’s anything wrong with Lesbians. I’m a fan. However, I’m just stating. I’m NOT GAY, I’m just fussy. When will people get it? And I love comedy, need some shits and giggles in life.

I will likely get too busy to write about all the shows I get to so, will likely smash it all out together.

It’s generally a lot, where if I’m seeing a show in the evening, I can’t be doing adulting during the day, I need the right level of nothing during the day, the right amount of sustenance. Send the right amount of Boss coffee to get me there and home afterwards.

Ideally, a friend drives in, parks somewhere and meets me, helps me navigate my inbox in my email for the tickets I’ve saved and drives me home afterwards so I’m safe and can still manage to get out of my shoes, AFO and socks. There’s always still housekeeping to be done to wind down before sleep.

Comedy Season 2026

Published May 4, 2026 by helentastic67

Comedy Season 2026

Comedy season 2026 has not even begun and I’m putting out spot fires in my social life. To be fair, I don’t manage to get through the comedy season and blog about it because I’m too busy coping and enjoying that little bit of joy and laughter also known by others as shits and giggles one hour at a time.

Apparently, once out I make it look easy, but its anything but, in reality it starts late in the previous year when dates start to be announced. I ask friends including carers if they would be interested, if they have preferred days, if they can go, do, stay, all the things. I don’t want to miss out on good tickets so I can see hear, appreciate, enjoy and laugh. And get there and home again in one piece.

I can’t do things at night. If I have things on during the day. I can’t do things during the day if I’m planning to be out at night. I don’t even have a diary for the following year when I start the planning.

I have a few carers that do my bookings. They don’t all happen online, some require calls. I get two tickets for the price of one because I have what’s called a Companion card, because I can’t go unless someone accompanies me.

I went to see the Prodigy in 2025 and a security woman walked up to me and my companion before I got to join the queue and she ushered us past the crowd. She saw that I had disabilities, she asked a few simple questions and she handed us over to the next P.S.O. who asked to check my bag. No, I was not trying to smuggle in alcohol or drugs even. The first P.S.O. had asked if I had my meds in it? I just said Sure. I just have a big bag. I like to buy a band T-shirt to wear as a way to express my interests to the world. Summer is good for that. During winter my look is more “Don’t fucking mess with me!”

Anyway, I digress, the first comedy tickets I booked was Danny Buoy as you may have guessed from a recent post.

The tickets for the event were in Ballarat. Often referred to as The Rat. A friend from my days working at the place only ever mentioned as Voldemort. I have often referred to him as my Gay Silver Fox, on account of all those things. I usually call him by Mr and his surname out of respect as at Voldemort he was my boss. On a rare occasion I’ll hastily say his first name to get his attention quickly and he looks sharply at me. It’s very amusing to us.

My grand plan to get to the Rat. I asked a carer who has a friend put there if she could drive me out there, help me with PC (Personal Care) and drive us home again so I could do all the things and cover her travel. She said, “We’ll work something out!”

To cut a long story short this translates as I got tickets, and a month or so out from the event when trying to lock in a commitment she was heckers busy. And I was left trying to put a band aid on a bullet wound. Trying to find a way out there without doing a tram and a train with a walking stick one-handed and a small suitcase, for a few hours. I had hoped to see Gay Silver Fox’s home. He only buys houses over 100 years old and renovates them. I’ve seen two or the three houses he’s owned. And had been prepared to sleep on his couch, if need be, to make it all work. I had hoped to visit two sisters while out there. My friends I rarely get to see, they are sisters. I had wanted to deliver care packages. Bottles of prepared bolognaise, Portuguese tarts, panettone, Anzac cookies. I just mean, Nona was coming to town and she doesn’t mess around. Look at that, I’m a poet.

Closer to the date, stressed and anxious trying to solve the logistical nightmare of what was to be a nice country adventure to start the comedy season, and a few calls to Gay Silver Fox and he rang on the Wednesday before to ask where we were with the plans. I’d managed to plan to taxi out there, half price taxi would have been pricey however, in for a penny in for a pound! Gotta, make it work and I’d secured my Sunday carer to drive out, do my PC and drive us home again on my funding.

Are you frustrated yet? Do you want to self-harm? Don’t do that, but strap in. At this point I can imagine my Mum asking frustrated why had I bothered? Why did I get tickets out there? I will answer that at the end, but it’s where his shows were booked at the time.

I updated Gay Silver Fox on the master plan and he sadly informed me he could no longer do any or all of the above. He was offered extra responsibility and work at his job and he needed to take it. Because he needs the work going through a messy end to a relationship.

Sometimes, I hate that I can change gears so quickly to help the other person feel better about my disappointment. All around it’s the right thing to do.

In the end, my lovely Sunday carer drove us out there and back the night of, Boss coffees provided by moi and tunes. Efficient and it ended up raining the Sunday morning so would not have been a fun drive for my lovely assistant.

So, sometimes, I wish what the final plan would look like, so I didn’t waste my time with band aids on bullet wounds.

And the angry retort I would have for my mother whom I love would need to be “Because how dare I try to do or have a life of simple pleasures that other people take for granted as so easy? How dare I?”

Sometimes, it is exhausting simply existing with disabilities and trying to have even simple pleasures is not worth the battle, or are they?

P.S. P.S.O. Personal Security Officer.

P.P.S. I will one day explain all things Voldemort but it’s a very big can of worms. Once opened it will be a lot. I’m not anywhere near ready to go there.

Social Media Indentity

Published April 27, 2026 by helentastic67

Social Media Identity

What’s that? I had to start a new social media profile, after ten plus years of having a profile in my name. You don’t say. You know the one.

I had a decent buying/selling rating on the place that was a market also. But alas, it’s all gone. Why? How the hell would I know. All I know is after a few hours on Insta I had found my sweet spot of definitely not real squirrels holding their mouths open at the side making very annoying noises like a child. Me sharing them to previously mentioned social media platform wanted me to sign into my profile using a picture of myself. Not particularly keen to use my actual face for anything I kept swiping as advised by my younger tech support. Apparently, you can only swipe so many times before. What’s that? It thinks you’re a bot for sharing so much AI generated content.

That guy whose initials start with Mark Zuckerberg deserves to be sued. The platform is encouraging AI everywhere and the moment some nuffer over shares this squirrel I get blocked.

And I’m only guessing this is the reason why. I did indeed appeal. It was rejected and there was no reason for why they then shut down my account.

I mean, I don’t love doing selfies, I don’t do filters, who gives a flying tutti fruiti if I wear make-up even. But here’s a recent effort at a comedy gig with one of my lovely assistants. I’m the one concentrating on trying to get us both in the frame. It did hurt and you can see how much I was concentrating on getting it done.

P.S. Shaming someone with their initials like that is a classic 2005 Shanism from my time working at Voldemort. I’ve been meaning to use it for a long time.

Working Appliances

Published April 20, 2026 by helentastic67

Working Appliances

I remember when I bought my forever home, I thought I had a dishwasher in it. I mean, I wasn’t buying a dishwasher with an apartment around it, some walls, a bathroom thrown in, a balcony, a view etcetera, etcetera. However, I thought the dishwasher actually worked. It did not.

It sounded like it was trying to finish a cycle. It made noise non-stop. Eventually, the MEPACS guy, turned it off inside the cupboard. Silence, God help me!

I had plumbers in, twice leading up to Christmas ’24 to fix said dishwasher. The second time, I said “If its fucked! Just call it!” I was suggesting “was the fat lady singing?” And the next thing my dad bought me for Christmas was a Miele dishwasher.

Again, not a paid advert, Miele was the dishwasher of choice with the cutlery drawer in the top. My uncle and aunt’s kitchen have one so I knew it was of the best quality. Shopping for a dishwasher taught me the most common issue with buying a new home is the dishwasher is usually fire trucked, sellers throw an old dishwasher in there just so it looks like it has one. It doesn’t mean it’s working or even plumbed in properly.

Christmas ’24 without a dishwasher was hard. I was doing some dishes one-handed to get ahead of my carers doing the things I couldn’t do.

Don’t worry, my gift from my dad had arrived before Christmas but it had sat like a giant paperweight in my study until after all the tradies returned to work in January. Despite paying for an install, I still had to get the plumbers back, then call Miele to reimburse the install fee I had paid and then pay the plumbers again.

Love you Dad, thank you Dad.

Honestly, if you wanted to scratch your eyes out just reading that post, I dream of conversations about the dishwasher when needing to sort the scooter replacement and storage. The whole scooter replacement and storage issue makes me want to kill myself. Unless that is the plan? Well played.

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.