Birthday Sucked as Predicted

Published November 8, 2026 by helentastic67

As predicted this year’s birthday was less than spectacular. I need you to know how terrible it will actually be every year but know I will be underwhelmed. The terrible started the day before on the Tuesday, my birthday landing this year on a Wednesday. I had the first meeting for my local councils new DAC. (Disability Advisory Committee.) You know it’s not called that now; I don’t know what it will be called. But some years ago, in the last thirteen years I think I’ve been attached to the group they decided to break down all the fun accessibility words like Access and Inclusion, Cultural Diversity, Indigenous and the other things into separate groups. Because it always helps to create a safe place for these groups individually and when you expect them to get long out in the real world, do I need to finish this train of thought.

So, I was all about to go out to this meeting when breakfast decided to come out the same way it went in. I’m all about the graphic description today, so strap in.

I cancelled my taxi, took off my shoes and my AFO and called it. I went back to bed; I call this a late scratching. I attempted to have a protein shake later in the day and that went badly also. Both ends. That’s my attempt at being a little more diplomatic. You’re welcome.

By 9pm I actually rang one of my carer providers to see if I could have a carer. I was lucky to get a carer, who while new to me came and stayed with me for a few hours.

Seems the perfect time to use the best quote from the film Bridesmaids

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bridesmaids_(2011_film)

If you are not familiar, you just got homework and the best quote ever from this film is “Oh my God! It’s pouring out of me like hot lava!”

My birthday I managed to finish the hydrolyte I started early in the morning. My carer was dispatched to do a few things; I managed a shower in the late afternoon.

A text from an older sister suggested even after stating how unwell I’d been still suggested I eat cake. My younger sister rang me late that night and we had a long call in which I cried.

Honestly, family is like death by a thousand tiny cuts. I did get out on the Thursday briefly for an appointment and a bit of hunter/gathering on the Friday. But it really took a week to bounce back.

A friend cheered me this week by pointing out a situation that would be worse than the two days I endured. Said friend has colonoscopy bags. Just so it helps to imagine. I thought this would make the “Hot Lava” situation easier? Until he suggested if the person who had to change the bag could not do so in time. You are so welcome.

Next time someone tells you their birthday sucks believe them. But always also be aware they know it could be worse.

You Poor Thing

Published October 26, 2026 by helentastic67

You Poor Thing

I can’t tell how often over the years I’ve heard those words. This time it was last Thursday. I had been tramming home from my chiropractor’s appointment. My usual chiro has been away and I’ve been lucky to see another one I used to see thirteen years ago.

It was the first warm day of spring, I’ve a separate post to write to explain a weird thing in Melbourne called Fake Spring, hang in there for that. Meanwhile, it was the first day to wear shorts. Get out the Lilly white legs I sport. Short season means people will notice my calf-high AFO. (That’s my Ankle Foot Orthotic.) It and the Botox helps me lift my drop foot when I walk so I don’t trip over. People don’t seem to notice my cuff and collars on my left arm or my walking stick. They definitely won’t notice my Vision Australia badge stating “I have low vision”

So, “You poor thing” I get off the tram just past my home. I hold up my right arm to wave at the driver calling out a thank you. A man on his Harley stopped at the back of the tram. Elderly lady makes her comment. It’s usually delivered to me on warmer days. I lift a finger and point in the direction of my home. I’m nearly home I reassure her, with these words and continue. It’s just another fucking day really. Despite the tone this is not a pity post. It’s a Fuck You post.

I think my twice-yearly dose of CBF has set in hard. October is always crappy. It’s been four years since my father’s passing. I’m OK with this however, it’s the fracturing of my remaining family that sucks, I’ve been trying to make my dad proud. And considering I’ve been project managing several things right now that has not been easy. The wins have been few and far between and not nearly enough wins for the constant barraging of losses.

I got from fifty-three to fifty-four at the end of the month and it sucks every year. Oh, you’re still with me this is not a pity me post. Right now, I’m just trying to get through each day crossing off the items on the To-Do List. Next week, expect a more upbeat post despite the To-Do list not getting shorter. I just wish 2026 was over.

Let’s hope the upcoming deadlines passing will improve my mental state and in the New Year after catching up on blogging and the wrapping up of certain projects will allow some breathing space and future posts will context my current grumpy.

Oh, wait! Barrack Obama, yes that could be a thing. Yes please!

Angry – I See Red

Published October 5, 2026 by helentastic67

Angry: I See Red

This is something different. I’m using speech-to-text because I’m angry. I’m normally very motivated to blog when I’m pissed off or frustrated about something, but right now, I’m *angry*. Which is next level.

I’m angry for enough reasons that each one deserves its own post. But I’m too busy dealing with the blows and kicks to the face, trying to get out of the way and focus on the things that will give me the most reward for the least effort. All my efforts to get ahead of things and avoid getting angry seem to come to nothing when I find that other people can’t do their jobs.

I’m angry about how people respond when I dare to tell them what’s going on for me. I’ll share one good thing and three bad things, and they only hear the good thing—which is really null and void, or redundant, because the other three things make the first one a waste of time.

Carers are always a drama. Every day, I touch on carers because people think they’re set-and-forget. It’s great that I get carers, but that comes with all their own stuff, too.

And at 53, I’m already being treated as if I’m redundant and contribute nothing to society. Apparently, my needs and input are irrelevant. That deserves its own post!

People treat me as if I’m past my prime, as if I won’t wear something anyway, or probably can’t afford it. That’s not helpful. I’m currently paying out of pocket for things that should be funded, and I’m spending hours and hours doing things someone else should be paid to do. But they didn’t do their job properly to make sure they’d get paid.

Daylight saving has started. It’s too fucking soon.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned to a lovely woman in Sydney, Noelle—she’s a meme queen—the responses I’d been getting from people. Her response was, “It’s September, so I guess people are starting to realise Christmas isn’t far away. They’re also thinking about how quickly the year has gone, and that they haven’t done everything they were meant to do in 2025, let alone in 2026.”

I feel like there’s a hashtag for life goals in there somewhere. I don’t do hashtags, though.

I’m sick of having to go over things and repeat myself because other people didn’t do their jobs properly.

A year ago, I paid to have the balcony waterproofed, and it still leaks. Another unsatisfactory outcome. I guess I’m sick of getting more problems than solutions. I didn’t sign up for this version of adulting. I want my money back—for the waterproofing and for life.

I’m seeing red. Let’s hope October is better. My birthday is at the end of the month, and it’ll be like any other day, as per usual.

I’ve also had internet dramas that are driving me fucking crazy. I think we all know what that’s like. I’m also sick of being ghosted. That’ll get its own post, too.

Okay, I don’t love this speech-to-text solution, but I don’t hate it either. Okay. I’m done!

Side Bar

Published September 29, 2026 by helentastic67

Side Bar

This might be a question for parents. If asking for a friend were walking my dog and let’s say there was flooding, If I saw your children unsupervised by their parents. That would be you, not me. You they who had these children. What if said children were out in said flooding areas and I want to know would it be up to me to rescue your children if they were at risk of drowning?

Or at what point would it be acceptable if I yelled at them to deter them from potential mishaps? Keeping in mind, I got the version of child I could manage, and my recent new addition now a full year old and officially no longer a kitten, has taught me I would have been a yelling parent. The kids I didn’t have are so lucky because while Freddie doesn’t pay attention, I’m good at yelling.

I remember, asking for a friend. I was discussing this scenario earlier with someone who was in the above potential scenario. We all know the moral and ethical answer. However, nobody wants to get in trouble for yelling at somebody else’s child. So, feel free to comment and provide feedback.

In the early days of having hellonwheels, I was fangin’ it through a park in Clifton Hill on Hoddle Street when I saw two young kids playing on piles of bark chips. I stopped to talk to them. I quietly told them I knew it was fun but maybe they should try not to spread it all over the grass and keep it to the designated garden bed. From out of nowhere, grandma hung up her phone to and stormed over to ask me what was wrong? I told her nothing was wrong and repeated the above to her and she took her two young grandchildren away. Which had not been my intent.

People Have No Idea

Published September 21, 2026 by helentastic67

People Have No Idea

So, every now and again things get added to the already full bucket of shit to deal with, and it’s a long process to get answers and solutions. People just have no idea.

Earlier 2025, my left foot had started to hurt. While I was already dealing with my base line of my fifteen years plus disability and the recent hernia surgery, vertigo, etc.

For a while when out in the community I was alternating between grunting/growling or swearing every time I stepped on my left foot. People with chronic pain have become really good at hiding it from others. Because nobody knows how to react when we answer honestly to the age-old question “How are you?”

I know I’ve started being blunter because people will never know if we don’t tell them, and then I must remind them I don’t expect them to fix anything. Because they cannot. I remind people this is why I have such a dark sense of humour and that I appreciate the gentle laughs we share.

Several conversations over time with all the people. The OT, the Podiatrist, my AFO guy in Richmond and to be clear my AFO guy stretched out the side of the AFO using a neat trick of putting lipstick on the raised calluses on my left foot of which there are two.

One particular day in this process I had mentioned it to my Neurophysio while she was working on my left calf and foot.

There was a moment of quiet contemplation where we were not chatting as she did her brand of torture to the muscles in my calf and foot. She sits slightly in my blind spot on my front left but I look down and she has removed her shoe and she is very clearly checking if her foot has the same bumps and bones where mine now has.

She catches me watching her, She’s twenty plus years younger and from the UK. I really like her. I snort a little laugh at her as she thinks she needs to explain what she’s doing. It makes perfect sense; this is not the only time someone alludes or outright tells me I have weird feet. If you haven’t gathered, the point here is it’s a process of elimination.

My GP sends me to the nurses at the clinic he works from and one of those nurses is the other Helen. We now have history also. At that appointment I’m lying on the bed in the nurse’s prep room and checking my foot she calls in the other nurse and I mean, why not make it a party right? Helen says to her colleague, sorry Helen. I don’t mean to offend you, but you have weird feet. Like I hadn’t been telling the beautician this on the few occasions I had her do a foot treatment, me trying to tuck my toes from one foot behind the other, in an effort to hide the very things I was there to have her make them soft and pretty.

I also moved to a much better podiatrist in this process and how to get even more by using tape on my foot to rotate it even a little for her.

Again, I snort a little laugh and my GP finally decided I needed an X-ray and an Ultrasound. I know, sounds extreme right?

One early evening in 2026, my GP calls to tell me of my results. I prompt him with my brand of dark humour. “They say amputate at the knee?” He returns fire with “Yes, the neck down!” Touche!

The diagnosis was a really big cyst of 4mm by 2mm. I know. Huge! It sounds tiny so why does it hurt so much? You know there were ways to put more swear words in there.

So, I don’t know if it’s too late to warn my delicate readers but here’s a picture from only yesterday. So, even after a year this still hurts like a Mother trucker!

Apologies if people needed a warning?

Old Friends

Published September 13, 2026 by helentastic67

Old Friends

I’ve also had a friend staying in Melbourne. Although for him, it’s not a holiday. It’s just a change of where he’s lying in a bed — and no carers, instead nurses.

We went to high school together. We were not friends but have become friends in the last ten years or so. At high school, we were both outsiders, but his being different made him much more of a target for bullying. That didn’t sound right, I was bullied too. It’s just girls do it more subtly. I know!

When I was young, bullying was called being “picked on”. It was indeed bullying, but you weren’t told by strangers that you should kill yourself. You just ended up wanting to kill yourself. And people had to come up to you and tell you to your face they didn’t like you, at which time you or I would tell them to their face to “Fuck off!” Anyway. I digress.

A few weeks ago, said friend, “Dear John”, rang me on a Sunday night, starting with a profound apology. I cut him off with a, “You never need to apologise to me!” That’s when he explained he had been down already for three weeks, at which time I told him he was dead to me.

My thoughts and feelings on this are that I don’t get back to the country often, so him being closer to me means I’m going to take advantage and hit him with my form of love language. If you’re new here, my love language is food!

Now, what it helps to know about said friend is that he has a spinal injury and has had it since we were only seventeen. He was the tallest, oldest kid at the Royal Children’s Hospital back in 1998. He is considered an incomplete quad. That means for him, he’s in bed most of the day and week. He has the use of one arm from the elbow to his hand, with the ability to reach his phone on his bedhead. It is to say, he cannot feed himself.

The first time I visited him a few years ago with a bag of sweet and savoury treats, I did not know how much help he needed. I prompted him with a very silly suggestion, and he simply told me that nothing gets in his mouth without somebody putting it there! And there is something really humbling about being able to go and feed someone something they could not otherwise access or feed themselves. It’s a humbling experience and a privilege. I’m not friends with him out of pity.

I’ve definitely had many life experiences he has not. I’ve had friends who have lived lives I have not, and I share stories with him he would likely not prefer to hear, but it’s always a starting point. I think he is entertained by my stories and banter. Definitely the d’Affinois I’ve introduced him to.

And more recently, my mushroom baskets and homemade sausage rolls. I usually start his stays in Melbourne by taking him a halloumi pide. It’s something he would not get or bother to try in the country where he grew up and still resides.

I grew up an hour from him, but our lives, as mentioned, have been very different. My first visit was assisted by a friend who drove me there and helped by collecting pide in Heidelberg on our way. I introduced both friends. She went to do her thing and upon arrival, I enquired where his laptop was. He no longer had a small TV hanging from the ceiling, and I was informed his laptop had arrived that morning at 9:25am. After consulting his phone, I discovered that was, in fact, the case. It’s always a challenge being in hospital.

If it’s not a planned visit, you may have found yourself in hospital without so much as a charging cable for your phone. He had also reported to me that he had the “black screen of death” on his laptop! His carer agency had arranged for a new laptop and had it sent. I went to ask at the nurses’ station. It arrived in the time I was there and I prompted him as to whether he had any carers to help set it up. He seemed nonplussed.

My friend returned, and hearing my concern as to who would get it out and set it up for him, my friend got up and went to work. She held out the barcode on the box for me to get a photo and send it to him. I couldn’t even do that, honestly, what a princess I am. I got the fuck out of the way. I asked who would set it up for him, and he said he would. I know for this he uses a stick between his teeth. I asked how long this would take, and he said, “Not long.”

Over the years, we have had many conversations about patients and how this existence has taught him to be patient. I know in comparison to this friend, I’m an Olympic sportswoman. And let’s call her “T for Tech” because however long it takes to set up a new computer, it’s too long. I am so impatient.

While visiting, I gave him a little sass, and my friend — let’s call her “T for Tech” — gave me a look that said I was pushing it too far. I responded with, “What? It’s not his first day!” He snorted a small laugh. You can imagine any more effort than that hurts. I like to laugh out loud.

I like that birds scatter and people might notice and wonder where it came from and what might cause such an outburst. I guess this happens with me too. I imagine people wish they were a fly on the wall in these conversations. I spend actual time with them and not with actual family, as much as I’ve tried.

When I’m out and about with my carers, there is always banter, sweet conversations and a feeling like I’m part of a family. It’s not my actual family, but it is a family.

So, I know I’m in high regard somewhere.

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.

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.

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.

Unofficial Support

Published February 23, 2026 by helentastic67

Unofficial Support

In the world of disability there are many terms for things you don’t know until you need to and that generally means you learn the hard way out of necessity. Out of your will to achieve something or your need to survive. You learn who your friends are. You work out who you can rely on.

If you don’t have family or friends who can help you do the most mundane things you might find you have a carer who can feed your cat when you go to your dad’s funeral, or you spend a night in hospital.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned but wait for it. Humble brag, Mika is not food orientated, but she still expects to be fed, every night.

Also, kind neighbours, even after I moved were lovely enough to drop into my new home to feed my fur baby and not expect to be paid to do so. That is officially an informal support.

When I moved late last year, yes, still so much trauma around that. The moving day left me with all my tech, TV, AMP, CD carousel, drying racks, lamps, mirrors, candlesticks. So much I valued and needed to be moved and every day I was reaching out to busy people to see what they could help me with.

Now, I’ve got friends, I love and respect their time, I have later discussed my need at that time and that they were not friends I felt should need to help me for things like that.

You would be surprised when you really need help how few of the people you know are not free and I would not have expected people to drop anything to assist me, so I started asking carers who I had no funding to book them and bit by bit over the last week I had friends come from two hours away who helped when they had barely slept going through a shitty break up. Who came and helped for literally me buying them lunch. Fuel to get them through.

A carer who literally treats me like family assisted me with a few car trips and when I tried to sneak some cash into her hand, she vehemently told me that “Anybody that took money from me, shouldn’t!”