Sh*t Experience at the Melbourne Internation Comedy Festival

Published April 15, 2025 by helentastic67

Shit toilet experiences at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival

In general, this topic would live outside that of the festival, but it could definitely be its own blog. Frustratingly, these experiences are far from rare. I’m part way through my festival events for this year despite my lack of time to write and post about it but at times you have to, live when the opportunities exist, write, recuperate and replenish spoons over the hibernation of winter months to come.

Last night I saw two comedy shows very carefully booked, curated and logistically arranged by my event booking genius carer who is one of my heavy hitter admin chicks.

My first show was at the Arts Centre to see Danny Bhoy. I saw him the last time he was here as after my father’s passing back in late 2022, I decided the comedians I always wanted to see I would just start doing it.

Since making that decision, I’ve prioritised not only Danny Buoy, but Kitty Flanagan. Nath Valvo and Ivan Aristeguieta. To name a few and my accessible toileting experiences are always super not fun.

The Arts Centre despite the beautiful venue, the helpful staff, the frosted glass doors to the accessible toilet on the third floor closest to the ticket booking office, I locked the door, checked it. Locked it again, checked it, again. Ah, success.

Removed my cuff and collar, my bag, walking stick, and hoodi top. I know, over sharing and obviously my pants, to use the facilities, to do what I was there to for. I heard an older lady’s voice! “Here! Come in here!” and the door opened. Like I had not locked it. Now, I had hung my bag on the door handle which would not interfere with the lock, I might have thought could be seen through the frosting. Should someone bother to look. At least I was not mid-poo or mid-wipe. I had just managed to get a few single ply tissue squares from the selfish T.P. Dispenser. More importantly, the door remained open in this awkward unnecessary social INTERACTION.

It’s odd that the elderly love to imagine the accessible toilets are their domain and only theirs. I think they see me on their throne as a young person. Thank you! And not in need to use these toilets. I actually had to ask her to close the door with a polite “Do you mind?” It was more than she deserved considering the length of time she stood staring at me unsure how to solve this social quagmire.

I guess I should follow up this incident with an email to the venue, or just forward them this post when it goes live.

After this show, a short walk, a tram for two stops and another short walk to our next destination a toilet stop, this toilet had an ambulance toilet although I didn’t realise until I was ready to depart. I had used the lady’s facilities this time as I can often do and will. If that porcelain had been any lower to the floor, I might not have made it up again.

The second comedy show this time at the Melbourne Town Hall. To see our very own Ivan Aristeguieta. OK, He isn’t originally ours but, he’s seriously Australian now. He migrated from Venezuela thirteen years ago and originally settled in Adelaide. He divorced and had in the last year married one of ours. So, he’s ours now. It’s hilarious to see our culture through the eyes of a new Aussie.

This is my fourth time seeing his show in the ten years he’s performed here. Wish I’d been able to meet him at the meet and greet he announced he was doing. My friend sadly departed after my last bathroom experience as he had a train to get to home.

My second bathroom experience, younger people more prominent in the audience but not completely I chose to check out the accessible bathroom. Lock. Tick. Hook on wall, tick and toilet not close to the floor. Tick! However, things fell apart a little when I encountered the again “selfish” paper dispenser. Or it could have just been the previous occupant as I could not for the life of me find the end of the roll. I hate those big commercial toilet roll dispensers that have the ability to not be so big they either hold two rolls with the plastic sliding thing to allow access to the other roll or there is a big roll that allows them to not replace it for days. I don’t know, it’s nice that they think it’s not important to check. I checked my boob-pocket for a tissue and would have made do. But alas, I had neglected to stash one for such emergencies and I was forced to frustratingly continue with the roll. Eventually, leaving a shredded confetti protest on the floor after managing the squares I’d required.

At least on this occasion I’d not had an audience. I can’t decide which was the better experience.

Bring on winter so I can make like a bear and hibernate.

Developers Please

Published October 13, 2024 by helentastic67

Developers Please

I think it’s about time developers paid attention and built in some things to enhance properties for residents.

Number one, put in an accessible toilet close to the entrance off the foyer. It should have a sign stating “Accessible!” For which I will ask “Are there any other residents here with disabilities?” Then it’s unofficially Helen’s Personal toilet. But you may use it, just keep it clean and tidy for all.

Also, while we are on the topic of bathrooms. Can they start designing apartments with one and a half bathrooms? That would be an ensuite and maybe just a second toilet with handbasin. I cannot tell you how good it’s been for the last seven years to have two toilets in my home and I live alone.

I get ready to head out with a carer calling out “I’m just going to the loo!” and they will return with “I’ll go too!”

So, at the end of the day there is no fighting when we get home who gets to go first or how long you can be there.

I’m sure I’ll revisit this at a later date so, to be continued.

Ink Blot

Published April 11, 2022 by helentastic67

Ink Blot!

There are these posts that I put off writing because I never want someone who knows me in real life to look me in the eye and quote any part of it and while I could start this post different ways, here’s how it is.

You know those days a friend off loads all their shit and drama on you within five minutes of walking in the door? No? Just me then?

Well, I’m just warning people the next time this happens, I may cut them off with this. If you get through the day and you didn’t end up in your ensuite with your pants down around your ankles, your Thundies around your knees with poo (You heard me) on them and your face on the floor in the corner.

Oh, both shoes off, your AFO still half on (Being the reason you fell off the toilet in the first place) and this is the clincher. An ink blot poo stain on your floor and poo on the wall (still not sure how that got there), then you have what we call first world problems. Sometimes a friend will tell me, ‘Oh Helen, everyone has problems.’

From now on I will direct them to the above highlighting ‘ink blot’. It’s a great image, isn’t it? If you’re not sure what it is, it’s the weird prints on the wall in a shrinks’ office walls, clients (sorry) ask “what is that anyway?” and the shrink returns, “It’s whatever you think it is.”

Usual answers

“Oh! It’s 2 people making love”
Or “It’s a butterfly”
Or “2 cows”
Lol.

There’s nothing worse than being on the floor in a compromising position and having to work through what you must do in order to get up. That’s that!

I need to eventually roll over onto my right, straight onto my ass, naked ass, I will add, knowing exactly how cold that would be and then wriggle over to the hand basin. More wriggling, onto my knees, right elbow on hand basin then after pulling the second strap off my AFO, try to wiggle my left foot behind me and lever myself up.

Mostly, my right side leads on these adventures and I demand my left leg eventually pulls some weight. Add Pine O’ Clean, toilet cleaner/Napisan and Sard stain treatment, clean Thundies and pants and some serious cleaning in Aisle 2 (Don’t overthink it!) and I’m upright and ready to face the day.

Yeah! This happens to be the best of us and if someone tells you this kind of story, don’t pardon the pun – It’s pretty shitty.

I once had a carer arrive on a Saturday morning and when she saw my ensuite she asked, “What happened here?”

I’m telling you, I cleaned the bathroom, so there was no evidence of what had transpired in there the night before. I explained and to say it was of some similarity to the above and she asked, “Did you just sit on the floor and cry?”

I’m not saying you don’t want to, but it doesn’t help. You gotta plan your attack, do what you have to do to get up/get cleaned up/clean up the bathroom and get dressed.

If all you can do is get into bed to sleep off the trauma, you should. But sitting on the floor in self-pity doesn’t help.

Next!

Grumpy Old Lady

Published March 9, 2020 by helentastic67

Grumpy Old Lady

Ok, for once I’m not writing about me. Ok, the grumpy old lady in question is not me. I was there and there was a grumpy old lady and for once it wasn’t me.

You know those accessible toilets? The ones with the heavy door (we work at that first) because it’s operated with a button. But I never see the button until I’ve put my whole-body weight against the door and sworn a bit at how hard it is to open and because it’s operated by a button, there is a light to indicate if it’s engaged.

I mean, no one pays attention if the normal lock states if it’s engaged anyway. People still put the stall door and sound surprised when it’s actually locked.

I know, right. I don’t know about anyone else, but I always call out “I won’t be a minute” and I take as long as it takes.

I’m not the one being rude. But I digress, frankly I get access to the accessible loo, I take my bag off and hang it on the strap on the wall and I hang my walking stick on the other. Don’t worry, this will not be a blow by blow account. But, while I’m “busy” the door opens wide and a woman, older seemingly “well to do” looking down her nose at me.

I can only describe this woman or her personality in these words. The look on her face told me she felt her shit didn’t stink. It is a pure Aussie Bogan term at I can’t sugar coat it. There it is.

And I’m 100% sure she looked at my face and thought I was ‘young’ and didn’t belong there. I’m also sure she considered I was on her throne and I should feel shamed enough to just get off. I did not move.

She just seemed happy to stand there in an authorative pose to argue and debate it with me. The damage was already done. She had seen me on the toilet (not that there was anything to see) but no one else needed to see me.

I was ready to suggest if the conversation wasn’t over, she could come in or go out, but could she please close the door. When she decided to leave.

I finished my business and left without another incident. The following meeting with my local DAC (Disability Advocacy Committee) in my local council, I mentioned my fun ‘little’ story of total humiliation.

I learned the lock automatically disables after ten minutes, so homeless people don’t go in there and spend the night and so junkies don’t go in and overdose.

Ok, I get it. But ten minutes, I’m one handed. Have you ever tried working these toilet rolls one handed? That is frustrating too. That is the making of a serial killer.

The Other Hideous Thing

Published November 12, 2018 by helentastic67

The other hideous thing

The Other Hideous Thing

So, today I’m following through on a promise from my early Hellonwheels days. I mentioned way back then about there having been two hideous tests or procedures I’ve had, that I did not particularly like. You may recall, my post about the Cerebral angiogram. It was the one I likened to being punched in the head from the inside.

https://hellonwheelslifeonehanded.wordpress.com/2016/12/09/worst-test-ever/

This is the “other” thing I’ve had and ironically, I’ve had this thing twice also.

However, I need to premise this by mentioning the back story. I will attempt to keep it brief. No promises.

Make no promises

After a few years of smashing out Life One Handed after a while, ‘things’ start to breakdown. Wish someone had told me to prepare for that.

Now, this describes a time frame from literally the 6^th January 2011, to the 11^th November in the same year. Early January, I lifted a heavy suitcase of my tech toys (laptop, hard drives etc) from the floor to my bed, to more easily unpack it. My lower back did not particularly like it. But it was a process of why-questions.

Why do I always feel I need to pee? (not really)

Why does it hurt to sit down for more than three minutes?

And many, many others.

Lower back pain

My GP Dr Chris (he won’t mind) started me on some muscle relaxants. Didn’t help. Then something else (can’t remember) also didn’t help. I was seeing the physio and OT at the time and one of them started massaging the back of my right leg. (my good leg) because that’s where the worst pain was and she was working on that spot until I wanted to slap her.

So needless to say, I was getting test on my good leg. Other random tests and things, I can’t even remember now, and over the course of the year we found the diagnosis after an MRI of my lower back, the answer to all the pain was I had a DISC BULGE in my lower back, at L5 (I think).

Bulging disc

After diagnosis, we worked at the right pain relief (drugs) and right sedentary lifestyle. At the time, I still lived in Clifton Hill on the other side of Hoddle Street.

Clifton Hill is where I spend every Wednesday for lunch and see my chiropractor. I would scooter to my chiro every week and while I went full pelt through the park to get to my appointment, When I got to traffic lights, I had to stand up to give my lower back a stretch. (walking through the park took too long and I always feared I wouldn’t make it home to the toilet.) Yeah, good times.

Fear of not making it to toilet

Anyway, the Happy Place with pain meds for me was Oxy, Oxy, Oxy. (As I call it) Slow release Oxycontin twice a day and when I had to get up off my bed to go anywhere, I would slam some short term, but fast release stuff. Endone 5mg (gives me about thirty minutes) and it’s no silver bullet. 5mg of Oxy norm gives you about three hours and that’s on top of 20mg or 10mg of the Oxycontin. Who knows that happens when you take a shit load of pain meds?

That’s right Constipation!

Constipation

I’m going to imagine my followers don’t require me to explain this displeasure. But my point here is, I don’t understand when people tap out of life taking pain meds, when they just can’t deal with life, when it means they can’t have a good bowel movement.

So, it would seem I have covered the pre-stuff sufficiently.

Now, the horrid thing.

To buy time, the medical system should you be in the public system and once you are ‘pilled’ up to your eyeballs and constipated to hell and back. They still won’t schedule you for surgery until they give you a Nerve root injection. Sounds like something a dentist night give you. But no, my first (yeah, had two of these things also: NOT frigging happy). The procedure goes like this.

Nerve Root Injection

You are wearing underwear and a gown that does up at the back. Isn’t it always the way?

Lying face down, I had been told I would be given an epidural. My sister (the weird grumpy one) Oh, wait that’s both of them.

After the procedure, she suggested I enquire “where’s my baby?”

Wheres my baby

I delivered the joke to a very still silent room. The young and old Jewish doctors didn’t get it. I looked at the only female in the room and she gave me a weak smile. “Tough crowd”

So, firstly they give you a local in my lower back. Now, it’s been a few years since I’ve had a local anaesthetic, but in between we forgot how much they hurt. They STING. Sweet Jesus! I’m told it’s because the need is so fine. So, after the local and long enough for that to kick in. The younger Jewish doctor tells me ‘You will just feel some scratching’. Well, that turns out to be a lie.

Local Aneasthtic

He rammed the next needle into my lower back. Now, anyone dealing with pain, the best advice is to battle through it. But, I couldn’t. I was told to keep perfectly still while they tortured me.

But, wait there’s more.

They pushed the table I was on into the CT machine and moved behind me to do a scan. He left the room for a moment to check the scan with the older doctor, then returned saying the words “We’ve definitely heading in the right direction” a little to chipper about it, I thought as the local had done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Then telling me to be still, he drove the needle in further.

New Root Injection 1

Then another CT scan and another pointless comment about scratching, which I feel I’ve already covered was the worst understatement ever. Then ramming of the needle again before being injected with the ‘Steroid’. (I forgot).

After the torture was over, I was told I could get up and I asked what next? “Oh. you can just go.”

What?

My mum came into help me dress and I sat with her for five minutes, to gather my thoughts.

I was just happy I had not sworn, but seriously – FUK, FUK, FUK, FUK. Not enough of those in the world that day.

Fuk Fuk Fuk

Overall, considering the pain and torture and the promise of pain relief, it was under delivered. No pain relief and despite being my hospital that had done my radiation treatment. No Surgery.

Next I was booked to have one at another hospital that was closer to home and my side of town. Again, despite knowing what to expect. Didn’t like it any more than the first.

Amusingly after the second Nerve root test (injection) they insisted I stay lying down in recovery for an hour. Lying down! After my first injection at another hospital, they basically told me to get out. (politer than that, but still). After ramming a needle into my back while I was conscious and while not on any Oxycontin. Plus I had to pee.. Was not happy.

Need to pee

Ladies, you know the routine? Well, I was offered a bed pan. They then offed me a bedpan in a chair in the corner. “oh, well close the curtains”

Just “HELL NO!”

Hell no

They then offered me a walker, to get to the toilet. I don’t know what part of me told them we had time to debate this. I really had to go. Just pee, but still.

They did not have any idea why I rudely insisted they get the walker away from me. They insisted. I know now rude I seemed but I’m one-handed. How was I going to use that walker?

They finally bought me a wheelchair and took me to the toilet.

All of this under the watchful eye of my mother.

Watchful eye

NB – Did I mention I was offered a third one of these? Yeah, same place as the first one.

I was given a student, and she seemed to hear me, but went and got the senior dude on that day. (He did not listen so he doesn’t get qualification acknowledgement as he wanted someone with way less experience to get to stab me in my back!) He came in and said “Oh, I think we’ll start with a nerve root injection?”

And I think they just didn’t prioritise me for surgery because I refused to let them keep practicing on me.

no-back-surgery