Unemployed

On the 16th February at 10am I walked into a weekly update meeting and walked out ten minutes later unemployed.

My services as a change management consultant where no longer required as the client had decided they could run the change with internal employees. I've seen this before. The CM writes all the plans for change, communication and training and the business you're working for starts seeing you as an expense that can be done without. After all…any idiot can follow a plan.

Three or four months before go-live the client realises that the in-house change management was so what lacking and hires someone like me back to clean up the mess.

This is the nature of contracting and consulting.

This is all well and good when the market is buoyant, but when the job market is in favour of the employer, as it is now, it's on the sucky end of the scale.

In recent days I have been applying for change management roles that have had more than 100 applicants. In the last two week I've had time wasting agent interviews with only two agents.

Will work for tips.

A Memory

Despite the band splitting up before I was born, I grew up listening to The Monkees. Muv was just a teenager when they were at the height of their fame and she continued to pass her love for them on in the years that followed.

One of the few programs I remember from childhood is the Monkees.

In 1988, when I was 15, The Monkees came to the UK for a short concert tour. Micky, Peter (the one with the hat) and Davey where there. Michael was absent after a falling out with the band some years earlier.

Despite living in Chichester we drove to Bournemouth to see then. I was very excited, it was only the second concert I’d been to, Howard Jones was the first. The trip between Chichester and Bournemouth is 48 miles (or 77km). We hit the back of traffic queue about 15 miles outside Chichester.

‘Do you think the queue is for the concert.’

I was young and innocent.

Muv laughed about it for years.

I still listen to The Monkees, usually when I’m cleaning or gardening. Their upbeat sound has always been a energiser for me. I know they haven’t produced any new music for a while, but Davy Jones made his mark on the music industry.

A boy from Manchester who made another musical David Jones change his name to David Bowie.

He gave us the outstanding ‘Daydream Believer’ and ‘A little bit me, A little bit you’ and ‘Randy Scouse Git’

You knew you were short, we all knew you were short, but that didn’t stop us from loving you.

May you Rest in Peace Mr. Davy Jones
1945 - 2012

A Few Hours of Firsts - Part One

This time last week I wasn’t feeling the love for the day. I felt sluggish and generally blah. I couldn't put my finger on what it was so I figured it was just my intense dislike of going into the city for work, or even, this particular role. Either way, I had a doctor’s appointment were I knew I'd be required to give several samples that could help pinpoint the problem if it was physical.

Now comes a warning: this entry will be an over share on medical things. Stop reading now if you are of a delicate disposition.

The doctor’s appointment turned up nought. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I was poked, prodded and pricked as usual.

I went to work. Still didn't feel fabulous but now I knew it was in my head. I could cope with that so I made the best of my day. It ended up being quite productive, but as the day wore on, the feeling of listlessness increased.

Once home for the night I got all my chores out of the way early. I had a light evening meal and settled down with Cara and the laptop for a little Facebook time.

About 10 I was ready for bed, early for me, as I stood up I felt a sharp pain shoot from my right, lower back down to my groin. I'd felt pain like this before. It had been a couple of months before when I had a kidney cyst bleed. I knew the next half an hour was going to be extremely unpleasant. I was right.

The pain in my right built up and settled. The dull, thick, thudding, pain that comes after a heavy blow. It got louder. I could hear it pounding in my ears. I sat down, stood up, paced a bit. Then started the cycle again.

The pain spread across my back to my spine and beyond. Nothing I did could get me into a comfortable position. At one point I was on all fours with my arse in the air. If I'd had company they may have taken it as an invitation.

At one o'clock I decided a warm bath would do the trick. It did. For about 30 seconds. Then I could feel it again. Spreading across my back, sneaking around to the front and spreading fingers down across my pubis.

The cats were freaked. Cara was freaked and hiding on the bed like she'd been scolded. She'd done nothing wrong, but Mum was pacing the house rubbing her back and side and muttering, 'fu*k, fu*k, farrk' under her breath.

At one forty five in the morning, I dialled '000'.

'Please state the nature of your emergency.'

I explained and continued pacing while I waited. Somewhere in there I unlocked the front door and put a jumper by the door. I didn't need it then, after all I was sweating the sweat of a fevered fellow.

The Ambulance arrived about 10 minutes after I'd called. They asked me to sit down, I declined and explained why, they took me out the the flashing lights outside. As I closed the door I was left with the vision of terrified puppy eyes.

FIRST #1: Ambulance ride as a patient.

The journey was less than smooth, not because of the driving, that was great. The painkillers they tried to give me smelled so sickly sweet it made me vomit, which made me pee a little, which caused a few tears, which in turn commenced the apologies. It's a chain reaction. I know they see this and much worse every day, but I still felt I needed to acknowledge my humble thanks to them saving me.

I threw up all the way to the hospital. By the time I got there I was wearing wet pyjama bottoms and I had well and truly started tumbling down the shame spiral. For no other reason than I was a 39 year old who wet her pants while vomiting.

My blood pressure on entry to the hospital was 149/111. Trust me, if you know nothing about blood pressure, that isn’t good.

The nurse told me off for leaving it so long before calling an ambulance because I was close to ‘stroking out’.

I was put in a ‘sub-acute’ room and given two Panadol.

A Few Hours of Firsts - Part Two

I brought the Panadol back up about ten minutes after I’d taken them, just enough time for them to dissolve and cause acid burning on the return journey. The doctor hadn’t seen me yet so they couldn’t give me anything stronger. I was still pacing.

‘On a scale of one to ten, what your pain level?’

‘Ohh..about a twelve.’

After an hour, the doctor came in. He asked me how the pain in my tummy was. I corrected him, politely. Considering the discomfort I was in I was remarkably calm and polite, but then it doesn’t pay to p*ss off the doctor on duty.

He asked, ‘do you have a history of kidney stones?’

‘Nooo....’

‘Your symptoms are classic kidney stone. We need to get some pain medication into you.’

I didn’t say it, but my head screamed ‘No shi*t, Sherlock!’

‘I’ll come back and get a canular into you’ He did come back and proceeded to stuff it up. He hurt me for no reason.

A nurse came back and tried again. My blood pressure was so high that when she stuck the needle in it was like a scene from Scream. There was blood on my pjs, the floor the chair and her. The pain from my kidneys was refocused to the back of my left hand. But it went in and shortly afterwards 10mg of morphine was wending it’s way up my arm. I could feel it. And I’m pretty sure it showed on my face. If I ever had to portray a heroin addict in a Hollywood blockbuster, now I could. My first drugs, ever. Not counting booze.

FIRST #2: Class A drugs

Twenty minutes later, ‘On a scale of one to ten, what your pain level?’

‘About a 5.’

‘To ensure I’m giving the drugs to the right person, what’s your name?’

‘Clarissa Dalloway.’ The look on the nurses face was priceless, she clearly didn’t get, a)the literary reference or, b)the party reference. I quickly gave her my real full name and she relaxed.

‘For someone in so much pain, you’ve sure kept your sense of humour.’

‘Laugh or cry, laugh or cry. It’s pretty simple really.’

10mg more. Once again I could feel the cool travelling up my arm, this time the pain went down to zero.

Over the course of the next six hours I had my blood pressure checked, I had a thermometer stuck in my ear and I continued vomiting. I also had another 15mg of the good stuff. By this time there was only the lining of my stomach to come up and I was still sitting in my pee soaked pants. I was ‘nil by mouth’ so not even water was coming up, just bile past the Panadol burn of earlier. No one had any chewing gum.

I fell in a drug induced sleep between pokes and prods.

I relented and changed into a hospital gown.

I was taken to a CT scan in the morning. I was still vomity and still being given morphine for the pain. I was told, ‘some people just can’t handle the drugs.’ I was pleased to know that I’d be a rubbish addict, but less than please to know that I would continue to feel nausea and the resulting retching until the pain was gone.

FIRST #3: CT Scan

After the scan I was return to my room, after throwing up and wetting myself again. Having a canular in the back of my hand restricted my pacing ability when the pain returned, as it did as soon as I moved or threw up.

Dr. Chong, a resident in Urology came to see me with the CT results.

‘You have three kidney stones. Two in the right, and one in the left. The one in the ureter (the pipe between the kidney and bladder) is the one causes all the problems. It’s stuck. We need to loosen up your muscles so they relax.’

I asked to see the scans. So i wheeled my fluids bags out to the desk where the computer was and had a look. Dr. Chong thought it was hilarious that I wanted to see.

I wanted to see the little bugger that was causing all the problems. A tiny white dot on a screen or black and grey.

FIRST #4: kidney stones

I’m the first to admit that I generally like stones. The Rolling Stones, the shiny white one you use in your garden to stop weeds, the flat type that skim across the water and bounce when thrown, just right, even the little ones that get caught in your shoe and give you a clippity cloppy sound when you walk. I’m not a fan of Kidney Stones.

A Few Hours of Firsts - Part Three

FIRST #5: I was admitted to hospital.

Tuesday was pretty much a write off. I dozed in a morphine induced stupor. I was woken only for my blood pressure and temperature checks.

I do remember throwing up when one of the nurses came to introduce herself to me. I apologised for that later.

Dinner was delivered, despite a big, red, NBM sign hanging from my bed. The smell taunted me, and brought on waves of nausea, but didn’t bring anything up. I was very glad when it was removed.

At 8.15 the lights were turned out. I vividly recall making a comment about being on a ward for 12 year olds and the Sri Lankan lady opposite giving a belly laugh. The weird thing was, they then left on the bathroom light that lit up the whole ward. They also continued to visit us with pills, arm cuffs for BP and ear thermometers.

About 9.30 a nurse came to check my vitals again and put the cuff on the same arm as my hand canular. Bearing in mind that I was still on IV fluids, she pumped the cuff up to get a reading...as it filled with air I could feel the pressure in the back of my hand building. Just as it released it pressure on my arm I was about to swear at the nurse to ‘get the fu*king thing off me’, she was spared by a fraction of a second.

The following morning she did the same thing at 0515.

I requested nicely that she use the other arm. She apologised and moved to the right.
By now all my dignity had deserted me, so it wasn’t an issue that I had to let the nurses know when I needed to pee. They had the strain it to see if there was anything in it. After my nine am constitutional the nurse came back and rattled a pot at me.

‘It’s out!’

‘Squeeeeeeeee’. I was very excited. It meant I didn’t have to have a stent put in. That sounded really nasty.

This meant I could go home. Yeah!

A 3mm ball of calcium deposit caused so many problems in a short amount of time and so much elation in even less.

FIRST #6: Passed kidney stones

Bumbershoot

I don’t mind the rain in Australia, because it is rarely accompanied with a biting wind.  We’ve had a very wet Summer and it looks set to continue.  We have had a few sunny days, but they have been extremely humid due to the amount of moisture in the ground. 
 
Monday was a good example of such a day.  31 degree in the city with 92% humidity.  It was like wading through soup, if wading through soup meant it would be difficult to breath, your skin would feel clammy and you smells really bad at the end of the day.
 
Tuesday brought with it, a shift in the winds, from North Westerly’s to south easterly, bringing a cool change.  It’s been less than 20 degree for the last couple of days, with persistent rain, but it isn’t, by any means cold.
 
When it not cold, I try to avoid wearing a coat.  It makes me feel hot.  So to avoid getting wet I  stick close to building and under canopies where I can.  Unfortunately, others of the human species do not share my desire to have one less thing to carry. 
 
And the umbrellas come out in force.
 
All shapes, sizes, colours and states of repair.
 
Today, I saw a woman walking along under two thirds of a brolly.  It was basically three metal spikes and a tiny piece of fabric clinging for dear life to the remaining three disguised spikes.  It couldn’t have just happened, because it isn’t windy and the rain is coming down straight.  How long had it been getting to this stage.  Surely a few well place stitches and it would be as good as new?
 
One woman of extremely small stature had an umbrella as wide as she was tall.  She was wielding it like a weapon.  She had it resting on her left shoulder and as she walked the pedestrians parted like the Red Sea.  They had no choice.  At one point she was waiting for the traffic lights to change, she turned to look at the oncoming cars, as she turned (not just her head) the massive awning swung with her and pushed another lady into the road from behind.  It just swept her up.  The owner was completely oblivious.
 
I’m not a huge fan of umbrellas.  When they were small fashion accessories, called parasols, that a lady took to picnics in the park and to the races to protect their delicate English skin from the sun and the inappropriate advances of gentleman.  They had an elegance and grace about them.  There were used when stationery, when leisurely walking with a suitor they would be space around, Ladies never hurry anywhere.
 
Now, in an age where people rarely give consideration to their fellow man or woman and are nearly always in a rush, they are yet another peril to watch out for.

How funny!?

I’ve been told I’m funny.  Maybe it’s because I can’t contain all that I am in a tiny body I have had to over compensate my whole life but making people laugh.
 
‘She’s got a great personality’.
 
I sure this has been used to describe me when friends have told potential suitors about my pear shape.  In the words of the great Ricky Gervais, ‘I consume more calories than I burn off’, but not massively so, I like to say I’m buxom or cuddly.   This had lead me though, to be reliant on my bubbly self to get ahead in life when it comes to friendships and love.
 
A few years ago, I was working in North Sydney and on a whim, I decided to do a short course under the disguise of ‘continuing professional development’.  Stand-up Comedy.
 
For two Saturdays, I went along and I learnt to write material, then I performed seven minutes of stand-up.  I think it well.  But I didn’t do it again.
 
A couple of years passed.  A friend that had attended my first and only performance, was still so fired up about it that she went off to do a course in Melbourne.  She spent a whole week in Melbourne.  I say she deserve kudos, just for that.  Anyway, she came back and started signing up for open mics and badgering me to start again. 
 
‘Be my comedy buddy!’
 
I caved.  My first (or second if you count the one in 2009) open-mic is on 29th February.  A day that happens only once in every four years.  Unfortunately for you lot, my comedy isn’t something that is a rare occurrence.
 

Use by Date

This year I’ll be 40. The big four ohh.

It’s still a few months away, but some seem to think this is my last year to do the things I set my sights on earlier in life. I actually had someone I considered to be a friend tell me, ‘you need to find yourself a man this year, or you’ll never get one.’ I haven’t spoken to her for a while. I never have and never will define my self worth by my relationship status.

In an article I read the other day, the author thought 35 was her ‘cut off’ date. Her article annoyed me a bit.

As I was reading it I realised I have achieved many things in the last five years, post 35, some that were never on my ‘to-do-list’ of life. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the first 34 years were uneventful, but the last five have been a rollercoaster when you condense the thing I’ve done.

I’m thankful for my age and I have no problem with the clicking over of the time piece into the forth decade. I shall continue along my current path of near crimpling debt, having adventure when I can and towards a change of career. Age is a mere number to be ignored. Apart from mild stiffness in the joints when I get up in the morning I feel better now than I did when I was 18.

I’ve actually matured, rather than behave in a manner I believed a mature would behave in. I was falsely mature.

I tut tutted at the idea of Muv smoking a joint.
I never drank to excess, except by accident at Jan’s birthday party when I ate a whole Vodka jelly
I never wore belts masquerading as skirts because I thought I didn’t have the body for it, now I really don’t have the body for it and I accept that.
I refused to jump walls when I could use the gate, not the gate is just a bit too far away

Make the judgement call. Are you not doing something because you think ‘I’m too old to behave like or do that.’ Or are you not doing the things you want to do because you are physically unable to do them.

I’m not too old to a photographer at music concerts...with ear plugs, I’m making that happen
I’m not too old to start stand-up comedy again (done it once before)... I’m going to start again (thanks CP)
I’m not too old get out of an office environment...I’ve got the qualification, so I’m working on making that happen

I say bring on the next decade. Bring on the challenges. I’m not a yoghurt, no use by date here.

Moggies and Mongrels

Yesterday I went to the Opera House with Cara to take part in a photo opportunity for Oscar’s Law. The founder Debra Tranter was visiting from her home in Melbourne, so it was a great chance to meet her and little Oscar, the dog that started it all.

It was lovely to meet a woman so passionate about her dog that she endured a little hard time to save him. (You can read more about Oscar and his Law, here).

Debra Tranter and Oscar

I’ve always been a fan of animals. I have a few myself, that I consider to be my family. This week when I didn’t get paid due to an office snafu, I brought food for them, before myself. Some may say this was daft, but then those people don’t know me very well, and it’s unlikely they ever will because they clearly aren’t ‘my sort of people’. Everyone of the people I met yesterday would buy food for the pets before themselves in a pinch.

The premise behind Oscar’s Law is stopping the sale of live companion animals (puppy and kittens) in pet shops and ban puppy farms. This in turn will reduce the amount of impulse buys and animals being put down in shelters. It will stop unethical and cruel breeding practices of breeders out to make a buck or several.

Reducing the number of animals bred, could also, have an impact of problems such as the kidnap and murder of little Lilly. Without impulse buying people would be able to do their research between choosing a puppy after seeing it with its mother and picking it up, and therefore know exactly what they are getting into. Up to twenty years with a family member that never matures beyond that of a six year old human. You can’t leave them alone with no stimulus, and they need exercise.

In Australia, 250,000 companion animals are put to sleep per annum in a country with a population of 22 million people. Compare that with the UK that has a population of 59 million people that enthuses about 36,000 per annum. In Australia, you are nine times more likely to know an animal that is put down than those in the UK (any statisticians or maths whizzes out there, I’m happy for you to check my sums ;-). It’s a horrifying number.

I’m not unrealistic, I know that this will never disappear. I acknowledge there will always be a place in society for pounds, but the volume of our four legged friends passing through them can surely be reduced significantly.

This time of year is the busiest for pounds. Those Christmas presents are starting to grow. With children and parents away from home most of the day, now they’ve gone back to school and work, the bored pets are starting to chew shoes, walls and sofas. They are pooping where they shouldn’t because they haven’t been out of the back yard for a week and energy levels have soared to the point where they’re jumping out of the poorly secured garden. They are barking all night because they are alone and frightened. These pets end up in the pound where they are enthused, because they are unwanted.

What you can do to help out our furry friends:
· Visit Oscar’s Laws and sign the petition
· Foster an animal if you can, it gives them a better chance of finding a new home.
· If you can’t foster donate to those that can. It doesn’t have to be cash, put a couple of cans of food in your shopping trolley each week and give that.
· If you plan on adding a pet to your household; Adopt. Don’t Shop. There are always plenty of animals just crying out for a loving home in the pounds and they aren’t all moggies and mongrels. My Cara is a pure bred Chihuahua, with a little time and effort you can find exactly what you’re looking for and help to save a live.

Read and be outraged. Word of mouth is the best way to pass the message that it isn’t ‘just’ an animal, that they are sentient beings that feel pain, love and abandon.