An odd question

I’ve come to the conclusion that some people have a strange notion of morality.

Today I was asked while making myself a cup of tea, ‘What would do if you found out a disabled child had Cara?’

Everyone in the office knows I'm looking for my dog and often it's used as a conversation starter. You know the sort, 'how was your weekend?' 'have you found your dog yet?' etc.

Today it was about my ethics.

It was easy to answer, ‘I’d take her back and give the parents a bollocking for teaching their child it's ok to take something that isn't theirs’.

The woman that asked me the question is the mother of an autistic child and thought it was awful that I would deprive the child of a loved pet and have the nerve to talk to the parents about how to raise their child.

I tried to explain that had the parents done the right thing in the first place the child would not have had time to get attached to the pet and therefore would not be suffering with her being returned to her rightful owner.

The woman remained adamant that I was in the wrong.

So I asked her. ‘What would you do if someone took your child and didn’t return it, and it become the companion to a child in the new house, what would you do?

‘I’d take my child back.’ She replied.

‘My point exactly.’

‘Oh, it’s not the same’, she said, ‘It’s just a dog.’

At that point I turned to walk away, but she called me back and said, ‘You treat your animals too much like they are human.’

All I could say as I walked away again, was, ‘at least animals aren’t arseholes’.

I don’t think she’ll be speaking to me in the kitchen anymore ;)

How would you feel?

Would you take an idling car home and look after it? Or would you leave it be or maybe keep an eye on it for a while to make sure it wasn't stolen?

If you found a child wandering in a park would you take it home and keep it for yourself? Or would you try and find the parents and if not able to find them call the police?

Would you pick up a stray dog, take it home and not tell anyone?

The chances are you answered with a solution to the first two questions and maybe or yes to the third.

If you don't take the dog to the vet or call the local dog catcher (every council has one) to see if there is a microchip present, you could be keeping someone's child.

There are many excuses for animals not being handed in when found but here are a couple of the more common ones. I'd like to set the record straight on a couple:

1. It's just a stray dog I found. So I'll give it a good home.

Yes, it may well be a stray in need of a warm bed, good food and a human to love, but it may also be a beloved pet with all those things waiting at home. It's family may be fretting about the whereabouts after it freaked out for some reason (storm, fireworks etc.) and somehow got out of the usually secure house/garden. The dog you're 'caring for' may be looking at you and thinking, 'I just want to go home'. Dogs have a knack for escaping seemly inescapable places when frightened.

2. If I hand it in, it will be euthanised.

A stray is given at least two weeks to be found by its owners. If the animal is micro-chipped (and many are these days) it's likely that they will find each other very quickly and pet and human will be very grateful to you, they may even give you a reward. As the finder you can tell the pound/dog catcher you'll adopt if the owners aren't found so as to avoid the animal being put to sleep. Give it a chance to find it's family first though.

3. I'm afraid I'll get into trouble if I hand the animal in, I kept it over the weekend.

It's highly unlikely you'll get into trouble for looking after a dog over a weekend. If you keep the dog for weeks or months before handing it, then maybe you will, maybe you won't. It's a chance you take. Best to hand any animals you find in straight away with the offer to continue care should they not be reclaimed.

4. How do I know the dog or cat is micro-chipped?

You take it to the local vet and they will scan it for you free of charge. If you can’t get to the vet, call the local dog catcher, they will come to you.

Think about how you'd feel if a loved one went missing and you didn't know what had become of them. Would you worry day and night if they were dead or alive and safe?
Would you try and find them by any means possible?
Would you sleep well at night?

If you have an animal that you found, please take it to a vet to find out if there is someone doing and wondering all of the above.

How much money?

Last night Oz Lotto had a $74 million jackpot after rolling over from fifty million last week. I felt I had to donate to the prize pool, after all, you have to be in it, to win it.


Today there was an article in the paper with the headline, ‘Would $70million make you happy?’

My immediate response was ‘hell ya!’

One of the comments said ‘It’s not the money that makes you happy, it’s how you spend it.’ I agree with this and I have to say, I would have much fun spending it.

One of the first things I’d do is buy the house in Spain that Muv built. Then I’d repair it and get rid of any beige feature walls. I would also purchase myself a modest terrace within walking distance of Sydney. I’d also pay off all my debts (with interest to those that aren’t charging it).

Then I’d travel, see the world and help out communities that needed it. I’d teach in African villages (but not maths), I’d help out in wildlife conservation areas and more than likely become known as that lottery winner that loves cats and dog more than people.

So yeah, I think I could be very happy with $70 million burning a hole in my bank account.

No more public transport with sniffy, snot sounds in my ears.
No more having to get up and go to a job I hate.
No more renting for a landlord that will do anything to save a few dollars but end up spending more in the long run.
And most of all, no more worrying about money.

I’d like not to have to worry about money.

Helpdesk

I've been contracting for most of my career. I've had many contracts lasting a varied amount of time in a variety of industries, towns and countries.

I've worked for and with some amazing people that I admire and have made lasting friendships. As well as power hungry men and women who'd sacrifice their first born for a promotion.

I've gone from being a novice computer user using a VAX machine to PCs and Microsoft Word 3. I built my MS Word knowledge up to become an expert user and fell back to being a beginner when they brought in Ribbon menus.

I've had desks with a view overlooking Sydney Harbour and desks facing a corner giving me that 'I've been naughty' feeling. Hotdesks make me feel temporary and make me feel uneasy. Chairs have varied too...arms and no arms, straight back to a permanent falling off the back sensation.

I've worked with small teams and large teams. Small companies run by Ma and Pa to large multi-nationals in high rises.

I've travelled states, countries and the world for work, by trains, planes and automobiles, the latter being my favourite mode of transport.

I've met many people along the way in my career and worked with many technologies. Every single contract has been different in so many ways. These opportunities have given me so much to take away and learn from.

That said they all have one thing in common. Helpdesk has been the first additional folder in every single email program I've had, be it Outlook or Lotus Notes or that archaic green screen thing I had in VAX. The first email I've every had to keep has been a IT Helpdesk request number.

Technology. Fantastic, when it works.

Crack in the Facade

Yesterday I had an odd day.

I woke feeling rested for the first time in a couple of weeks. I showered, dressed, sorted out the fur and feathers and even caught the train I was aiming for. The sun was shining.

Not long after the train had pulled away from the platform I felt the sting of a tear in my eye. I willed it away becasue I couldn't figure out why it felt like it was needed. There were no sad movies to be seen, no songs of regret pumping through my headphones. I was listening to Sander van Doorn to continue the positive mood I was in.

The tears pricked until they spilled over and started to run down my cheeks. I descreetly wiped them away.

I looked in my bag for a tissue. Sniffing season hasn't yet started so I don't have any. Damn.

I used my sleeve. Very twelve year old.

Then the nose started to go.

The train was packed and I was sat in the fixed seat that faces another. The lady sat in the seat opposite was watching me with interest but she made no move to offer a tissue or even an encouraging smile. Our knees where touching, maybe she felt that was comfort enough.

I could feel choking coming on as we sat at a station with the door open. I jumped for my seat, over the person between me and the aisle and out onto the platform. A large suck of air, pushed the lump in my throat back down.

I walked along the platform, expecting the doors to close, but they didn't. I found a seat a couple of carriages away from where I'd started and resumed my trip into work, feeling slightly confused but more composed.

The tears started again. That reprieve had been short.

What was going on to cause this...breakdown?

I thought about Cara. I thought about my job situation, my home life, my loneliness, sickness, the things I do because I'm on my own, things I don't do because I'm on my own. The last few years in general and how I've been breathing through the stress, the pain and worry for nearly four years, with little or no physical support.

Yes, I acknowledge there have been good times in there, but I can tell you that rough and tough times FAR outweighed good.

Whilst I have regular contact with many folks online (both here and aboard), no amount of wishful thoughts, air hugs and kisses and kindly, supportive words in a message will ever make up for an actual hug and a jolly good chat over a glass of wine.

I know there are some that ask how I fit everything I do into my life. I make it fit to prevent myself doing myself harm. Yes I mean that. Given too much time to think I eventually come back to 'why bother?'

Yesterday when I broke, the doctor wanted me to go to the hospital for evalution and assitance for my nervous or mental breakdown. I managed to convince her that I wouldn't self harm and I mean it. I think it, I know there are people out there that would, but not I. When thinking about how, I come around to who'd find me, who'd have to deal with my lack of will, who have to tell what family I have left that still speaks to me (family weirdness) and ultimately who'd have to do the washing up. So it always come back to thinking of others.

I acknowledge that I need help, professional help. I also need to make lifestyle changes and I need to have someone in my life that can call me when they want too and vice versa. Someone that I can exchange hugs with. Someone that isn't going to tell me to 'get over it' and most of all I need a human in my life that isn't surprised when they see me cry and even better if they can say, 'You're beautiful', when I do.

This won't solve the problem, but it with sure as hell will make putting together IKEA shelves easier.

Stages of Grief and Loss

We can all expect to experience grief or feelings of loss for something or someone at some point in our lives. Chances are you already have. A close family member, a relationship, a job that unexpectedly left you wondering what to do next or even a favorite tool that went poof followed by the faint smell of burning rubber.

Regardless of the loss you will experience the various stages of loss and grief.

There are no rules as to how long we experience each stage, just as there are no rules how long the overall process takes. We may pass through them quickly, hours or days or it may take longer, months or years, even the rest of your life.

Just as there are no rules as to the length of time it takes, there are also no rules about the order. They may even happen all at once.

I recently have experienced a rapid transition through the first four stages, with the first three happening concurrently and the forth settling in for the duration;
• Shock and Denial
• Pain and Guilt
• Anger
• Depression

Shock and Denial comes in that moment when you realize you’ve lost someone or something.

A phone call, a hand on yours over the bed, no response to your calls, the moment you hear the poof and smell that smell.

No matter if you where expecting it or not. You’ll still feel the moment of shock or numb disbelief, that is immediately followed with a ‘No’

Shock is usually followed by Guilt and Pain. It will come in the form of self-blame. If only I’d taken more notice, if only I’d acted sooner, if only I’d taken her with me, if only I’d had it serviced…if only if only.

These losses are rarely your fault, but our nature is to blame ourselves, if only for a short time. Although these feelings can be excruciating and unbearable, it is important to resist chemical assistance, such as prescription medication, illegal drugs and certainly alcohol, despite your desire to drown your sorrows.

It will seem as if life has no way to continue at this time.

This Pain and Guilt gives way to Anger. You may lash out at those that love you, blame people for the loss that were only trying to help. Blame others, yourself or even the lost.

The doctors failed to spot the problem. If only they had started treatment earlier. If only you hadn’t stopped for that ice-cream. If someone is ‘caring’ for her when they should have taken her to the vet, if I find that person, well, I won’t be responsible…

This is a time to seek assistance from a professional, as your emotions may not control whom you lash out at, and permanent damage may be done to familial relationships or close friendships.

You may come down from Anger and going straight in Depression or you may flip-flop between guilt and anger for a while before the Depression and Loneliness hits you.

This time will be marred with the ‘I wish’ sentiment and times of reflection. I wish I could have stayed a moment longer. I wish I had told her I love her more. The bed is so big now. I wish I’d had the name and number tag made sooner.

Self-isolation is common now and it’s important you aren’t talked out of these periods by well meaning friends and family. This is an important time for you to reflect on the gravity of the loss you have experienced.

After a time, and Depression can be the longest stage, you’ll start to look forward to life again. Once again you’ll have Hope. The hope will seep into the gaps between the sad, reflective moments and you’ll find yourself thinking, ‘This will end’.

You’ll never forget but life will go on. While the new Bosh drill doesn’t have the same heft as the old one, it still drills holes and takes that labour out of screwing things together.

You’ll miss your loved one but you’ll always have the memories you shared together.

She will come home to me.

I’m currently sitting between Anger and Depression and Loneliness. Cara went missing on the 1st April during the thunder. I have done all that I can and can afford to at this time.

My friends have helped me negotiate Guilt by telling me I did nothing wrong. And the power of social media is helping me find her along with posters, letterbox drops, door knocks and tweeting.

The thought however that someone is ‘caring’ for her because she’s cute, fills me with rage, however. There is no conclusion to this part of the tale.

Grief. We all experience it at some point in our lives. Some experience early in life with the passing of a beloved pet, others are older the first time. For some it is fleeting, others it is everlasting. It won’t make you stronger but it will help you process all that life throws at you. Because as much as I joke about my Dad’s favourite saying, it’s true: We are born, we do suffer and we do die. And if we get to experience love, happiness and loss along the way we are indeed, very lucky.

Footnote: This is a speech I have written as an assignment for Toastmasters.

Notoriety

In 1968 Andy Warhol said, ‘In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.’ This saying has now become legend and part of everybody’s dream as they grow up.

A famous doctor, movie star, chef, dog whisper, artist or writer. It may be a competition win, treatment of a special case, being so good at what you do you just happen to get your own show or, as in my case, you answer an advert because you think you might be able to do something.

A few weeks ago I responded to an advert by a Talent Agency that was looking for ‘new faces’. Why not, I thought, what have I got to lose?

Two weeks after registering I got a call, ‘Would you like to play QC in the new big law production by the RST?’

‘Yeah, why not, I can do those dates’.

Thursday was Day One. I had to take three suits and low-key jewelry and be there at 0745.

There was a bit of waiting around, then I was called into the courtroom with 20 other extras. I was front row, centre General Public. For three hours I watched a guy ‘Matt’, push his way to his seat next to ‘Bernie’, over and over again then listen to a ‘barrister’ grill the ‘bad guy’. I must have seen it 20 times, seen cameras move position, make-up refreshed, lights moved and blooper reel classics. Not once did I get bored.

Lunch was provided and it was amazing. The catering guys were culinary genius!

In the afternoon I got pulled out of General Public and put in a seat next to the ‘Barrister’ to be ‘Solicitor that leans in’

Yes…’Solicitor that leans in’!

I shall henceforth be known as iLean.

I spent the afternoon sitting in an extremely uncomfortable chair that was too tall for my short legs next to ‘Tanya’, pretending to scribe the entire scene while leaning the prop folder and notepad on my knees.

In total about eight minutes of the programme was film in over ten hours of filming. It's hard work, and people who partake of this form of employment full time make it look easy and deserve the compensations they receive.

It’s entirely possible I’ll end up on the cutting room floor. But I may, just may, get my first few minutes of fame.

Happy Birthday

Yesterday would have been Muv’s 59th birthday. We would have likely gone for a Doris in the afternoon, seeing as it was Sunday, had afternoon tea at her favourite garden centre before taking the dog for a walk.

I had afternoon tea in my garden and I did some gardening. I didn’t take my dog for a walk, she was too busy eating a chicken bit she’d dug up from the freshly turned veggie patch. Muv would have approved.

I think about Muv a lot on her birthday. It’s only natural I guess. It was the one day of the year that she truly loved and looked forward to. She didn’t like the rapidly approaching six ohh number, but she was realistic about it, and being the vibrant person she was, she laughed it off. Often I’d just tell her how old I would be next birthday, she’d roll her eyes and say, ‘stop it’. Sometimes she'd share how she felt turning that age. I remember when she turned 40.

For the last few years, since her death I have purchased sunflowers on her birthday and, using her urn as a vase, remembered her and celebrated her life with the flowers she held so dear. This year due to job and financial status, the flowers will have to wait, hopefully just a couple of weeks, but she’ll get her sunflowers. Their smiling faces looking out at me as I work and potter in the kitchen. I think I’ll plant some in the garden next spring.

What would she have though about being 59? She’d have hated it, but she’d have embraced it. Had fun with it and maybe had an extra G’n’T, becasue it was her birthday :-)

Happy Birthday Muv.

In Goolwa SA - August 2002

Beef

I brought some beef mince from the butcher this morning. I put it in the fridge as soon as I got home.

I gave some to the cats and the dog. I used the rest in a bolognese mix, Some of which I had for dinner with bread and butter.

Two of the cats have thrown it up, and I have chronic wind. I fear things don't bode well for a restful night.

Still Going

I’ve been working hard for the last few weeks, but I have failed to earn a single dollar.

I’ve completed a Funeral Celebrants course and started speaking with and visiting Funeral Directors in order to actually start performing funeral ceremonies and start earning cash. I’ve also gatecrashed a few to see how they go.

I have secured a job as a bus driver, through attendance of an open evening and two interviews, but it doesn’t start until 16th April.

I’ve been taking photographs like crazy (Jurassic Lounge, Street Fashion, comedy gigs) to try and get someone to want me to do a paid gig…naddar, nothing, zilch. I’ve raised awareness of my photography with my Facebook page. Loads of pavement pounding and conversations.

I’ve built up two Facebook pages to help build my celebrancy business and FC Images.

I’ve been to four interviews but I have yet to hear whether I’ve got the job., for any of them. Is no news good news?

I've been told I'm over qualified by Bunnings, coffee shops, cleaning firms, State Transit and a major supermarket chain.

Brock Talent Management have taken me onto their books and I’ve secured an extra gig to play either a barrister or a QC in an ABC drama. Unlikely that I’ll get paid for four to six weeks after the gig.

I’ve been trawling the internet and papers daily for job openings…private company sites, job boards, newspapers (local and national). I’ve applied for over 60 roles. Roles that fit my background exactly, roles that loosely fit, and roles completely left of centre. Each application has had a unique cover letter and CV tweak.

Tupperware now has me on the books as a Party Demonstrator. I can feel IQ points leaking from my ears at each ‘training’ session I attend, but you have to go to them.

Still not a penny inward, lots out though. At this point I’d like to thank GB and LK for helping me out with my rent.

This financial situation needs to change very soon before I become homeless, penniless and so despondent that I lose the energy and ability to continue this pursuit of employment. I’m having days and bad days.

For now though, the pursuit continues. Wish me luck!

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.

Bring it on!

Reading the paper today I came across a story about an App (Grindr) being hacked for all it's user data.

I didn't get past that the part were it mentioned the hetro equivalent. Awesome!

Now commences the year of me. five minutes after signing up I had 12 emails :-)