My little adventure…

Yesterday I had a short ride in an ambulance as my chest infection mounted a coup against my body.

I couldn’t stay awake.

I had a nap on the floor on the way back from the bathroom to my bed.

When a friend came over my eyes were fluttering and rolling in a very unsexy manner.

An ambulance was called for and off I went to the local hospital.

The eye rolling thingy was classified as mini seizures and that’s how my hospital visit started.

I was placed in cubicle 1. For those of you who didn’t know 1 is loneliest number.

(2 it has been said can be as bad as 1 but number 1 is still the loneliest.)

I digress.

I arrived at 2pm and by 7pm I was seen by a doctor.

In the meantime I was adequately cared for by a seriously lovely nurse.

Every time she went into cubicle 2 to attend to the elderly lady there she was asked where she was from.

She was from Hong Kong. The lady in the cubicle had been to Malaysia. So she told the same stories about her time in Malaysia everyone her obs were taken.

If you ever have the time I will tell you the story about Malaysia, or her son in the outback of New South Wales who she didn’t want to worry or the story about her daughter shot down on an Ansett flight.

I know them all.

Back to me.

My blood tests were normal, my heart rate and blood pressure were fine and I scored an A+ on the bed pan test.

But my eyes were still stealing the show.

The doctor (a lovely young lass) did some tests and at 9:30 decided I could go home because I was feeling much better.

My husband arrived to pick me up and the doctor has been over ruled by people who I never met and it’s decided I should be admitted to the Neurology ward.

I agreed to stay but it was all a sneaky ruse.

I was transferred to another bed in the emergency department while waiting to go up to the ward.

Except nobody came to admit me so I stayed there all night.

I fell asleep around 2am and was woken for a chest x-Ray at 3:30am.

I saw someone from the Neurology team around 8:30am and was home in bed with pastries and donuts from the really yummy bakery at 10am.

So here’s what I learned:

– Sometimes when they call a Code Grey it means that there’s a naked man running around the Emergency Department and they need security.
– Sometimes people who weren’t do anything wrong at home except arguing with their mum get capsicum sprayed by Police when they resist arrest and end up opposite patients with chest infections at 11:35pm.
– In an attempt to ignore the crazed man in full restraints the two police officers spoke at length about DIY crafts including shells, small canvases and craft glue from $2 shops.
– They have special heaters just for blankets. I wondered what would happen if I filled it with hot jam donuts.
– They still make egg sandwiches. I have still never eaten one.
– The staff work terribly hard under fairly crappy (often literally) conditions with grace and humour.

But my favourite part was when the first nurse went to get me a drink of water and apologised because the ice machine had become violent.

As if we don’t all have enough on our plates without ice machines turning violent.


Low flame blessings…

Next time I say I wish I could sleep for a week I’ll preface it by saying without a chest infection and pulled muscle.

I’ve coughed up the equivalent of Slimer from the Ghost Busters movies.

As the saying goes there’s no business like phlegm business. Or something like that.

Too much information?

My husband stayed home to look after me today. Which was really just an excuse to get more work done at home than if he’d had to drive 2 hours to a work meeting.

I asked him to peel and grate a carrot and zucchini for the bolognese sauce. He came and showed me the carrot and zucchini after he’d sliced them into pieces and asked how he was supposed to grate them now.

This is the same man who claims his secret recipe for stir fry is mayonnaise.

I did not marry him for his cooking skills.

Which leaves me wondering if it would be in poor taste (pardon the pun) to give him a voucher for a cooking school for a Father’s Day gift.

Or is it the equivalent of the time my Dad gave my Mum a toaster for her birthday?

(They are no longer married.)

Speaking of my Mum the last time she came to visit she told me how lucky I was to have a gas cook top that could be turned down so low.

And I am lucky and I must remember that.

It’s a funny thing to be envious of but I guess we’re all blessed in different ways.

But as I write this from my sick bed I know I’m also so blessed in many other ways.

I’m blessed to have access to a good health system, clean running water and a warm bed with fresh sheets.

I know there are atrocities taking place everyday all over the world.

I sometimes wish I didn’t know.

Would it be easier to live off the grid and be ignorant of the wider world or is the desire to be ignorant worse than being ignorant in the first place?

I’m not sure.

Time to take another tablet and have another nap in my bed in my house with my wonderful gas stove that can be turned down so low.

Lucky me. xx


Last night I dreamt that I was riding my brothers yellow motor bike without a license and with no idea of how to ride a motor bike.

Please note my brother doesn’t own a yellow motor bike.

I didn’t have a bike helmet so I wore a shower cap instead.

Please note that a shower cap is a poor choice of safety head wear.

I accidentally left the motor bike on a bus and was quite upset in the dream because my brother would be angry with me.

Please note if that had happened he would have been within his rights to be angry. And who takes a motor bike on a bus anyway?

On the bus I was sitting next to one of the main female characters from Game of Thrones who in real life was a man and an identical twin.

Please note that I have never seen an episode of Game of Thrones because I’m a little bit scared of the violence and probably the nudity too.

My dream made no sense on so many levels.

But my real life doesn’t always make much more sense.

I seemed to lose hours of my day today as the kids played on iPads and I had nothing to do.

I read so many online articles that I went from stupid to wise and back again.

I have such vivid dreams that they freak me out.

Maybe it’s the meds. It must be the meds. Because they’re so real.

I would love someone to interpret them and to reassure me that I’m normal.

Well not necessarily normal but more like others than I feel sometimes.

I’m neither lost not found at the moment, just in limbo.

Like a ridiculously uncoordinated person stuck under a limbo stick with some sort of back condition.

Well there we have yet another disjointed post that goes nowhere.

You’re welcome.


Life’s not fair…

I spent some time yesterday with my 98 year old great aunt.

I was my usual inappropriate self and stole one of her chocolates that she’d won at Bingo and then reprimanded her for gambling.

I also held her hand and stroked it and talked with her about her daughter who had passed away the day before.

My great aunt is my late Granny’s sister.

We talked about all sorts of things and had a little cry too.

Life isn’t fair. I don’t think that being 98 and living in a nursing home and burying your only daughter is fair.

But that’s how it goes sometimes.

You could make a list of all the things that aren’t fair.

I think we all spend some time on the list during our lives.

Some stay on the list longer than others.

(Some think they are on the list but they are possibly lacking a little perspective about others.)

We all have moments where things aren’t fair and can’t be fixed in the short term.

I have friends that I wish I could wave a magic wand for and help them. Help pull them out from deep, dark black holes and shower them in some sunshine.

Let them know that sooner or maybe much, much later that things can get better.

But life isn’t fair.

And I have two beautiful friends/second cousins who lost the most amazing mother on Friday.

She has left a hole in their hearts that will never ever mend.

She was an elegant and proper lady from another generation.

But I will picture her most on her daughters blue couch knitting something.

She was wise in a way that I’m smart enough not to even contemplate emulating.

She was brave and sweet.

She sent me a message on Wednesday saying that she loved me.

And on Friday she got up out of her hospital bed, had a shower and went back to bed for a rest.

She’s not in pain anymore.

So that’s fair. But life isn’t.