While the Cat's Away, the Mice DID play!

Released from Henry Murray ward at the record time of ten o'clock, we launched forth out of Hollywood Hospital. On our way out, we popped our heads through the door of my friend Nina's room. She was not impressed. After knee surgery, she had been waiting for the necessary paperwork to organise her continuing antibiotics so she could go home. At high speed on her zimmer frame as she isn't allowed to weight bear for eight weeks. Naturally, there had been a delay somewhere in the system and her departure had been put off by a day. She had warned the entire hospital that any further tactics of a delaying nature would result in her shimmying down the drainpipe onto her waiting broomstick. I just hope she doesn't break the other knee.

Onwards and upwards. We had arranged to meet Callum at the leviathan that is Karrinyup Shopping Centre. By this stage, after a magnificent sunrise, the day had become wet. Again. Which meant chaos on the roads. Taking the drive very carefully indeed, we arrived at our first destination just after eleven.

Callum regaled us with his fairly torrid week. Working in hospitality is not for the faint-hearted. As a restaurant manager in a busy beach pub and venue, he is on the go for every second of every shift. And as he lives with my lovely intended daughter-in-law Bronwyn, who is a school teacher, they rarely have mutual downtime.

We enjoyed an early lunch with him. Then, whilst I was undertaking the Shop of the Century in Woolies, Michael and Callum were diverted on a Blokes' Errand, taking my recalcitrant modem back to the Telstra shop. They returned with a "loan" modem whilst my modem went to the computer hospital for a rest cure.

The boys set off to Goldie to load her with the shopping. I adjourned to the chemist for some necessary items. Imagine my surprise as I met with Larry Arkondakis. This was someone I hadn't clapped eyes on for about twelve years. And he hadn't changed a bit. We parted cheerfully at the checkout, with him hoping to get together with us in the near future.

Off to Midland. Vino and dogs' mince were the priorities. And we filled Goldie's petrol tank. Then we collected Ruby after her three days at the vet. She had not been in control of her saliva whilst unwell and had picked up a chest vest of green print from the newspaper in her cage. The nurses had washed her multiple times to try and remove the additional colour, to no avail.Thus, we took delivery of a green-throated Beagle. With cirrhosis of the liver. Without having drunk a drop of vino. Awesome.

Apparently, this is an age-related problem with Beagles. And she will have to be medicated for the rest of her life. Oh goody. We coughed up the six hundred dollar bill and set off for home.

After tea and cake with Lucky and Sandra, we finally arrived back at the House that Rocks. We met Vicky on the front steps. She filled us in on the Fearless Feathered Fool's antics. One of us (probably me) hadn't secured his cage. A good shove on the front door and he'd escaped out for a day long rampage of the inside of the house. He had eaten part of a wooden placemat, poohed everywhere and somehow avoided being eaten by either a Jack Russell or a Fickle Fairweather Feline.

Then we ventured into our bedroom. Leaving on Wednesday morning at five o'clock, the cat had given me the Hairy Eyeball as I attempted to remove her from our bed. Bollocks. I chose to tuck the dog/cat sheet in under our pillows. Surely that would work.

Alas no. The two remaining Stooges had scratched back the sheet, rolled all over the sheets and pillows and then dumped Michael's pillow on the ground. Dust, sand, and hair were everywhere. Our bed was unsleepable.

Which is why we ended up in our guest room last night. Clean and fresh sheets. Bliss. And in the great scheme of things, our bed could do with a decent airing. So, with our beloved Vanessa here to give me a hand, I am able to resign myself to my exhaustion because I know I have help for the next week.

The moral of this story? Never trust any creature with fur or feathers. Particularly if they rule the roost.

Defendant 1 with Patient 1

Defendant 2

Defendant 3

Defendant 4

THE LOOK

Patient 1 - the morning after

Still life of Patient 1 with coffee and phone

Patient 2 - Nina on the right

Patient 3 prior to her most recent hospital stay.

Black and Blue and Run All Over

Good morning, world. It's "Confession Time" to kick this post off the ground. There is a riddle that has always caused only confusion in this blogger. And last night, drifting to sleep on my exceedingly comfortable boarder's bed, at the age of fifty-five, I finally had the light bulb flash of understanding.

What's black and white and red/read all over?

A newspaper...

Ye Gods, that took a while.

I was led to this momentous understanding by the usual need I had for a short, snappy title to my latest post. I was trying to give an image of Michael's panorama of colours post-operatively after a very long yesterday. 

Take Michael's left arm for example. Think "Fifty Shades of Grey". After one unsuccessful cannula insertion into his wrist and another just below his elbow, he has a whole rainbow on just one limb. Prior to  Michael's stent procedure, I had no idea there were so many variations of this colour. I now have no need to discover any more shades of grey...

One of the joys of having a large garden hose shoved up both of his upper thighs is the constant attention the nursing staff pay to the catheter sites. Michael has had nursing and medical staff fascinated by his private parts. This has occurred on regular occasions in the afternoon and overnight whilst they checked for bleeding or swelling. Needless to say, these areas are also a cacophony of clashing tones to add to his technicolour body. Marvellous.

To top off his experience, Michael's bladder went on strike and refused to comply. Personally, I don't blame this behaviour. Initially, Michael's pain was a major issue, so after his pain relief took hold, he spent much of the afternoon snoozing and not drinking. And his lower abdomen has been prodded, poked, pushed and generally violated by wires and tubes and the three metal stents that have new homes in his aorta and iliac arteries. By the time the staff enquired about any liquid output, Michael's bladder has taken its bat and ball and gone home to Mum.

Hence the need, over the last fifteen hours, for bottles and measuring and repeated bladder scans. Michael's bladder received its own private ultrasounds every time he attempted a wee. We tried running water, warm water, a long shower and plenty of fluids to persuade his bladder to fall back into line. Just before seven o'clock this morning, we were given the All Clear that Michael's bladder had recovered from its shock and was playing nicely again.

Along with the gathering storm of his body's generation of colours, we also have the added dash, splosh, or drench of pink antiseptic from his belly button to his knees. This stuff is remarkably difficult to remove and I suspect that we shall have to allow the brilliant cherry colour to fade with time. Along with his vast array of bruising.

We are very much looking forward to departing Hollywood Hospital today, in spite of the staff's generosity of care and attention. And if Michael so much as sniffs a cigarette in the air, I shall remind him, in excruciating detail, of his most recent hospital stay.

My darling Michael, you have been warned.

Testiness and Tantrums

His Majesty and I have survived yet another eventful twenty-four hours. After the emergency dash to the vet hospital on our designated Slob Day, I had less time to complete all my allotted housework and I needed to get ready for our extremely early start for the Big Smoke this morning.

Hence yesterday passed in the blink of an eye. I will admit we did not rise early, but I had great hopes that the day would be far less frenetic than the previous one. I was also in a quandary whether to attend my second forensic healing session with Denese. I felt pushed for time, a bit out of sorts and I was concerned about the pre-admission phone calls from the hospital that I expected at some stage during the afternoon. My status as a hospital boarder with Michael still seemed to be somewhat up in the air.

In an unpunctual flap, I decided at the very last minute to have my session. I flew up to Denese's in my little golden car.  She was calm and composed and just what I needed. This second healing was just another revelation - full of unblocking specific events in the past that had led to feelings of powerlessness, being out of control and a very low self-esteem. I described the sensation like being a puppetmaster's marionette. Just speaking about this was liberating. We threw into the mix some very personal affirmations and breaking some negative barbs that were being directed at me from afar.

The only interruption during our session was the hospital. The question of my boarding was not resolved but I was determined to not let this spoil this really special time.

From being very stressed and flustered, I floated home from Denese's. Michael had finished mowing the back paddock and wanted to get the weight off his feet. I made toasted sandwiches for our lunch and we continued with our preparations.

Load after load of washing was hung on the line. I cleaned out the dogs' beds. We rang the vet and were delighted at Ruby's improvement. Apparently a liver issue. This was unsurprising, given the appalling diet the Beagle had often consumed in her escapades away from the House that Rocks. We arranged to pick her up on our way home on Thursday.

Michael missed a call from the hospital. He rang back and expressed his need of me boarding with him. Once again we were fobbed off. We wouldn't know until we arrived and we should have a Plan B. Michael expressed exasperation at this response. We were coming in from the country, a two-hour drive and being Michael's carer, he wanted me with him.

By this stage, half past three had come and gone and I'd had enough. I rang HBF (private health fund) and asked for an urgent phone call with their hospital representative. She returned my call almost immediately, at the same time as I was fobbing off a researcher on the landline and giving Vicki (our dog and cat sitter) our house keys. Talk about multi-tasking...

Cathy, the HBF rep, spoke to the hospital and sorted out the mess. Apparently, Michael had been entered as a day patient, which had caused all the confusion. The bed allocation team member was sure that they would find Michael a single room and I would be able to stay with him.

Waking twelve hours later with a five o'clock departure time was not our idea of fun. Initially, the dark and the fog made for hazardous driving conditions. We were on the lookout for kangaroos and weren't disappointed. Two of them, one a very large male, took their lives in their hands, bounding across the road in front of us. Fortunately, Michael was driving cautiously due to the conditions and we were able to stop. A couple of heart-in-mouth moments really shook us properly awake.

We duly arrived at the Day of Surgery Unit. What a lovely environment after the debacle of the angiogram episode. I entered with Michael, was able to stay with Michael, was able to shave Michael and went with him all the way to the door of the catheter lab. We knew he had a bed for the night and we knew I would be boarding with him. A huge amount of stress was lifted off my shoulders.

With a few hours to kill, I went in search of my good friend Janina, who was bored out of her brain on another ward, following knee surgery. We kept the nurses laughing, I had tea and biscuits for breakfast and Vanessa duly arrived to join the party, having walked from her share house.

By eleven I was becoming edgy. We enquired as to Michael's well-being. He was still in the cath lab. I was directed ward as our destination for the night, but on arrival, they informed me Michael was to go elsewhere as they were full. After further enquiries at the reception and collecting my laptop from the car ( a substantial hike), Michael had indeed touched down in another ward. Telecommunications were marvellously useful tools when they operated. The ward had tried to ring me twice. Mobile phone epic fail.

He remained drowsy for most of the afternoon. He was somewhat taken aback by his pain level and requested relief. When Michael admitted his pain is an eight out of ten, he was in a bit of strife. After two oxycodone tablets, his pain eased and he continued to drift in and out of sleep. After four hours, he was allowed to sit up, which immediately improved his mood.  A cup of coffee and a shower made him a new man. I washed him, removing as much of the red antiseptic that had been splashed about in gay abandon. Dressed in his pyjamas, he sat up in bed, a much happier chap and surveyed his court.

The staff, whether nursing, admin, ancillary or medical have all been caring, compassionate and approachable. Michael's specialist came in to see us and review him post-operatively. Our questions or concerns have been answered promptly and with respect.

Hollywood Hospital, give yourselves a clap. A thumbs up from us.

The Problem Child Strikes Again

Yesterday did not have an auspicious start. We were woken out of sound slumber by the cheery toot of Don the postman's bike. And if we didn't feel particularly cheery on being startled awake, our humour definitely was not improved with the delivery of the Very Important Item.

The package contained my own personal bowel cancer test kit. Beautiful. How to remind me very rapidly that I am getting rather long in the tooth and now require the government to monitor my pooh. I always suspected that pollies were full of sticky brown stuff - my belief had simply been confirmed.

With those happy thoughts floating around in my brain, our day commenced. The Beagle had been under the weather since the previous evening, refusing her dinner and looking suitably miserable. She had engaged in several spectacular heaves, which had sounded horrendous but produced little else. She trotted outside into the chill morning sun, attempting to have a go at number twos. With complete failure. Now I was worried. Bodily functions were making an unreasonable impact on my mind and I wasn't even properly awake yet.

We set out for the Gallery with Ruby in tow. We placed her bed near the fire and hoped she'd sleep off whatever ailed her.  By three o'clock, she was no better and Michael was uneasy. Ruby was his final link with his previous life and although he didn't have entirely positive memories of the past, he was not prepared for her demise. Packing her up in the ever-faithful Kermit, they drove off towards Midland and The Vet.

They were away four hours. Blood tests showed no pancreatitis (very nasty). The vet Nikita was familiar with Beagles - she owned one and recognised that a non-eating Ruby was quite serious. But she could not really pinpoint what was the matter with Ruby either. With antibiotics and acid reducing tablets and two hundred and seventy odd dollars poorer, they returned to the House that Rocks. Our instructions were to watch her for signs of possible bowel obstruction. Oh goody.

Today Ruby had continued her merry dance as a little witch. One minute she is having a fit of the vapours, the next she is absconding out the door of the Gallery. She has eaten two small meals of cooked chicken mince with extreme gusto and then slept for the rest of the day, reclining piteously on her day bed. She is even more reluctant to move her stocky little body than usual. She let rip with a blast of flatulence that made Michael's eyes water and rendered the dining room a biological wasteland. Ye Gods.

Her latest exploits have been to swan dive into the kitchen bin when our backs were turned and to relish a few tasty morsels she found on the back lawn when Michael took her out for a wee break. She looked positively confused when he ordered her to stop and led her back into the warmth of the house.

We continue to hope that she has only consumed something particularly ghastly that has not agreed with her stomach, cast iron though it may be. Ruby unwell is even more of a rollercoaster ride than Ruby well. We are getting too old for these shenanigans.

Wish us luck.

Say hello to the Problem Child.

Ruby on an energetic day.

Ruby unwell.

Visiting the vet has not been entirely satisfactory...

Self explanatory title!

Boys and Their Toys...

Our wonderful, wonderful HelpXers are leaving us today. They have successfully applied for a job harvesting wildflowers in the north of the Wheatbelt, which counts towards their Second Year Visa, gives them some much-needed money and allows them plenty of time to traverse the Great Australian Bight before they begin work fruit picking in Tasmania in December.

We will miss them very much. Manon and Loic have added a rich dimension to our lives over the last three weeks. Their positive attitude will take them far. Added to that, they have an appealing  mixture of energy, reliability, intelligence and good humour as well.

Yesterday was their final blast of assistance for us. Manon tackled all my washing to bring me up to date. She finished the pile of ironing that had, once more, threatened to erupt out of the laundry. She vacuumed and washed up. Then, she vacuumed up every blowfly that had passed to the great beyond in the Gallery as well.

Whilst Manon had transformed into my Fairy Godmother, Loic and Michael were playing together in the Workshop. Michael was applying the finishing touches to Dory and Loic was thoroughly enjoying beginning our next project. Using the metal sides of a one-hundred-year-old ore wagon, Michael was envisaging a planter stand the size of Davros. Having Loic there was an added bonus. Try as he might, Michael's sculptures all seem to be heavy at this point in his creative life. So, Loic operated our still-unnamed grinder with gay abandon and wielded Davros with admirable aplomb. Another feather in his cap.

We celebrated their looming departure with a BBQ. Outside. In the cold. Standing outside and shivering around the gas flames. Luckily the steaks only required eight minutes to cook. Then we retreated to the warmth of the House that Rocks and enjoyed one last dinner, champagne and red vino with Loic and Manon.

Their job was confirmed first thing this morning. Suddenly, their packing commenced. As they are now the proud owners of an elderly Commodore station wagon, they didn't have to try and fit all their belongings back into the confined space of their backpacks. Just as well as their additional purchases, such as extra clothing, had deemed their previously available space Not Enough.

I left for the Gallery. Later we exchanged fond goodbyes with them before they set off for the next installment of their Great Australian Adventure. We look forward to receiving regular updates from them.

And when I returned home, our home was as neat as a pin.

Live long and prosper, Loic and Manon. You two are stars.

New Kid on the Block.

Please God, let this weld work!

A Chip off the Old Block...

Loic having a great deal of fun on his last afternoon with Michael.

Dory with her shadow.

Completion.

Loic and Davros were buddies by the end of the day.

The cat who swallowed the canary?

A boy and a new toy...

Giddy-up horsie!

And we're off (first drive).

Michael, our latest backpackers are flying the coup!

Leaving for the last time...

And for Loic and Manon - Dory is now installed in the East End Gallery window.

We could not have achieved this wonderful milestone without you.

It's a Mystery...

"Shakespeare in Love" is not amongst my most memorable movies.  Still, I am very fond of this movie because of a very specific character. The delicious Geoffrey Rush, playing theatre owner, Philip Henslowe, coined, perhaps, one of my favourite quotes of all time. When all is lost, and explanation is impossible, I have been known to mutter "it's a mystery" in response to a seemingly inexplicable scenario.

I was reminded of Geoffrey Rush and "Shakespeare in Love" after a particularly unexpected occurrence  last night on Facebook. After writing a post regarding my horror at the return of the "curse" after nearly four years, I was more than surprised when I tried to share my post from Blogspot to my Facebook page. Access was denied. A waffly excuse concerning Facebook security was the reason for this blockage. I pondered the reason for this decision by the all powerful entity. In the end, I could only assume that the usage of the term for the monthly episode of most women was the reason for Facebook's displeasure.

I was gobsmacked. Facebook is a prude! I have been seriously offended by some posts that have been approved by Facebook , yet my innocent whinging about a woman's bodily function drew the wrath of the mighty juggernaut.

The funniest aspect (from my point of view) was that I could share the post to the East End Gallery page and I was able to copy and paste to my personal page. Is that because I share nudity on the Gallery page, so comments of a bodily nature are considered to be kosher?

Why is this so? It's a mystery...

Then, a completely different kettle of fish. The lovely Manon, one of our French HelpXers, is a talented artist. She has been chomping at the bit to pick up some art supplies, so we steered her in the direction of Red Dot. Yesterday afternoon, she arrived back at the House that Rocks with a couple of canvases, paints and immediately disappeared into their bedroom for a couple of hours. When she emerged, she had produced a stunning painting - a semi-nude of a woman with startlingly red lips and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Initially, I wasn't sure whether I liked the painting or not.  By the end of last night, I couldn't take my eyes off the picture.

Introducing "Enigma". Another mystery by Manon Chatnoir.

I also engaged in a regular meeting with my good friend Linda, Beautician to the Stars. Ripping and tinting is part of my "beauty schedule", so I don't resemble John Howard (the former prime minister, not the actor) in drag. Recalcitrant hairs are removed from my eyebrows, lips, and chin by means of hot wax, quick removal and a great deal of swearing. Occasionally, Linda even ventures up my nose. She is braver than me, Gunga Din.

She also delivered Michael's final birthday present to me. This was a hideously expensive Tupperware fruit and vegetable peeler. A piece of modern engineering that had more positions than a yoga instructor. After multiple attempts to move the blade, unsuccessfully, we resorted to watching the official Tupperware tutorial on Linda's I-pad.  This was narrated by a woman with an outrageous French accent, so we were behind the eight-ball from the beginning. We tried to follow her rapid demonstrations of the device as she talked. All we did was collapse into fits of the giggles. Then I thought I'd broken the bloody thing. No, apparently it is designed to come apart, so I tossed both parts back into the box and headed for home. A spectacular epic fail.

At $28, I had hoped the peeler would be pretty special. What I didn't release was that it needed somebody with a logical sense of sequencing to operate it. Which I am seriously lacking.

However, why make a kitchen peeler so complicated that the Average Joe can't use it easily? Why, Tupperware, why? It's a mystery.

Driving home, I resolved to complete the day with simple tasks I could manage. I took  the Three Stooges for a walk. Mada me Cat joined us for part of the way.I cooked a pretty awesome Morrocan Chicken for dinner. There were no complaints from anyone. We had peach pudding and ice cream for dessert.

And to restore my shattered wits, I joined Michael in a very nice bottle of vino, unwinding in front of the Idiot Box until we retired. I'd had enough mysteries for one day.

I couldn't have said this better myself...

Maybe because i used the word for a female monthly cycle...

So this happened!

"Enigma" by Manon Chatnoir

The artist and her painting...

Some people are just born talented...

I am not one of those people...

Arrrrrggghhhh!

Yeah, right!

Sometimes I wish I was the Beagle....

Or Madame Cat...

And my tried and tested method to unwind after a difficult day.