Changing the Tempo.. in the Upward Direction!

Enough seriousness for one day. Having deep and meaningful conversation is all very well, but stress does tend to increase my blood pressure, cause flatulence and direct me to reach for Mother's Little Helper (I am currently sipping a gorgeous Bombay Saphire gin and tonic).

Today is the eighth anniversary of some random woman named Lunachick hooking up with Spider52. Interesting combination, you may deduce. How I ended up with Lunachick as my moniker on the Oasis Active dating website is quite simple. Being born in July, I am a loony moon maiden. Spider52 earned his stripes by a mutual attraction with spiders and being 52 years of age when he began dabbling in photography online.

So, there we were, two lonely souls, meeting on the internet. Actually, we had both been through a series of disastrous first dates with other people. I was considering becoming a lesbian. Michael wondered how "the outback" translated into "caravan park" for the women he had dated. He'd been on one particularly hot date with a guilty divorced Catholic lady. I'll leave it to your imaginations to predict the outcome of that evening. We were each other's Last Hopes.

A match made in heaven. Or more specifically, at the Whiteman Park dog exercise area. The dogs had to meet as well as us. We have heard a story or one couple who did get together, only for their residence to turn into Stalag 13 because two of their dogs did not favour the usurper.

Fortunately, Ruby is both amiable and brainless. Pip was quite happy for another female to enter his harem. Sascha has been and always will be the most agreeable dog on the planet, And thus, the Beagle was tolerated from the first day.

And the rest is history. We are delighted to be celebrating our anniversary. We are off to the bright lights of the Hotel Beverley shortly for a celebratory dinner and drinkies. One of the excellent advantages of living in town is there is no driving home from the pub. I can feel a double Baileys in the offing.

Eight years. We have moved from separate houses to live in my duplex in Marangaroo, then to the House that Rocks and now the Residence (*whispering* or hovel). Station House, our brand spanking new home is tantalisingly close to completion.

This week we have had the wonderful Aude and Sebastian enter our lives. Two fit, cheerful and enthusiastic young people from New Caledonia, they are a few months into twelve months travelling around Australia. The prospect of painting was really starting to wear Michael down. This is what happens now we have become old farts. The spirit is willing but the body just laughs.

So Aude and Sebastian are painting the inside of Station House. And they are meticulous. Yes, we are paying them, but their expertise is a gift to us, compared with having the house professionally painted. We are thrilled.

Bedroom one and the walk-in-robe are complete. The living room is mostly complete, thanks to Gary's efforts. Bedroom two has received its first coat. The colour, Red Terra, is very familiar to us but has taken on a whole new hue, given the different light in the house.Our bedroom has turned into an exotic tropical clearing. I have experimented with bright colour (again) and crossed my fingers that Green Paw Paw would look fantastic in our bedroom. What a wow factor.

We have the services of Aude and Sebastian for next week. Given their skill and speed, Station House's transformation from beige to bold should be completed.

Stay tuned!

Green Paw Paw rocks...

in our big, beautiful main bedroom.

Not to be outdone, bedroom two is pretty classy.

Michael and I share a mutual delight in pyromania...

the Three Stooges...

other creatures great and small...

Madame Cat...

and each other!

Michael remains perpetually surprised by some of my antics...

whereas I can always be pacified with good food and a glass of vino ( or a gin and tonic or a Baileys)!

Let's Talk About Death

I do wonder what kind of reaction I will receive from posting about this topic. Death. There - I spoke the word. Out loud. Will I cause revulsion, indignation, outrage, disgust, fear or sadness? Will I be viewed by five or fifty or five hundred people? In my opinion, we need to think and talk about death. Somebody famous once quipped that none of us is getting out of here alive.

Believe it or not, there is a method in my madness. I had a very interesting phone conversation this morning with Natalia Marais, who is the Customer Quality Coordinator at SJGMPH. I was quite surprised she had rung me, given my obvious displeasure clearly stated in my response to the letter from the CEO, Glen Power. If I was her, I would have thought twice about ringing this rather outspoken Beverley Hillbilly. So, gold star for courage to Natalia.

We drew relatively friendly swords about various issues. I wasted no time in letting her know that the difference between "between a specialist palliative care service and provision of end-of-life or palliative care" was just semantic twaddle. What had happened to just good care, regardless of the setting?  

I also discovered, today, nearly two months after Lucky's death, that the reason he could not be transferred to the Private Hospital from ICU was due to a procedural flapdoodle.  Lucky was meant to have stated, within twenty-four hours of entering ICU, that he wanted to be treated as a Private patient. Otherwise, he was doomed to stay in the Public hospital. Now that was information that would have been handy to know. Alas, we were meant to be mind readers.

Then, there was the harrowing nature of terminal restlessness. The first notion I had of this term, with its associated horror,  was provided by Lesley Brown, a nursing superstar friend of mine, with about three hundred years of experience in the hospital system. After Lucky had died. And considering that between 25% and 85% of terminal patients will suffer from this horrible agitation (Glen Power's statistics), this lack of information was a terrible oversight.

We had no idea what was happening to Lucky in those horrible hours before his death, let alone that this condition was common and had a name.

The lack of available nursing staff was another bugbear. Michael and I were left on our own to care for Lucky as best we could. To quote Glen Power, "The caregiver did acknowledge that, on occasions, she did not enter the room and made her observations from the window of your father in law's room." How can a nurse adequately make observations on a dying patient from a darkened hallway through a window into a dimly lit room? And what about checking on us? 

1B appeared to be understaffed. In a rehabilitation ward, I expect the workload would be quite onerous. One of the night shift nurses complained that she had eight patients to look after and the other nurse had seven patients. Lucky did not seem to be on her radar as an actual patient. And yet, there we were.

Then, there was the kerfuffle I raised about Lucky needing a subcutaneous line inserted for medications. To be told that episode only caused minor fleeting discomfort was not well thought through by Dr Power. I hope he doesn't use that line again.

Back to my conversation with Natalia. She and I looked for consensus. She asked me to consider meeting with her and other representatives from the hospital. After initially thinking "over my dead body (!)", I have reconsidered her proposal. 

What if some good can come from Lucky's death; from all those other deaths that have sparked despair and hopelessness in the stories I have received over the last couple of months.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for consultation and (Ye Gods) even change. For the better. How we treat those dying, regardless of the location? How to ensure a smooth handover of patients from ICU to another ward or home or to a hospice? How to support the families of the dying? How can we share information to make the whole scenario less scary for all concerned? Stop this "secret society" attitude - such as the ridiculous time limits set to request being treated as a private patient? How can we discover the answers if we don't know the questions?  Enable us all to ask any questions and have reasonable answers. And stop using bloody acronyms.

Thirty years ago, my baby Christopher died on the Neonates ward at Princess Margaret Hospital. In my arms, surrounded by staff. My then husband and I were allowed free access to him over the next few days. We were even asked if we wanted to take him home. He was transferred to the morgue after his death. He had an autopsy. Then I nearly caused a major international incident by requesting I bath and dress him on the day of his funeral. The morgue staff just about had apoplexy. Fortunately, I was being supported by a social worker named Kaye (I'm sorry I don't remember your surname. You were like gold). She liaised between the morgue and me. She asked what was the big deal. All I wanted was somewhere private, a baby bath, a bucket of warm water and a couple of towels. On the day of Little Chris' funeral, I was welcomed into the morgue by a vast array of towels, a blue bath and enough buckets of warm water to bath several babies. My wish to mother my baby, after his death, was fulfilled.

And yet, death is still this huge taboo. Lucky's dying was made all the worse by the lack of support on 1B. We are an ageing population and a whole lot of us are going to die. The way and the process of dying and the care of the family should be of paramount importance. We are learning to celebrate death through funerals. How about the dying person receives the "best" death possible and their family feels supported and encouraged before their family member's death?

When Michael is ready, I hope to accept Natalia Marais' offer to meet with the hospital. And I understand that some of our ideas may be stymied by the lack of the almighty dollar. However, I would hope that we can work together to introduce some long overdue changes. 

I would be really grateful for any comments or suggestions to add to our list.

• introduce allied health support (social work/psychology/generic or ecumenical services) available to support families, the dying and the nursing and medical staff, during all shifts. 
• produce a clear, simple, dot point pamphlet for families outlining what to expect during a loved one's death with clear options about who and how to ask for help
• a "special" or floating member(s) of the nursing staff, available to assist the dying person and their family at times of staff shortages or at night. 
• opportunities for professional development of nursing staff facing the dying of one of their patients, including input from bereaved families.
• a family advocate available to debrief/support/assist with families following the death of their family member, either immediately or at a time of mutual choosing.
• an opportunity to spend time with the family member who had died. This actually happened after Michael's mum died in the hospital and we were very grateful. However, we were not offered this option after Lucky died.
• every hospital to offer a quiet setting where families may spend time with the person who has died for twenty-four hours after the death
• have adequate accommodation options on each ward to allow more than one family member to stay overnight. This could be as simple as a few folding beds allocated to each ward.
• nursing staff to monitor the family's wellbeing and be proactive during a patient's death. A dying patient, regardless of their status, should have as much importance as a patient who will recover and leave alive.
• A family's request to have an RMO review a dying patient to be given the same weight as any other patient. In my opinion, the nursing staff should advise and explain, but not have the final say as to whether an RMO attends a dying patient. If the family requests a medical review, then this service needs to be given out of courtesy, if for no other reason.

Another lengthy tome to ponder. Still really worthwhile.

Yes, we can and we should.

Unfortunately, this is not going to happen!

How we all feel in hospital.

Or family stress at times of death. 

The subject of death is still sometimes as clear as mud. 

This is, like it or not, an insurmountable truth. 

Justice for Lucky?

Lucky died at around five o'clock on 28 March. He died in a secluded room within Midland Hospital. He had been admitted to the Intensive Care Unit two Saturdays previously. Initially given a very bleak prognosis, he seemed to rally for twenty-four hours.  Faint hope for his recovery gave way to the unpleasant inevitable; Lucky was not going to survive this admission.

Whilst resident in ICU, he was given medication to support his blood pressure and heart rate. Daily blood tests painted a poor picture. As long as Lucky remained on a drug regime that needed to be closely monitored, he stayed in ICU. Lucky rebelled against his fate, battling to understand what was happening to him. Eventually, he accepted that all that could be done to maintain his life had been done.

Ceasing the supporting infusions took two days. Lucky was eating and drinking very little. He was also becoming increasingly agitated at night. Whilst he remained in ICU, there were nurses available to tend to him and give comfort to his family. Sandra and Darryl had stayed overnight with him, but they had not been left on their own with Lucky for any extended period.

One of the consultants on ICU whom we liked and trusted talked a great deal about three words - comfort, dignity and family. She assured us that  Lucky would be treated palliatively in an environment that would concentrate on keeping him comfortable and dignified.

This was not the care that was delivered on Ward 1B.

The first casualty of my complaint was the distinction drawn by Dr Glen Power, Chief executive officer "between a specialist palliative care service and provision of end-of-life or palliative care. While this hospital does provide palliative care, it also works cooperatively with the specialist palliative care service in our region, based at Kalamunda Hospital".

So, obviously, people need to check their options whilst they are dying and be admitted into an appropriate "specialist palliative care service".

But there's a catch. "SJGMPH...can refer patients to Kalamunda Hospital for palliative care as long as the predicted time of death is estimated to be greater than 48 hours...I am aware that your father in law passed away 27 and a half hours after he was transferred out of ICU and therefore this option was not available in the circumstances".

And at no stage did any of the medicos treating Lucky give us a time frame for his death. That was the situation we faced for ten days.

Placed in a room accessed through an airlock, the afternoon 1B staff received very little information from ICU. Lucky, not us, had requested a room in the Private Hospital.

"I am sorry that we were unable to meet your request as your father (in law - my italics) has been admitted to ICU from Emergency Department as a public patient during his episode of care."  Huh? Does that statement mean he couldn't then be transferred to a private ward on exiting ICU?

 The first nurse we saw expressed his frustration with the lack of a plan. Michael and I had agreed to stay with Lucky overnight. There were other family members coming in and out during the day. One of the registrars remarked that this was the time to say goodbye. No acknowledge of these points was made in the letter from Glen Power to me.

We were informed that the staff would no longer be performing observations. Unless we rang the nurses' bell, there would be minimal nursing support. "The caregiver did acknowledge that, on occasions, she did not enter the room and made her observations from the window of your father in law's room."

All his drip lines had been removed in ICU. By late afternoon, Lucky was finding drinking increasingly difficult. so swallowing was an impossibility. We realised that he would need a line inserted for pain medications. "The ICU Head of Services has advised that the indwelling catheter (IDC) and Central Venous Catheter (CVC) were removed as they were no longer in use and posed an infection risk." Lucky had other lines in ICU. We were not talking about the IDC or the CVC. And infection risk? Give me a break. He was dying anyway.

As the evening wore on, Lucky became increasingly vocal and agitated. He was thrashing around in his bed, hitting his unprotected legs repeatedly into the bed rails.

With the intervention of the ward coordinator, we had been provided with two recliner chairs but sleep was impossible for any of us. Lucky moaned and cried and tossed and turned. Around midnight, we requested drugs to help his obvious distress. A subcutaneous line was inserted into his abdomen. The last word we heard Lucky say was "ow". "I am advised that the insertion of the subcutaneous line does not cause a significant level of discomfort, and any discomfort is temporary."

The 1B staff expressed their concern about giving him too much morphine. No acknowledgement by Glen Power.

We requested extra medication. After an hour, the nurses gave him a calmative as well as another half dose of morphine. We were berated for ringing the bell. One of the night nurses complained she had eight patients to look after and the other nurse had seven patients. We were asked - "Do you know it's only half an hour since you rang the bell?" No acknowledgement by Glen Power.

Lucky was soiling his pad frequently. We watched two of the night nurses changing him. They spoke forcefully to him to let go of the bed rails. They moved him backwards and forwards like a sack of potatoes. We struggled to recognise any decency in their treatment of him. "The medical record shows that your father in law received pressure area care and was repositioned with the use of a slide sheet and had his incontinence pad changed during the shift." 

We then asked for an urgent review by the night doctor and an increase in Lucky's medication. This was refused. Finally, another dose of morphine started to sooth him. Or he was spent. Sometime between three and four o'clock in the morning, his cries became softer and subsided and his body ceased his frantic movements. "I am advised that the nursing caregiver contacted the night RMO and he made the clinical decision (how!) not to attend or alter the medication regime ordered by the treating team based on the clinical information provided by the caregiver."  Give me strength.

One of the night nurses was outstanding in her compassion. She listened empathetically to us in those grim small hours of the last night, offered us a cup of tea and coffee and obviously spoke to the other nurses about our concerns of Lucky's care. Around four thirty, one of the other nurses came into the room, washed Lucky's face and swabbed his mouth.

We both slept fitfully for a couple of hours. Morning shift began. Sandra arrived to be with Lucky. Michael was shattered. I was not much better. We grabbed tea and coffee in the cafe. Michael was so upset he could not return to Lucky's room. We decided to go home for a sleep. We drove away, grieving not for Lucky's approaching death but for what had been the last night of his life.

Sandra rang us to let us know when Lucky died. We were incredibly sad. And we were so angry. Where had been the comfort and dignity for Lucky that we had been promised? After nine days in ICU, Lucky was taken and effectively dumped in a place that appeared to have received insufficient handover. And his last night on earth was harrowing. Just as well the two of us were with him. With scant support from the nursing staff, we were continually challenged to prevent Lucky from hurting himself further in his high state of agitation.

"I am very sorry that you believe your father in law's terminal restlessness was not managed well. To clarify, terminal restlessness is a common system during the terminal phase and it is estimated that between 25 to 85% of patients will experience some level of restlessness or agitation." Ye Gods. My only information about terminal restlessness was given by a nursing buddy, not by SJGMPH.

"Please be reassured that caregivers were monitoring your father in law's level of agitation and restlessness and the treating team had prescribed the appropriate medications." How could they be monitoring Lucky's condition if they didn't come into his room?

This is our reality of Lucky's decline. Michael and I remain very concerned about some of the attitudes communicated to us. The staff's overwhelming desire seemed to be following all medical protocols, rather than easing Lucky's suffering.

St John of God Midland Public Hospital is not a hospital for all. I am appalled at Lucky's suffering and equally appalled with this response. I only made this complaint to prevent other families experiencing such awfulness. I have been inundated with stories of similar deaths.

Lucky expressed a desire that I do not make him famous. The hospital system has fulfilled his wish with alacrity. He has become another invisible statistic. His death appears to have been in vain.

"Mrs Sofoulis, our caregivers endeavoured to provide a high standard of care to your father in law during his time at our hospital. SJGMPH are deeply concerned to learn that, despite having your father in law and your family's best interests at heart, we were unable to meet your expectations at all times."

If this is your sincere opinion, Dr Power, then perhaps your team could work harder, explain better, liaise more effectively, and endow comfort and dignity to patients and their families and have simple procedures and policies in place to inform patients and their families.

Otherwise, your letter to me, Dr Power, is only filled with political correctness, false compassion, an overwhelming desire to cover the hospital's arse and a dictionary of wank words.

And the moral of this story...this advice was given by a nurse. Ring the bell. Ring the bell. Keep ringing the bell. Until we are heard.

Another Anaesthetic Aftermath for this Beverley Hillbilly

Today is Day Three postoperatively after the Boy Wonder's skirmish with my knee. I have been seriously impressed with a reasonably fast recovery. I can walk unaided with minimum pain. Excellent. However, I have rediscovered muscles around my knee that haven't been used properly for about six weeks, so they are complaining a bit. As is my lower back, after being in an awkward position overnight in hospital. However, these aches are relatively minor and are purely a result of Getting Older.

And I can't fault my treatment or the staff at the Hotel de Mount. The Boy Wonder was his usual urbane and amiable self, the anaesthetist was the delightful Anna Negus and nurses Mercy, Tahnee and Sarah were all caring, thoughtful and available. Bonus.

Doctor Anna was a cross between my fairy godmother and a knight in shining armour. She recognised and dealt with my increasingly nervous disposition once we were all in theatre- "here's your Bailey's on the rocks" - which eased my anxiety instantly and allowed me to fall into a relaxing and calm unconsciousness.

I woke well, ate well, had no side effects and was completely astounded by my lack of drowsiness or any other unpleasantness. Note to self - book Anna as anaesthetist whenever having any surgery. In her spare time, I believe she is building a house somewhere on the semi-rural edges of Perth where she and her husband care for mutant sheep. My kind of girl.

Night nurse Tahnee deserves special mention and an endurance medal. Operating as nurse coordinator as well as having her own patients, she also agisted two cranky and verbally aggressive male patients sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I think she threatened them with a shift to the local major public hospital if they didn't behave themselves and somehow separated them into different rooms on the exceedingly crowded orthopaedic ward. Gold star please for Tahnee.

Mercy (afternoon nurse) and Sarah (morning nurse) were cheerful, helpful and active. Sarah understood our need to get the hell out of there and facilitated our discharge with speed. Unfortunately, I was in such a hurry, I left my red cardigan on the ward. I will retrieve that item of clothing when we return for my appointment with Ben next week.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I keep forgetting that a general anaesthetic continues to impact for days after I leave the surgery behind. Saturday I had grand plans of opening the Gallery in the latter part of the afternoon. Fail. Yesterday I opened the Gallery but succumbed to sleepiness about four o'clock and slept soundly for two hours. Subsequently, I tossed and turned most of last night and scored a "D" for trying to shut down my talkative brain.Hence today, I am really tired (again) and all those tasks I was going to tackle are a tad too ambitious.

Michael is also restless most nights. So there are two of us trying to sleep in less than ideal circumstances. Michael's conversations during the dark hours are also the stuff of legends. To be fair, he claims that he chats when he's asleep as he never gets a word in during the day. Can't argue with his logic on that point.

So Michael's latest nocturnal mutterings were in the company of a salad, including a talking carrot. I believe the carrot had a name, but my brain gave up trying to follow this latest insanity as I pushed for an escape to Cloud Cuckoo Land. The previous night's bizarre rendezvous included chats with a bombastic red tractor and a mouthy cocky spaniel. This is my life....

As a result, I am going to be kind to myself today. I intend to float around, doing only what I wish. That will include a bit of sorting of washing and paperwork and I may even tackle the dishes once the rain ceases. In the meantime, the plates are getting a jolly good rinse on my outside sink.

Until next time!

My usual euphoria when leaving hospital...

Some of Michael's nocturnal companions - one red tractor...

one mouthy cocker spaniel...

and the carrot, of course!

What happened last night.

How I feel today.

Confessions of a Twenty-First Century Luddite (Does Windows 10 dream when it's asleep?)

Luddites have not been popular as a group, both in their origins and as a derogatory term used in the present day. During a timeframe of five years (1811 - 1816), groups of early Industrial Revolution workers destroyed machinery that they believed would cost them their jobs. This action was particularly prevalent in cotton and woollen mills. The word has now broadened to include anyone suspicious or resisting new technology.

And I definitely fall into that latter category, though there are also some days I feel as ancient as those in that first movement. Having not been introduced to the Internet, e-mail, word processing and most scarily the computers needed to access these pillars of advancement until I was in my thirties, I still regard any communication device other than landline telephones as potentially hostile.

I do not possess an iPod, an iPad or have iTunes. I do have an Android phone, which even after six months still has the capacity to shatter my self-esteem at a moment's notice. I have been unable to download OneDrive, which apparently move photos wirelessly from my smartphone to my laptop. I do not believe that anymore.

When I received my first laptop, I resisted turning it on for six months. I clung to XP far longer than I should have, eventually upgrading to Windows 7. This system proved surprising friendly and never let me down. Onto my second laptop in 2014 after six years. I didn't want to rush into the Great Unknown in an overly hasty manner.

Imagine my horror when I had to upgrade, again, to Windows 10. I had heard horrific stories of Windows 8 and I was dreading any change in my technology comfort zone. Spectacularly hyperventilating, I summoned my courage and Installed Windows 10.

This was not the unmitigated disaster I was expecting. This new operating system was reassuringly similar to Windows 7 and relatively easy to navigate (unlike most Government agencies and departments). Then little snags began to creep in and my Luddism crept back. First was the inability to download OneDrive. Then was the issue to try and delete photos off my SD card once I'd finished moving them into MyPictures. Epic fail. Thus, I have given up on that option and now use Michael's elderly wheezing laptop to remove photos from my SD card. Don't ask...

Just when I was returning to that characteristic smugness that always precedes a catastrophe, the inevitable occurred. Of course. On Thursday night, I dutifully put the laptop to bed in its case, prior to leaving for the Big Smoke yesterday. I may or may not have pressed the Sleep option by mistake. I will probably never know.

Come early Friday when I couldn't sleep, I returned to my favourite slumber inducer and pressed the big blue-rimmed button. The usual screen came on, with a couple of notable exceptions. No clock or day appeared and no strip to enter my password. I tried turning the laptop on and off again multiple times. No go. In disgust, I returned to bed and counted Michael's breathing for the rest of the night.

Upon arising, I turned on Michael's ageing laptop (some of the keyboard letters are actually missing, it wheezes like a moderate asthmatic, shuts down when it overheats and will not charge at all, so it has to remain plugged into power at all times) to search for clues. About a squillion responses came up to my query. All were useless, as the instructions ordered me to access some icon or another on the screen. Which wasn't there as the computer was asleep...

Straight to Facebook on my phone. A great many different solutions were offered. So I tried them all. Then, after my anaesthetic wore off, late in the afternoon, my computer gradually woke up at about the same time I did. First, the clock, date and date reappeared. Then after restarting again, the password strip became visible. Then, interestingly, my latest password wouldn't work, but the previous one activated my beloved screen back into life. Rather like that movie "Flatliners".

I took great care in pressing the "Shut Down" icon last night. I was tense in anticipation this morning and then delighted when the laptop woke successfully. I am very easily pleased. So for the foreseeable future, I will watch myself whilst "shutting down" until I breathe easily once more.

I still have absolutely no idea what caused this malfunction in the first place and I sure as shit have no idea how I fixed the problem. If I did at all...

My final questions. Is this all a glimpse of the future? Are we to be governed by our devices that may choose to work, or not? And what did Windows 10 dream about when it was asleep? Any ideas?

My natural instincts have turned me into my secret identity - Anxiety Girl. Much as I enjoy having my finger on my personal pulse of technology, I am still well and truly, a Luddite!

What happened to my computer?!

How I felt whilst trying to solve the problem...

But I refused to concede defeat...

and all's well, until the next time!

My Bung Knee Goes to the Big Smoke

At present, Michael and I really don't have a sound pair of legs between us. Having stepped awkwardly off a ladder and turned his left ankle in both directions (that takes real skill), Michael had an appointment for an ultrasound and x-ray to look for trouble down under. Then we were both seeing the "Boy Wonder" for consultation - Michael and his foot and me with my knee.

Those of you who read my posts know that I suffer from an impairment of being able to stand on two feet satisfactorily for any length of time. Over the last couple of months, I have danced the Watusi Quickstep in the laundry (having tripped over the dogs' leads) and twice ( how good am I?) outside landing on extremely unforgiving concrete pavers. Each of these tumbles has occurred when I was stone-cold sober. The latest disaster occurred after tripping over the outside hose and hurtling at full throttle (with a payload of eighty kilogrammes) towards the ground.

Falling after imbibing a few glasses of vino is much more pleasant. Take Michael's experiences, for example. Having performed a swan dive into a paint tray via a ladder proved wet and colourful ( he was covered in Red Terra) but not painful. Likewise when he performed his version of the Watusi Quickstep in our bedroom. He and our upright fan engaged in an impromptu tango which concluded with them both lying together on the floor. The fan was seriously injured whilst Michael was unharmed. Both times he was quite sozzled.

Crashing whilst sober is another matter altogether. Both Michael and I can attest to the fleeting thought of "oh bugger, this is going to hurt", followed by tensed muscles and them a fulfilment of our predictions. Which is why both Michael and I are currently the worse for wear. The moral of this story - only fall over when one has consumed a reasonable amount of medicinal liquid relaxant.

After much discussion and knowing our difficulty in rising from morning slumber, we resolved to gatecrash our good friend Ailsa and her husband Mark to stay overnight prior to the nine o'clock start for Michael. This proved to be a splendid evening with great food, vino, amiable conversation and entertainment provided by canine residents Archie and Mollie.

A comfortable bed and painkillers were an added bonus. Michael was on a mattress on the floor. In spite of the softness and warmth of our environs, neither of us slept well. We woke, dressed and left for Michael's appointment, Ailsa promising us a cooked breakfast on our return. Wonderful.

Michael's imaging was smooth, efficient and saw us back at Chez Ailsa's by half past ten. Bacon and eggs with tea and coffee were sublime. Then we retired back to bed for a couple of hours and slept soundly, feeling far better when we woke.

Hugs and kisses and we were off to see Mr Ben Kimberley. We used to be fooled by his slightly absent-minded and boyish manner. A superb surgeon, he has put me back together again on several occasions and performed miracles on both of Michael's shoulders and carpal tunnels. His practice is run like a well-oiled machine by his exemplary staff, Marija and Anne.

Ben deduced that Michael's ankle may further improve over time but my knee would not. Sending me for a quick x-ray to make sure I hadn't broken any bones, my knee and surrounds appeared intact. However, he suspected torn cartilage and fluid were the problems at hand. I obviously have great bones, which is fortunate, considering my frequency in falling on them.

So tomorrow we are back to the Big Smoke for me to have an afternoon snooze, a knee block, a prod, poke and clean out. We will stay overnight whilst Vanessa holds the fort in the Residence. And Michael is delighted as he will probably be able to watch the football unhindered on the telly as I will still be snoring my head off after the anaesthetic. His only concern is that he remembers to order food as my boarder.

See you after the jump.

The dance Michael and I perform on a frequent basis.

Though Michael prefers to add a Tango Twist...

Michael's preferred partner.

He has injured his ankle...

whilst my left knee is in strife at present.

Hopefully, my place of healing tomorrow!

Foiling the Ranger.

Beverley "enjoys" a part-time animal ranger to patrol the streets and pick up any strays. He is not a nice man. We first encountered him back at Brooking Street, when he was apparently responding to a complaint by a neighbour about our dogs barking at night. This barking was due to an increase in fox movements and all the surrounding dogs were noisy as a result. He was unmoved and suggested we set fox traps in the yard of the neighbour who had complained...

Then he questioned how we had managed to register all three dogs. As if we had diddled the system. He was definitely suspicious. Then he wanted us to microchip Sascha, who could die at any time given her age and Pip, who is so terrified at being handled by strangers, uses hot diarrhoea as a weapon of escape. When we refused and invited the ranger to leave our house, he was quite reluctant to do so. As far as we were concerned, he had entered our home under false pretences.

We have had nothing to do with him since we moved into the Residence. Until last week. This officious individual bailed up John our builder and declared if our dogs were seen on the street again, he would impound them on the spot. He also blamed all the dog deposits at the memorial park on our dogs and ours alone. We knew this simply wasn't true. We were speechless. We knew the dogs were prone to wandering and we were doing our best to keep them contained. Sascha's elderly bladder meant the unleashing of Noah's flood if she was unable to exit outside. We had been restraining Ruby as much as possible but as an escape artist, she was masterly in her efforts to sneak off when we weren't looking.

Michael had been hoping to reduce his physical workload to allow his ankle to heal after rolling it whilst painting the house. I remain physically disabled and useless since I stuffed my left knee. However, in view of the Ranger's threats, we had no choice. Some sort of enclosure would have to be constructed.

This has been accomplished after two days of toiling by Michael. He has used an interesting mix of old gates, mesh, wire and star pickets to create our own version of Fort Knox. We are able to reach both the new house and the washing line through two access points. Given the strength required by Michael to install the star pickets, the ground has shown itself to be very hard. This will reduce any potential escape opportunities by digging. Unless Ruby acquires an excavator.

And the fence will keep that dreadful little ranger on the other side of our happy little home.

The ranger in pursuit (an exceptionally good likeness).

Possibly a tad extreme...

The fence takes shape

The bricks are serving a very useful purpose...

And the grand finale!

View inwards.

The inmates inspecting their exercise yard.

Who would wish such a fate on the ranger?!

.

All About Michael (How did I manage to cut my mouth with a crumpet, darling? And other stories...)

Michael has proved himself, time and time again, to be patient, tolerant and fluster-free. Take this morning, for instance. As I continue to be somewhat out of commission with my bung knee, Michael made and served my breakfast. A couple of crumpets with plenty of jam and honey. All was proceeding to plan until I caught a sharp edge of the crumpet in the corner of my mouth. This involved a sharp scratch, a microscopic pinpoint of blood and a loud expletive. Then the obvious question.

Michel did not laugh at me or call me silly. Instead, he sat with a mildly puzzled expression on his face and responded "No Kate. I have no idea how you did that to yourself." And went back to eating his crumpets with no further fuss.

Over the last eight years, I have repeatedly been the source of surprise (and often exasperation) in my husband's life. I have broken a spout off a water container, set fire to a camping chair, set fire to my thongs, set fire to myself, produced inedible cannonballs out of previously tasty rissoles, turned tent-raising into a test of endurance, tripped over quite visible obstacles on innumerable occasions, lost my glasses on the beach, in the bush and in our garden. I have blithely blundered into obvious disasters without a care in the world. Following which, Michael usually has to pick up the pieces. Or me bodily...

I knew, immediately, that Michael was an unusual and extraordinary man from the moment I met him. Even our first "date" was a bit different. As I owned two dogs and Michael had his own dog, our choice of venue was the Whiteman Park dog exercise enclosure. Whilst the dogs introduced themselves and we walked and talked, very little else happened. But his beautiful dark eyes had already drunk me in. A gentle and quietly spoken man, he didn't touch me or try to hold my hand or kiss me after three seconds.

What a change from the Wide-mouthed Frog, the Chilean Stallion, Dave the Brave (who didn't like dogs), the Creepy Technician (who assumed I would have sex with him as he'd paid to see my profile on RSVP), the Sicilian Psychopath or a sad, anxious Kiwi who earned his nickname in a most unfortunate way. Michael was definitely a vast improvement.

So began our relationship. Friends were on the lookout for my welfare and put Michael through the Third Degree. My parents approved of my choice of partner for the first time in my fifty years. His children threw difficulties in our way, but we weathered those storms. We fled Perth to find a place to call home. We found sanctuary in Heavenly Beverley.

Michael introduced me to his beloved Goldfields, observing my reactions and gauging my moods. I fell in love with him, his stories and the places he took me. By the end of our first trip away together, I had become fascinated by the metal artefacts we collected and the places we stayed, which all whispered tales of the hardy folk who had settled there during the Goldrush and beyond.

Up to this day, I keep discovering more about Michael, particularly about his passions. Photos of him in his twenties, working in steel fabrication and moving towards decorative metal art and then into sculpture. The early stirrings of his story-telling through his art has led to his unique style of multi-faceted pieces. He loves manipulating his art to create shadows, as well as art that can be viewed from either side. The only multiple pieces he produces - Magda our redback spider magnet - are still individuals, given that each is hand made by eye.

Approaching another anniversary, we find that our relationship is still strengthening. We are content in each other's company. We love our friends, but we also treasure our alone time.

Hopefully, within a month, we will be moving into our new home, Station House. We plan to mount "Dory" onto our outside golden wall and our van Gogh colours reflect our hard-fought happiness.

And I have no doubt that Michael will continue in his calm ( if slightly bemused) acceptance of my ongoing disasters.

Love you, darling.

"Forgotten Tracks"

"In the Mix"

Within the chapel at SJOG, Subiaco

ladybird

caterpillar

"Spider on a Wall"

Adjacent to Mercy Hospital, Mt Lawley

Building a grizzly

Michael with his first business partner, Bevan Kipps

Please god, let this weld hold...!

"Child's Play"

"The Black Dog is Back"

"Starbirth"

Firescreen and fire grate

"Flowers in my Garden"

"Kangaroo Paw"

"Magda" in production

"Sketch in Steel" (Doodle!)

"Mindscape"