She Rocks!

Beverley is a remarkable and engaging country town.

Not always. When we moved to Beverley in January 2011, the town had been traumatised by the driest year on record. The country was grey, the streets were dusty and there were empty shops aplenty. However, we still saw the hidden charm that we knew was there and did not hesitate to make Beverley our home.

Fast forward seven years. Every shop in town is leased. New businesses have opened. The school is growing. Homes are being snapped up and John Rozema and his trusty partner, Lindsey Doyle are the local Builders to the Stars.

Two of the more recent arrivals in town, Nourishabley and U Beauty Country, came up with the bright idea of offering Mothers' Day vouchers for twin pampering opportunities to be held this weekend.

Janet of Nourishabley offered a choice of deep tissue massage, relaxing massage or hot rocks massage. Kerryanne of U Beauty Country's contributions were manicure, pedicure or facial. After much deliberation, I decided upon a hot rocks massage and a manicure. The massage was easy - I'd never tried hot rocks. And as for my hands, they are probably the most neglected appendages on my body and deserved a bit of intensive care.

I was summoned for my manicure just after two thirty. My hands were taken by Kerryanne, soaked, exfoliated, conditioned, massaged and my nails painted. Bliss. And even though I'd mucked up my thumb nail's polish before I left U Beauty, I didn't care. Even if pampering only lasts for five seconds, I still love the whole process. And Kerryanne was gentle. Believe me, I've had so-called manicures that have not been fun...

Across the road to Nourishabley. First world problem emerged. How to get undressed for my hot rocks massage without smudging my nails further. Janet was up to the task. She undressed me along with much hilarity and her spoken concern that I may fart whilst she was removing my trousers. I wouldn't have dreamed of doing such a thing! Unless my laughing caused an involuntary explosion...

First time lying on my tummy since surgery. Knee surprisingly comfortable. Janet started with her hands on my back. Then came her use of the warmed rocks up and down my tight-as-a-spring spine. I was in ecstasy. Janet's comment was - "If you are going to having an orgasm, I am out of here!" In spite of her protestations, my roars of delight continued. Luckily, I was the last client of the day...

The evening finished with drinks, Kerryanne's fabulous pumpkin soup and sweet and savoury nibbles. Michael was in his element, surrounded by five women. The atmosphere was truly wonderful. Having a social adjunct at the end actually added to the delight, as we enjoyed each other's company and shared more of ourselves. We partied on until six o'clock. The only tiny downside was that Janet and Kerryanne were slightly disappointed with only six takers for their pampering day.

As far as I am concerned, the day was a triumph for both pampering purveyors.

I really hope they repeat this fabulous experience later in the year. Thank you, Janet and Kerryanne!

Post-pampering munchies!

Oh yes, oh yes...

The Dynamic Duo - Janet (left) and Kerryanne.

Pampering on offer...

Oh, Heaven!

And even if the nail polish only lasted five seconds on Anxiety Girl, it was worth it!

And last but not least - party bags to take home.

A Myriad Of Storms

The run of calm warm days and still cold nights slammed to a halt yesterday. From early morning, the northerly wind was rising in power, the classic harbinger of change. The day remained unseasonably warm, but the dust from all the bare paddocks began to lift, to drift, to rise and to swirl upwards into the sky. By two o'clock, we couldn't tell where the horizon was anymore and our whole world had turned a murky grey-brown.

We set out for Northam to see Stephanie the GP in order to have the twenty-four staples in my knee removed. We had been given the staple remover on discharge from the Mount, a device that did not fill me with confidence that the extractions would be painless. My knee was still periodically giving me merry hell, my own private little storm of discomfort and grouchiness.

The day became darker and darker. We arrived in Northam in the mid-afternoon gloom. I was looking forward being to de-stapled less and less. Stephanie was all about easing my fears and just getting on with the job. Overall, better than anticipated but a few of the staples had become quite tight against my skin. Those ones were unforgettable.

A good paint with the red antiseptic that stank, a few dozen steri-strips and a new waterproof bandaid the size of Tasmania and I was feeling much better. We sat and discussed all the realities of my knee replacement that I still needed to know.

I had to do my exercises. No excuses. In order to facilitate compliance, sufficient pain relief was the order of the day. No pain meant more exercise. More pain could equal refusal to carry out exercises and end up with a wonky knee for the rest of my life. So, Stephanie didn't particularly care what I took as long as I was relatively pain-free.

Swelling would also be my best friend for months. Not to worry. And no excuse not to exercise. Luckily my elephant foot will be encased under clothes and in shoes of some sort for the foreseeable future.

The last two weeks have not been fun. My resolve is firm. Falling over is not an option. I intend to sear these memories into my psyche for all eternity. Except I also know I'll need a new knee in about twenty years. However, I will not be hurrying along to that next exciting installment.

Another storm was brewing, neither meteorological nor physical. A Facebook post I had loaded onto my timeline had caused a clash of beliefs and opinions. This created twenty-four hours of angst and agitation raging online across the country.  I found the situation bewildering and incomprehensible. My page is a place for me to share what is important to me, to welcome all views, but not to accept a particular person monopolising a discussion. I hope that this behaviour never occurs on my page again.

The dust storm raged into the evening. The air was heavy with flying particles but the change was finally approaching. The rain started in squalls during the night. The wind continued but the dust was settled by the continuing downpour. We woke this morning to a divinely grey day with scurrying showers and a definite chill.

I have weathered these current storms. I am doing my exercises. My knee feels so much better minus the staples. When I woke from this afternoon's sleep, I was actually pain-free. But just to prevent me from becoming too cocky, Flatulent Friday is back with a vengeance. Whoever claimed codeine makes one constipated has never encountered my bottom...

Dust storm coming...

The subject that caused the storm on Facebook. As this post illustrates, there are many many sides to this issue...

Never stop questioning...

and remember...!

YES...

Meanwhile, no gory photos...

Careful, I may be this in a while!

And a new storm that was most welcome.

Why One Size Doesn't Fit All (An Open Letter to Medicare Australia)

Yesterday morning, I woke after a particularly awful night. Pain had been my constant companion in spite of heavy duty painkillers and a sleeping tablet. I felt exhausted and frightened. For fear of becoming overly dependant on morphine based pain relief, I'd defaulted back to Paracetamol and Codeine. For fear of seizing up, I'd battled on crutches to stay upright and moving. I was rapidly descending into a fog of pain and fear.

My knee was pumping out heat and discomfort. My calf muscles were rigid. Pan levels were leading to avoidance of my exercises. I was ten days post surgery and I was not in control.

So I rang the Boy Wonder's rooms. Could I have an infection? Was this pain normal? What should I do? The advise I received was to go our my GP and get my leg checked.

We live one hundred and thirty kilometres from Perth. Our general practitioners are sixty-eight kilometres away. Getting to the surgeon's rooms or back to the hospital where my operation took place were not realistic options. So, we set out for Northam.

I snagged the last appointment of the day. Doctor Richard, the husband of our other GP Stephanie, took us into his room and began to review my situation.

Richard had been an orthopaedic surgeon prior to becoming a GP. As we talked and he checked my knee, I could see he was fuming. Not at me. At the one size that doesn't fit all system. For example, the Boy Wonder would receive payment for postoperative care. That involved him seeing me after four weeks. In the meantime, any other care I received elsewhere, such as from Richard the GP, might or might not be honoured by Medicare Australia, so I had to be charged the standard fee. As a pensioner, I am normally bulk-billed. Because of a bureaucratic, unwieldy system,  I am not supposed to receive aftercare services from another doctor apart from the surgeon.

Which would have been fine if I'd been given sufficient discharge advice. Here is a list of some postoperative information that would have been really useful last Wednesday when we set out for home. Except I had to wait five days for Richard to tell me what I needed to hear -

that knee replacements are very painful for two or three weeks
that removing the staples will reduce the discomfort
that I need a physiotherapy programme starting in the third week
that good pain relief is paramount
that my knee needed to be propped up on a pillow at rest
that nothing I do can actually damage my new knee.

Leaving the Mount, I was handed three discharge sheets telling me to check for infection, constipation, use ice to reduce swelling, do the exercises given to me by the physio and make a post-op appointment with the surgeon. My crutches were incorrectly adjusted by the resident physio and I was given an inadequate prescription for enough pain relief.

My five-day stay at the Mount had an approximate quote of $10000, according to our private health fund. I am sad to say that the Mount failed me on this occasion. And my aftercare has been provided, in part, by my GP, and Medicare does not have the flexibility to reimburse more than one provider of this care.

The good news is that today is another day and I am in a more positive mood, with less pain.

Not happy, Jan...

Please?

Grey Street Surgery

Still no...

My knee and me are feeling a bit better tonight.

An Odd Sort Of Day

After promising to be a Good Girl and look after my knee, of course, I didn't. Yesterday, some bizarre will o' the wisp invaded my body and convinced me to vacuum the house. Then I tottered around to the Gallery to relieve Michael and ended up in the shape of a corkscrew, due to misguided attempts to keep the knee in mid-air on a chair. Epic fail.

As a result, my knee was shuddering in pain when we set out for Friday night at the pub. On our way home, we encountered Julie and her excellent husband Dave-the-Brave on their evening constitutional. After dark, they go to the gym. And then they walk back home.

Julie is my kind of holy roller. She enjoys a drink, a decent expletive and is never backward about coming forward. I refer to Dave as the-Brave due to the force of nature our Jules is. She also is an astonishing layer-on of hands.

We ended up having them in for impromptu drinkies. They were suitably impressed with the outdoor progress and were equally impressed with the warmth of our house.

Julie worked on my knee. For the first time in the day, I had some tangible relief. And she also removed some lurking demon from inside Michael. As whatever it was, vanished. His eyes flew open like an extremely startled chook and then he instantly relaxed. Ladies and gentlemen, we all witnessed this moment.

Feeling slightly shell-shocked, we bade Julie and Dave goodnight and retired to bed. However, in my delight at leaving hospital and feeling suitably invincible, I learnt last night that I wasn't. Invincible.
Bollocks.

After an exceedingly ordinary night in terms of sleep and comfort, I decided I needed to stay put. On the bed. For a day. Holy cow! I can't remember the last time I was on a bed for an entire day, excluding hospitals of course.

The morning did not begin well. As I sat up, my left nostril decided to haemorrhage all over the bedsheets. Great start. Now I had a left leg the size of Babar the Elephant, suspicious splodges of blood everywhere on my bottom sheet and a whole day to fill.

Fortunately, my beloved husband left me with necessary amusements. Laptop - check. Phone  -check. Camera - check. Tea - check. TV magazine - check. He then disappeared to open the Gallery.

And so, I filled the day. I only left my exalted position in bed to attend to ablutions or grab a bite to eat. Plus, one comedy of errors taking the dogs outside as Michael was busy with Gallery guests.

I caught up on the day's news. I checked my e-mails at leisure. I booked a campsite in July in the Murchison. I followed the ongoing angst regarding the Middle East. I discovered that the United States had experienced two school shootings in the last week. I shared some appallingly politically incorrect feeds to lighten the mood of extremism.

Then I pondered the current world situations.

What has happened to gentleness, to thoughtfulness, to compassion, and to consensus? Why does the world seem such an angry place?  What can we, as individuals, do to lessen this paranoia, this fear, this fury?

If we are all going to survive, in this time of upheaval, not to mention climate change, how can we be more giving and less taking?

And then I remembered the Desiderata. I love these words. I love the message. Surely, surely, we can find a creed that fills the void between all religions.

When was the last time that we went "Placidly amid the noise and haste..."

My Knee and I

The Beverley Hillbillies are back where we belong. I am currently seated at my familiar desk, looking out at our beautiful brick courtyard. The endless hues of our recycled bricks are dancing and glistening in the morning light.

Wednesday was one of those topsy-turvy days. I woke, flustered, in pain and uncomfortable, without Michael next to me in the room at the Mount Hospital. He'd had to return home on Tuesday due to the imminent sealing of our charcoal pavers, in order to keep the dogs contained. As of this morning, the sealing has still not occurred ...

Michael and I have had only good memories of the Mount. The Boy Wonder has put us both together again there on a number of occasions. All of these previous admissions had been overnight stays. My knee replacement had led to a five-day stay. Maybe I was just there too long...

My first concern on that fateful last morning was my unanswered bell. For an hour. Then came two nurses, who had supposedly checked my morning medications, bringing in a blood thinning injection I'd had the night before.

A diversionary tactic was employed when I asked for help with showering "Do you think you could manage with the shower chair?" I doubt I would have asked for help if I didn't think I needed it.

I showered and dressed without help. My knee was not amused.

Confusion reigned about the timing of my discharge. I had checked the day before (Tuesday) that I could stay until after lunch as Michael would be coming from Beverley to collect me. So I'd ordered lunch for us. Wednesday morning I was told needed to vacate my room prior to Michael's arrival.  I singlehandedly packed up all our gear.,,Then I was assured I could remain in my room after all.

Give me strength.

Michael arrived, having broken the land speed record in Lily. The bloke whose partner was in the next bed helped him down with our belongings. In their absence, I went to the toilet and sat rather heavily on the seat.

A robust bellow of my favourite expletive should have been heard throughout the ward. I rang the bell to ask for immediate pain relief. I was not happy and said so.

Apparently, my needs had not been met due to Wednesday being a busy admissions and surgery day.

We arrived at Station House just before three o'clock that afternoon. I retired to our bedroom and slept for a dream free two hours. We were increasingly tired and crotchety as the night wore on, so we chose bed relatively early, prior to either of us actually stabbing the other in the eye.

Throughout this last week, my knee and I have also been forging a relationship. I have yet to post holiday snaps of us together. Our partnership reminds me of being at home with a new baby. One part euphoria, one part terror, one part exhaustion and one part sheer determination.

The first morning at home was a mixture of refreshment and joy. I had slept twelve hours away. My knee and I were making progress. Prior to this, I had considered that the knee was an alien, rather like the being in the movie of the same name and definitely not to be trusted. Although not yet best buddies, we are now beyond the funny handshake stage.

Yesterday, I blasted past any limitations and I am now paying the price. My foot has blown up due to more activity and less horizontalness. Bollocks. That will teach me.

Today is a fresh day. I vow to be more sensible. I vow to treat my knee with more tenderness and affection. There will be no leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

But I am home and all is pretty good in our world. I can hear the Beagle behind me snoring her rocks off whilst reclining on her bed.

Gold.

A Middle-Aged Love Story

Self-help method I decided against...

Home of the Boy Wonder...

My knee is now a week old!

Sentiments I may have expressed once or twice...

 Released on Wednesday...

Possible delusions of grandeur?

Not quite yet! Thinking about it though...

 My knee and I are already dreaming about an Outback holiday.

Hospital Antics - Featuring More Red Socks and Mata Hari Stockings

Today has been extremely busy until now, which is at the end of lunch. I'm hoping to finish this post before I need a Bex, a good lie down and a decent cup of tea.

Forget about hospitals being places of rest, recuperation, and recovery. That misconception only occurs whilst the patient is being given enough medicinal goodies to stay in Cloud Cuckoo Land. Once the heaviest of the sleep-inducing stuff is withdrawn, the patient moves into a state of less extreme snooziness but is continually interrupted from sleep by a barrage of people and their requests for your body and your mind. And when you are well enough and conscious enough to leave, your money.

In a salute to that classic moment only expected in the movies, I was roused out of a deep sleep at 10 o'clock last night to be given the last of my night meds. Which I had actually requested at eight o'clock...  That was when I realised my state of consciousness had returned to normal, and that the hospital had returned to its default position - of crazy protocols and nonsensical schedules.

The noise levels begin their rise before six o'clock in the morning. This is when the Water Jug Ladies remove your bedside water jugs and glasses. Gone. Just like that. A later set of Water Ladies return a new jug and glass, so if one is thirsty in the interim and confined to bed, bad luck.

Further early morning amusements included those awful modern symphonies of observation trolley clashes, a cacophony of nurses' low voices, the jungle-like rhythmic knocking on room doors (are you still asleep? Not anymore you aren't...) and if you are really lucky, your first meds for the day ( there you are, back to sleep now...).

I was starving this morning by the time breakfast arrived, at eight o'clock, having listened to the jostling orchestral sounds of the ward since the departure of the Water Jug Ladies. Michael had snored his head off throughout these less than silent hours, only surfacing with the smell of fried egg and toast arriving at his table. His return to consciousness was spot-on. I was envious.

Post breakfast shenanigans included the casual visit by the Boy Wonder - "what on earth is that?" were his first words pointing to the layer-upon-layer-upon layer of neat, staggered and not waterproof bandaging on my leg. Sarah, in response -"that's how all your patients come back". Ben Kimberley, in an astonished tone "well get the dressings off and stick on a waterproof one, will you? Of course, I'm usually in the tea room by the time this all happens!"

Trying not to laugh, snort and hoot all at once...

A quick look, a sign-off, preparation for my discharge and the Boy Wonder was off to startle his next patient.

Then came the Allies/Allied Services. David was the so-called evil physiotherapist from yesterday. All he was trying to do was to teach me how to get up and down steps. "Good leg to heaven, bad leg to hell" and watching in slightly amused horror as I demonstrated this move completely incorrectly on two occasions. Which caused me instant pain. Bollocks.

Must keep practising, practising, practising...

David was followed by Zoe, an occupational therapist with clear instructions on how I should be moving. I'm sure I nearly caused her a nervous breakdown. She was less than impressed with the swiveling action of my good foot, my "falling with style" onto the loo and using objects like bathroom cabinets for additional balance. She also disapproved of my complete refusal to consider a toilet chair or a panic button. A snippet of our conversation went something like this -

Zoe "but you fell over and couldn't get up without help"
Me - "that's because eighty-two kilos of me followed my knee in my collision with the paving"
Zoe - "but you've fallen twice"
Me - "well I won't be doing that again. The second fall and arthroscopy were most unsatisfactory and now I've had a new knee, I have no desire to fall ever again."

I think Zoe came to the conclusion that I was probably a lost cause.

Michael, having breakfasted himself and showered, helped me with my shower prior to leaving me until tomorrow. He was being forced to return to Heavenly Beverley due to an unexpected complication. Mark and Joel, our wall builders, had finally come to the end of our job - finish the sealing of the pavers. This involved the exile of any animals from this area until the pavers dried. Jan has taken Matters In Hand, locked a very annoyed cat in Station House so Michael could give her the dreaded blood pressure tablet and taken the Beagle and Pip to her house for the duration. Michael needed to relieve her, profusely thank her and offer our eternal gratitude.

Vanessa arrived as Michael was leaving. And I also had another appointment with the loathed support stockings. Sarah frogmarched me to the bed to assist dragging them up my reluctant legs. These ones were full length and took quite some effort to finish the job. However, once at full stretch, Vanessa declared that they were sexily white, shiny Mata Hari stockings.

Suddenly I was no longer confined to a hospital bed, but reclining on a chaise lounge, scantily clad and inhaling a seriously fashionable cigarette. The addition of more non-slip red socks on top only added to my allure...

And I thought I wasn't taking weird drugs anymore!

The Oracle - faithful first means of mobilisation...

My God, I was looking regal this morning!

 And behold the white stockings...

A young Mata Hari in more conservative civvies...

Now that's more my image!

And as for my red socks...

having a slight resemblance to Dorothy's...

Crikey, she's searching for them!

Better get my crutches homeward bound as soon as possible...!

Slow Steps Forward...And The Odd One Backwards

All was not well with the Dowager Duchess

When caught in the Mad Rapist's clutches

Until he turned on the light

Took one look, said "goodnight"

So she hit him with one of her crutches!

This would have to be one of my favourite ditties of all time. And I recalled it immediately on being presented with the crutches for the first time today. Before that, I had been dithering around on a zimmer frame, looking and feeling very much like a somewhat untidy bird in a cage, longing to fly again.

And smugness. That bloody Seventh Deadly Sin reared its handsome and impossibly confident head out once again, filling me with unfortunately significant self-belief. 

Let me explain. Postoperatively, I'd had a catheter left in my leg to supply local anaesthetic continuously to the distressed area - my knee. That device had discombobulated yesterday and had been retired. However, the delightful effects carried on their merry way until about twelve hours later. Suddenly, on trying to rise from being horizontal, at one o'clock this morning, I profoundly believed that some bastard had just chopped my knee in half.

The pain was pretty spectacular. Reducing to about a two out of ten level in bed, the discomfort would soar rapidly to a nine out of ten when the Oracle and I attempted to move as one. My fragile recovery seemed to have been shattered with the removal of the local anaesthetic. 

I was even more subdued and suspicious when the evil physiotherapist held out my crutches as a possible saviour. I was still decidedly wobbly on the zimmer frame and I didn't think two metal sticks would actually help my ability to stay upright.

The first attempt was not a success. Unable to properly coordinate my body, I had too much weight on my legs for comfort and decided wobbliness. As fast as I could, I manoeuvred myself back towards my bed, landing rather like a breaching humpback whale.

I miserably resigned myself to a longer stint in our twin room at the Mount. Sliding into sleep once more, I then drifted in and out of slumber until early afternoon. Then, slowly, my thoughts turned to strategies to enhance my efforts to stay on my feet.

Enemy number one has been the sleepiness brought on by the heavy painkillers. I have resolved to come off the oxycodone and look at alternatives. Panadeine Forte is my pain relief drug of choice. And other changes will be to lower both my expectations of instant success and the speed I was attempting to harness on both the zimmer frame and the crutches.

So, I have been concentrating, hard, on these ideas. I'm using my arm muscles, watching my feet and narrowing the wildly outrageous swinging arcs I had been undertaking on the crutches. An angelic occupational therapist cheered my efforts, whilst checking our home status. She was also most amused was my opinion of the physio as "evil". Apparently, there is a considerable rivalry between OTs and physios, which she was happy to advance.

The nursing staff has continued to meet my every need. I would like to thank Barry, Salini, Nicole, Thalia, Rosemary, Victoria, Yusup and Sarah for looking after the Beverley Hillbillies.

I am still a bit sleepy but I have been on a walk around the ward with Vanessa. Michael has been agreeably applauding my efforts. Whether I do get out of jail free tomorrow or languish here for another day, I feel like the backward velocity has ceased. And I am delighted with this thought.

This would be me!

yeah, right!

I am on my BEST BEHAVIOUR!

So I can access this...

After finishing dealing with this...

Good to remember...

I am also Kate the Great!