Kate Becomes A Detective

The last seven days have been rather memorable, and not always pleasantly so. Any readers who actually follow this blog might remember that I ended up in quite severe pain last Wednesday. Whilst walking to the chiropractor. As I stepped up the kerb using my athroscoped knee, its revenge was spectacular and sudden. Movement of any sort became impossible whilst I bellowed like a bull. 

Chiropractor to the Stars, the lovely Liam, gave me the gentlest of massages around the knee whilst he tried to work out what the hell had happened. He was all for persuading me to ring the Boy Wonder's rooms to explain my predicament. Knowing he was on leave saved me the possible horror of a trip to the Big Smoke. Instead, I made an appointment to see the local quack the following day.

One major irritant about living out of the metro area is the lack (perceived or real) of General Practice services. We are fortunate to have two different doctors' surgeries here in Beverley, but I had not patronised them much for different reasons. 

Back in 2014, when Michael nearly died, our then local doctor disagreed with my decision to criticise a respiratory specialist whom I believed treated Michael poorly. We were invited not to attend that group of doctors anymore. As there was no second surgery at that point, we shifted quacks to York. We had an absolutely fabulous doctor there, until one day, she decided she wanted to be an actor rather than a doctor and that was that. We then moved lock, stock and barrel another thirty-five kilometres to another Surgery in Northam. We have been pretty satisfied with the doctors there...Until recently. Of the twin doctors we see there regularly, one is now almost impossible to see for an emergency on even up to a week in advance. The other has just blotted the copybook one time to many. Comments such as "people like you are the reason the NDIS is going broke" have not been particularly endearing. Accusing us of "doctor shopping" and then telling us to use the local one in a different circumstance was hurtful and confusing. I have just about had enough.

Anyway, last Thursday, Michael delivered my body to see the local bloke. He was empathetic, brisk and reassuring. He prescribed rest and good pain relief, using heat packs if they helped and promised me I'd be feeling a lot better in a few days. I retired to bed and there I stayed until Saturday evening.

I couldn't understand why I felt so terrible. Rapidly through Thursday and into Friday, fatigue became all encompassing, nausea was awful and bouts of diarrhoea added to my general misery. On Friday, I slept for eighteen out of twenty-four hours and just was wiped out. 

I thought that maybe the pain killers were the culprits. So I stopped them and returned to good old Panadol. I stayed in bed with my heat pack and my discomfort as my knee improved mightily, but my other symptoms remained. 

By Saturday evening, I was utterly fed up. With no appetite, the ever-present collywobbles and lethargy having become my best friend, action was necessary. The time had come to use the "little grey cells" and solve this most annoying puzzle.

I have always loved detective stories. From Hercule Poirot to Jessica Fletcher, Jay Swan to Miss Marple, Father Brown to Phryne Fisher, they have provided me with escapism, intrigue, red herrings, convoluted explanations and occasionally simple solutions. I needed to employ some of their enquiring skills.

I thought back to Thursday. The only variable was a drug named Trulicity, which I had been prescribed as Ozempic had become difficult to obtain. Both medications for Type 2 Diabetes, I had hoped to have a helping hand in my weight loss journey having heard of their ability to do exactly this.

Having been on Ozempic with no side effects for two months, I didn't really question the prescribing of Trulicity. I was assured by the GP that they were the same drug, just a different name. I had injected myself with Trulicity on Thursday without a second thought...

Fast forward to yesterday. My nausea was easing, the fatigue lessening and the dreaded trots were receding to a bad memory. Whilst in Northam for Michael to see the podiatrist, I decided to report to the Surgery what I regarded as an adverse event to a drug. The reception staff took my reporting very seriously indeed. I was told they would squeeze me in to see my doctor of choice. 

In due course, I was ushered into the inner sanctum. A medical student was also there, which was absolutely no problem to me. I thought my story might actually be a relevant teaching opportunity. 

So I explained. My doctor didn't seem to think that being unable to stay awake more than six hours on Friday was a huge issue, that the drug had these side effects and that I hadn't had an allergic reaction. I responded that I didn't think it was an allergic reaction, rather a very nasty episode that needed to be recorded. Her reply was that reporting adverse events just involved lots of paperwork and she was of the opinion that course of action wasn't warranted.

Did I feel fobbed off? Undoubtedly. I did not feel heard in any way, shape of form. Plus, on the advice of a nursing friend of mine, I had researched both drugs. Although similar, they were not the same medications. Both drugs came with warning of  the possibility of developing thyroid cancer, pancreatitis and kidney failure. Among other potentially undesirable issues. 

I have decided I shall have to try and lose weight the old-fashioned way. More exercise and less food. I suppose the good news is that Trulicity gave me a head start on appetite reduction!

Interestingly, today I listened to an interview with a chap named Ben Bravery, a zoologist who decided to study medicine after having bowel cancer in his twenties. Now training as a psychiatrist, he has chosen this course because he wants to treat the whole person, not just the illness. He noted that doctors are usually very well educated in medical knowledge and not that crash-hot in providing understanding, empathy and time with their patients. He used the daily doctors' rounds as an example of patients often being left confused, anxious and frightened. Ben described his own experiences as an impetus for writing "The Patient Doctor". He described exactly my feelings of dissatisfaction with my consultation the day before.

My detective work had paid off. I have now resolved to become even more better informed about my health and my choices, particularly as I age. I have always believed that knowledge is power. I forgot my own mantra with Trulicity.

Will this post be widely read? I hope so, but sometimes I believe topics like these make people uncomfortable.

Comments welcome.

Elvis Costello's "Watching the Detectives" spent an entire day in my head...

Ben Bravery...

His book - on my list to read.

A Pot Of Family Fun Tempered By A Side Of Smugness...

I try never to wallow in life's misfortunes for very long. The NDIA brand of the Keystone Cops, will continue on their merry way, causing bureaucratic chaos and mental carnage for the foreseeable future. Yet, I know families who have nothing but praise for the NDIS and I am thrilled that the scheme is working for them. Pity that the rest of us feel like decisions are made by the toss of a coin, rather than through common sense and consultation.

I shall put my frustration with the NDIA aside for another day and report on far more pleasant topics. June is zooming past with more speed that I had thought possible. We started the month without that many commitments. Or so we thought.

Absolutely wrecked by our Winter Sundowner, we gratefully motored down to the Big Smoke on the following day to spend some R&R time with our very own MasterChef Callum, Super teacher to the Littlies and fabulous Mum Bronwyn and the divine grandchild, Miss Imogen Ivy. We also had to try and avoid the ministrations of the psycho cat, Ragnar, who is very much a One Woman (Bron) cat and takes great delight (still) in stalking Cal's ankles. Ragnar's expression has remarkable similarity to one of those stereotyped henchmen in Fu Manchu movies, with behaviour to match.

Delighted just to be in their orbits, Immy's capture of our hearts gets tighter every time we see her. Although slightly speech delayed due to her incessant ear infections, she is exceedingly vocal with Bron assisting as her personal translator. She is now recognising us as Nanny and Grampy and giving us hi fives. A natural performer, she will dance and sing if she thinks nobody is watching. She is a beautiful child, with Bron's strawberry blonde hair, but in curls, a cherub's face and an engaging personality. I am sure that her midnight chats are hereditary - as a toddler, Callum would often chat, sing and giggle to himself in the wee small hours. Our day and a half stay was a giddy series of fun episodes. All too soon, we were heading back past the hills.

The second week of June launched the scenario of my Very Sore Right Knee. Attempts to ignore it and wish that particular body part would just shut up and get better was a decided non-starter. Chiropractor to the Stars, Liam, was concerned about cysts and ligament tears. Our Epic Road Trip looming in just over five weeks, action was called for sooner rather than later. Time was of the essence if I wished to be fit enough to wear my new  Blue Steel hiking boots as planned from 16 July.

My first obstacle was getting a doctor's appointment to gain an X-ray and Ultrasound referrals. Previously very happy with our GP  Doctor Stephanie in Northam, the reality is that appointments with her are as scarce as hen's teeth. I managed  to secure a phone consultation with her other half, Doctor Richard, at the end of that second week.

However, he then refused to write my necessary referrals as I was not physically in the Patient Chair. He had no other alternative to offer, other than visit a GP in Beverley to receive the necessary paperwork. Michael and I were unimpressed at Richard's attitude, as he had previously voiced strong  opinions that we had partaken in "Doctor Shopping" for scripts and that "people like us" was the reason the NDIA was going broke. And that my word and that of our Chiropractor had no weight at all.

Fortunately, the day after, Doctor Andre at the local Vines medical centre saw me, listened to me and immediately wrote my X-ray and ultrasound forms. Plus, he started Michael on an Atom Bomb course of antibiotics to stop his upper respiratory infection taking hold in his dodgy lungs.

X-rays for my knee and His Majesty's neck and back were duly carried out, along with the ultrasound looking for soft tissue damage around my recalcitrant joint. Michael's hearing checkup rounded out a very busy Monday. Back in Doctor Andre's room two days later, a tear to my meniscus ligament and an associated cyst were noted.

Without hesitation, I arranged for my arthroscope to be carried out less than forty eight hours later.  With Michael's hip replacements next on the agenda, we will never drop our private health insurance. Pain is so not our friend.

We were also able to set up a lightning sleepover with Cal, Bron and Immy on Thursday evening so we didn't have to leave Beverley at half past four last Friday morning.  Instead, we were privy to another wonderful evening and have more sleep in suburban Perth than we would have had in our own beds. Immy, as usual, was far more entertaining than any reality TV show! Thank you very much, Cal and Bron for allowing two geriatrics to gate crash on a week night.

Having never been in the renovated Day Unit at the Mount Hospital, I was mightily impressed. Heated blankets appeared, admission was smooth, the nursing staff lovely and Mister Ben Kimberley and his team gave me excellent care. Floating into Cloud Cuckoo Land at half past ten, I was awake, dressed, watered and fed and out the door at two thirty.

My knee full of local anaesthetic, I felt invincible. Michael delivered Alex and I to the Perth Eye Hospital. I stayed with Alex until he was off with the fairies through sedation and returned for his discharge about an hour later. Now he had received treatment for Keratoconus (which cause conical corneas) in both his eyes, which should stop any further deterioration.

For any number of reasons, Alex had only spent limited time with Michael and me over the last few years. Now, he was under our roof from Friday evening until Monday afternoon. This allowed us to connect, to chat, to share and to just be comfortable in each other's company.

These turned out to be rather special days. Alex continues to be courteous and very well mannered. He is empathetic towards others. His sense of humour has somewhat matured. He is less combative towards me and I think I am far more tolerant of his personality.

Watching him interact with a Hillsong online church service took my breath away. There is plenty for me (as a questioning and critical parent) to be wary of this type of religious expression. However, the service was full of light and music and excitement. The leaders really seemed to be conversing directly with Alex and he responded with joy and enthusiasm. Now, I was able to see why Hillsong forms part of Alex's tribe and his life. As his Mum, I must respect his wishes.

This frenetic June has had differing consequences. The pace has, at times, been over the top. Michael and I have had various types of imaging to keep an eye on our arthritic joints. Michael has had a throat infection. I have been in quite severe pain post op. In fact, so much I have been ordered to rest for at least two days. I did too much. Again. When will I ever learn?

The upside? Time with our kids and Immy. Even Ragnar. Michael is proving himself to be a mesmerising cat whisperer and the ruddy Ragdoll has responded. I have also been overwhelmed by the messages, phone calls and visits by friends over the last few days. 

And then, of course, there is the constant of my beloved Michael.

Imogen - June 2022...

Cleaning her teeth with Blippi...

With Mummy...

With her rocking horse...

Ride a cock horse...

Always looking and learning...

Dance, Immy, dance!

With Mummy, Daddy and Nana - April 2022...

Last Friday after being treated for keratconus...

At Karrinyup's Lego shop...

Michael and Larissa with Stella on cleanup duties - June Sundowner 2022.

How Long Must I Endure the Bewildering Buffoonery Of The National Disability Insurance Agency/Scheme?!

We returned our Autistic Superstar to his city digs yesterday after a most pleasant weekend. Alex coped with the pain and irritation of his Keratoconus treatment remarkably well, administering his eye medications at prompt intervals thoroughly and following all his surgeon's instructions. 

I was a bit under the weather having undergone a knee arthroscopy before Alex's procedure. I had my surgery on Friday morning; Alex had his procedure on Friday afternoon.  Hence, I had ample opportunity until Monday afternoon to observe my youngest born for a reasonable length of time, be very proud of his abilities and add to my understanding of what makes him tick.

Alex is now thirty-one years old. Born with a complex heart defect, he continued to gather further conditions throughout his childhood and young adulthood, becoming the rather interesting individual he is today. In spite of all his challenges, he has a full and happy life, enjoying the gym, his Church and his friends. Watching him participate with Sunday church services online allowed me a peek into those he regards as his tribe.

He lives in and is very proud of his Housing Authority unit. He works three days a week for Alinea, an Australian Disability Enterprise who operate Paraquad Industries through a series of supported employment sites. Alex is a Café Attendant at the Shenton Park facility and loves his role and his workplace.

Which leads me to that continuing lurking unease regarding his future. Recently, Activ Foundation announced that, due to changes in their NDIS funding, they were going to close their supported employment workplaces, potentially throwing seven hundred participants into an uncertain future.

For a very long time, I was not a fan of Disability Enterprises such as Activ and Alinea. I had always aimed at open employment for Alex, working in Hospitality. He had also completed several relevant courses through TAFEs in Beaconsfield and Joondalup. Unfortunately, I discovered that my hopes for Alex proved to be frustratingly out of reach. The other tragic reality was that the previous Liberal government had no political will to assist this significant cohort of people. 

There were  a few teething issues when Alex joined Alinea. These have all been happily resolved and I now regard the staff at Paraquad Industries as an integral part of his support team. Alex is confident and competent there, socialises with the other employees and has genuine pride in doing his job. So, my fears for Alex's long term workplace going down a similar road to Activ is most unsettling indeed.

Fortunately, an exceedingly vocal group of parent advocates have delayed the closure of Activ's work settings for another eighteen months. That such a course of action was necessary highlights the NDIA's complete lack of understanding of those they are supposed to assist.

Their Mission Statement waxes lyrical about  "Optimising social and economic independence and full participation for people with disability. Building and managing a world leading National Disability Insurance Scheme for all Australians." (their emphasis).

And its purpose is declared to be thus - "The purpose of the National Disability Insurance Agency (NDIA) is to increase the ability of individuals with a significant and permanent disability (participants) to be more independent, and engage more socially and economically, at the same time as delivering a financially sustainable Scheme that inspires community and stakeholder confidence."

As a person with no intellectual or other disability (apart from being a Lunachick) I still have some difficulty fully digesting these wordy tomes. What hope do some of the NDIA participants have if their comprehension doesn't extend to such a variety of Wank Words?

In my humble opinion, the NDIA's meaning for existence is to allow us all, regardless of our abilities, to live ordinary and fulfilling lives. Secondly, to support the participants' families and networks, all of whom spend countless hours of volunteering in an attempt to navigate this Brave New World.

What should the NDIA look like for Alex and our family? In the interests of keeping this post to a shorter length than a novel, I am resorting to dot points -

• that Alex is the focus
• that Alex has access to service providers that explain the NDIA/ NDIS and his individualised plan in language he can understand
• that his family is supported and included as integral members of Alex's team
• that his funding and his plan remains relevant to his needs and is adjusted accordingly.

So, what immediate improvements are I seeking?

• that I receive all correspondence in relation to Alex's participation in the NDIA
• that I am included in all aspects of decision making that support Alex's best interests
• that I have access to the processes and can advocate on Alex's best interests
• that the NDIA provide their correspondence in user friendly language
• that the NDIA check (preferably face to face) that Alex understands all correspondence
• that the NDIA cease drip feeding me information on their terms and provide me with full and frank answers to my questions
• that the NDIA recognise Alex's life goals and fund accordingly
• that the plan reviews and appeals become independent and transparent.

Alex has been a participant in the National Disability Insurance Scheme since October 2019. During the entirety of almost three years, Alex has not had a NDIS plan that works for him. He has had five separate Local Area Coordinators over this period, none of whom have been able to perform any meaningful tasks apart from data entry and woeful plan preparation. His excellent Support Coordinator, who acts as our conduit between Alex and the NDIA, is currently funded for sixteen hours a year. Think about that for a second. A young man with complex needs is supposed to be able to manage by communicating with his main support person for just over an hour a month.

He doesn't understand his Plan. He is having difficulty being reimbursed for his Transport Funding as he doesn't comprehend the required process. He often leaves NDIS correspondence on his kitchen table as he is not cognisant with the contents and descends into visual overload. Although he had finally received some specific funding for his core goal of establishing a drop in café in the future, he received no guidance concerning how, what or where he can use this funding. I was fortunate enough to be given the heads-up about microenterprises from my Autism guru, Mister Bob Johnson, so I have passed this information to  Alex's support coordinator for initial consultation. With no thanks to the NDIA.

Yesterday, he received a phone call from the NDIA announcing that his latest plan review can commence. I took the opportunity to speak to the staff member. I will now receive all Alex's correspondence. I will be participating in the plan review. Alex was visibly relieved  at my intervention

 I intend to hold the NDIA to account until Alex's plan becomes clear in its outcomes, is relevant to his life goals and is able to be understood and altered as necessary.

The NDIA has to do better for the sake of our children. I need to know that Alex will be able to lead as ordinary a life as he chooses before I shuffle off the mortal coil.

Isn't that all we wish as parents?

Alex turning 31...

         

My usual reaction after dealings with the NDIA...

What the NDIA has repeatedly offered me...

Resulting in this feeling...

And this outcome!

The Grand Plan...

Time to fix this agency...

We have to make the NDIS work!

For everybody's sakes.

We're Getting Too Old For These Shenanigans!

Our Winter Sundowner was held just over two weeks ago. I have been attempting to write a Detailed Report of this event and other news from the East End Gallery ever since. The words have been whirling around inside my skull at their usual frenetic pace, but the motivation to actually place my fingers on the laptop to complete this usually pleasant task has been sadly lacking. 

Back during the time of the dinosaurs, when I was a younger whippersnapper, the thought of piling up my days with activities, often until the wee small hours, was entirely natural. I joined committees and boards galore, spoke at every opportunity to better the world, ran a support association, administered Alex's intensive intervention programme (along with OT, physiotherapy, speech pathology, day care, school and structured play), collaborated with other organisations and would often carry out housework at night after everybody else was in bed. 

Age related conditions began to creep in surprisingly early. I have worn reading glasses since my late thirties. I began suffering injuries such as tennis elbow (repeatedly) when I had precious little experience of that game. Running for ten years prematurely aged my knees and ankles as I always preferred tarmac to uneven surfaces. Tweaking of my shoulders by the Boy Wonder Ben Kimberley began back in 2010, following a school incident when I was working as an education assistant. Then came a broken ankle, another school related wrist and lower arm injury followed by my left knee replacement four years ago.

Much to my dismay, I have turned into the clumsiest woman in the known universe. If it is possible to trip over still air on a flat path, I can do this. I am sure that my latest injury - a torn meniscus ligament and associated cyst - was a premeditated plan by Michael's Gallery chair to hurt me. I chose to sit on that malevolent piece of furniture for a split second until I went one way and the blasted chair another way. Next I knew I was on the floor, thoroughly embarrassed and hoping that all my generous body padding had protected me from potential nastiness.

Plus, I also recently tripped over a highly visible crack in the concrete next to our undercover washing line. Although I had gone down like a sack of potatoes on my left side, I had wondered about repercussions to my right knee, which was already quite sore by this stage.

Michael hasn't been immune to the inconvenience of age either. Three surgeries on his right wrist, hand and lower arm and tendon surgery on his left thumb has improved his ability to continue his art work. His shoulders have been cleaned and vacuumed, his left foot broken and healed and he is still getting used to his new hearing aids, courtesy of the noise during both his misspent youth and work life.

Throw in a lively Sundowner over a busy long weekend and the boom was lowered. I was just shattered after that night. So was Michael. After seven years of running Sundowners at our beloved Gallery well into the night, we have come to a startling realisation.

We are becoming wrecked by these activities. This epiphany has caused us to rethink future occasions. The Meerkat themed September Sundowner will begin earlier - from four o'clock and the curtain will come down at nine o'clock. We then hope to transition to the afternoons as the time for our Sundowners, which would involve the cessation of celebrations when the sun goes down. And, we intend to hopefully hold art demonstrations before our Sundowners, so we become more family focused. The last card making "workshop", prior to the Winter Sundowner was enthusiastically received by an extended family looking for an activity on a cold day.

Like it or not, we now have to begin taking our bodies' limitations into account. We have rediscovered chiropractor Liam Welfar, who comes to Beverley once a week. He has taken us In Hand to try and keep our bodies as flexible as possible. Ben Kimberley performed an arthroscopy and meniscectomy on my right knee on Friday. I am waiting with bated breath to discover if I am on a slippery slope towards my next knee replacement. Michael's neck and back arthritis is progressively worsening and he also needs both his hips replaced. We are working hard with Liam to be in the best shape we can for our much anticipated Epic Road Trip through Queensland in less than four weeks. Then we will attend to repairs as required.

Friday continued the theme of self inflicted exhaustion. I had also undertaken to drop Alex to his afternoon treatment for the eye condition keratoconus, fully aware that I would be a day patient myself under Ben Kimberley for my knee arthroscopy.  Hence, four hours after my general anaesthetic, Michael and Alex picked me up and we proceeded to the Perth Eye Hospital. I stayed with Alex until he was under sedation. We grabbed a quick bite to eat whilst he was receiving the treatment and finally headed for home just before six o'clock. Michael's tenacity and skill at getting us all safely to Beverley in the dark resulted in severe back pain as his reward.

Thus, at the completion of this latest twaddle detailing our business/busyness of the last two weeks, I shall be retiring to bed for an afternoon kip. The Freemasons' Tavern is our venue of choice for dinner. Following that, we intend to watch a riveting few hours on the telly before settling onto our deliciously comfy bed for the remainder of tonight. We need to deliver the Autistic Superstar home to his digs sometime tomorrow.

The washing machine has just finished and Alex's wet clothes are waiting for me. I shall attend to this task before blowing kisses to the universe whilst I gratefully enjoy an afternoon snooze.

Our orthopaedic surgeon, Mister Ben Kimberley...

Left knee replaced - check...

Right knee prior to arthroscopy...

Michael's added bits to his right arm and wrist...

Our latest health professional, Doctor Liam Welfar...

Lynn - cardmaking demonstrator -

Happy activities...

Sundowner scenes - Saturday 4 June...

Oh, The Irony (Again)!

I was going to centre this post around the happenings in the East End Gallery and our Latest Famous Sundowner. However, yesterday's events here in Heavenly Beverley have demanded a literary detour as I describe the saga of misadventures that caused chaos due to a power blackout, a lack of the ability to reboot certain services and the miserable continuing record of failing internet and mobile signals.

I am beginning to suspect that Telstra is telling yet more Furphies to bamboozle and bewilder its monopoly in the Bush. Beverley is hardly the Sticks/Styx. We are exactly one hundred kilometres from the Bottom of the Hill (otherwise known as Midvale) and one hundred and thirty kilometres from Perth City itself. Our mobile phone coverage continues to be dreadful. Signal fades beyond the Lakes Roadhouse (about half way to the Big Smoke) and doesn't reactivate until we are literally on Beverley's outskirts. The road route we take is well patronised so we aren't that concerned about dying from hunger or thirst on the way home.

Telstra claims that their "Blue Tick" phones are Top of the Wozza for regional and remote areas. I have a recent Samsung that has the "Blue Tick". Its performance is overshadowed by Michael's new iPhone, which is proving to be far more reliable and doesn't have the "Blue Tick"...

Telstra's other Trumpeting Achievement for those of us not hugging the Eastern States' seaboard is that their telecommunications provides superior coverage in other more primitive places. Whilst optimally the case, Telstra's system is still rather hit and miss. Yesterday, our Communication Goliath was all about miss...

Our day in Station House began as every appliance beeped in unison, a sign that we'd had a power outage during the night and Order had been restored. Apart from having to reset all the electronic clocks, we were rather unaffected by what we consider a reasonably frequent occurrence.

Our most memorable outage had been five days in January 2011, after a storm line decimated power supply between Geraldton and Narrogin (a distance of around six hundred kilometres). At the height of summer, all perishable food spoiled, all telecommunications apart from landlines failed, there was no fuel, banking or ordinary retail services. Imagine how the Highfalutin Types in the leafy green suburbs might have reacted.

Back to yesterday's misfortunes. We realised soon afterwards that neither our Telstra phones nor Telstra internet were operational. Fabulous. We could still make SOS or Emergency calls - a fat lot of good that would have been in a medical crisis with delays now regarded as mainstream in ambulance services.

More was to follow. Our one and only ATM in town needed to be rebooted after the restoration of power. On a Saturday morning in rural Western Australia, we certainly felt that we were not considered a priority.  The automatic fuel station couldn't operate either. Same reason as the ATM - the fuel station needed to be rebooted. Plus, those of us with Telstra phones couldn't ring anybody anyway.

EFTPOS terminals were patchy, dropping in and out with infuriating regularity. A cardigan from the Best Frock Shop in Beverley, "The Lucky Find" was given to me without payment as direct bank transfers were not possible. Proprietor Kylie does know where we live...

The final couple of insults were that Optus coverage was totally unaffected and Telstra was surprised to hear about the fault in our network when finally rung by an aggrieved customer...They apparently missed the point that all Telstra customers in Beverley had been unable to report the aforementioned fault.

Further evidence of Telstra's lack of attention to detail was uncovered, literally, during the interminable roadworks that began last October. Cables that were supposed to be buried to a specific depth weren't. Feeble attempts to keep the cables dry in the Wheatbelt clay had resulted in them being wrapped in plastic bags, rather than in a designated casing.

So, where does that leave us? I was mightily annoyed when Lisa's Optus phone was operating without a hitch yesterday when we had No Telstra Service. Regional Australia deserves better than this rubbish that masquerades as adequate customer assistance. Methinks I will be penning another letter to Andy Penn (Telstra's CEO until September) as Calvin, my current Telstra troubleshooter is currently on medical leave. 

I suggest that any of us affected by what amounts to contemptuous disregard by a multitude of organisations complain. Loudly, frequently and as politely as possible - a difficult feat, I know. And definitely not to some poor hapless sap at a call centre.

My Dad always went to the top of an agency when he needed to point out a deficit. Not that he always received a response, but he was satisfied that at least he's tried. Dad is still waiting in a comfortable armchair in Heaven for John Howard to reply to his suggestion of flat rate tax as a solution to our unfathomable tax system. I am actually thinking of writing a follow-up letter, honouring my Darling Dad, to that relic of a former Treasurer as the Liberal Party obviously still thinks he is a Very Important Person.

I should also suggest to Telstra that they provide our Beverley tower with a specially designed raincoat and umbrella during winter and a hat and sunscreen in summer. Failures to their system always seem to coincide with less than ideal weather, so there is a possible shirt term solution!

I rest my case...

Needed to be rebooted...

No service at the Servo...

Precious little of this...

Unfortunately frequent...

How to (NOT) waterproof cables...

Anything's worth a try...

When in doubt, go to the TOP...

A temporary solution to Telstra's tower woes in winter?