That Twilight Zone Between Christmas and New Year...

Are you all with me? We are currently navigating that weird period from 26 December to 31 December.    Government offices, companies, facilities and a myriad of other organisations have slammed shut their doors completely or are operating with a skeleton crew. All over this Great Southern Land, people are enjoying a well earned break. When they return to the workplace has absolutely no rhyme or reason. The answer is anywhere from early to mid January...

Last Friday (actually knowing which day was a bit tricky) I knew Northam Hospital  would have remained more-or-less operational throughout this festive season.Taking courage in hand, I tried to make Michael a specialist appointment through Northam Hospital. My phone-call was answered by switchboard but outpatient clinics will be deserted until they begin to take appointments again on 16 January.Which is a Thursday...Go figure. Bit tricky if we have an urgent enquiry about our health before then.

Most of you are aware that Long Covid was most probably responsible for me developing two utterly unrelated conditions last year. Small Airways Disease (nicknamed SAD) is a bloody annoying term for a litany of symptoms that are present in both COPD and asthma, but actually is a separate entity from either of these other disorders. Confused? Try living with this Bitch...

Then, there is my diagnosis of Pulmonary Hypertension. In November, I was definitively pronounced to have  Exercise-Induced Pulmonary Hypertension (EIPH) after fourteen months of varying breathlessness. I immediately re-described this affliction  as "Being up Shit Creek in a dark narrow tunnel without a paddle whilst attempting to push upstream"...Wordy, I know, but seemed appropriate at the time.

December has proved to be an absolute whirlwind of changing circumstances. Michael became very unwell with pneumonia and was hospitalised at Northam Hospital on Sunday 1 December. The following day, he was transferred to Joondalup health campus under Scott Claxton. There he remained, really sick for the first five days. He battled fever, delirium and an almost rib breaking cough with misery and nausea thrown into the mix. He began to pick up and then was removed from IV antibiotics. Two days later, we were out of there. A brush with COVID (Bronwyn tested positive) illuminated how hospitals still view this disease as a potentially deadly menace. Their protocols took effect immediately and were particularly isolating. We were pleased to go, but understood their measures.

Fortunately, we have both continued to test negative. However, pneumonia is not an illness to be shaken off easily and Michael took until after Christmas to get his energy and enthusiasm back. We also spent a wonderful early Christmas celebration with Cal, Bron and the girls, which was followed by an immensely hot spell in the lead-up to the Gallery closing on Christmas Eve. As a result, I found that my exhaustion and breathlessness were both becoming a bit alarming.

I saw Andre, our Beverley GP on 23 December. He doubled my dose of diuretic medication and I promptly lost three kilograms overnight. He also urged me to make an appointment with a cardiologist. And to go straight to an Emergency Department if I become too breathless. 

I have managed to secure a cardiology appointment for 19 March. In the meantime, my symptoms have lessened and I am coping better. What was becoming a tad concerning was my experience of Pulmonary Hypertension was altering from being exercise induced to being present all the time. Which did dampen my mood for a couple of days.

Then, my spirits, as ever, began to rise. Christmas dinner was a wonderful affair with friends who are also very much part of our  family. An unexpected delight was a couple of guests in the Gallery on Boxing Day who made it very much worth our while. Being able to pay all our artists and lobbing some money into MasterCard definitely put a spring back in my step.

What has further stiffened both my good humour and my resolve  has been watching the Boxing Day Test. I have always adored Test cricket from childhood. In the early 1970s, with three older brothers, growing up in Brisbane summers, the only form of entertainment on the telly was the cricket. Test cricket. 

This test has already given the audience a marvellous four days. The Boxing Day test is legendary for Melbourne crowds that flock to the MCG. Melbourne had turned it on once more - nearly 300 000 spectators - over this match. There have been twists and turns, dizzying heights and dismal lows. Michael, my beloved Greek - Australian husband who has never watched test cricket in his life, has  suddenly become enthralled, intrigued and animated. 

Surprisingly, I think this odd Twilight Zone between Christmas and New Year is just a metaphor of our daily lives, albeit at a less hectic pace. There is bonding and battles, jostling and joy, dramas and delights. We all have expectations of how the festive season will pan out, with the unexpected pooping up at little or no notice. Good and bad, sweet and sour, black and white.

How do I intend to welcome 2025?  With my quirky sense of humour and a kick up its proverbial when it misbehaves. Head on at full throttle.

Stay tuned!

 

 

Without the fun!

Confused?

 

 

 

 

Tell me about it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael with his Christmas shirt, Joondalup Hospital...

 

 

 

 

 

Leaving Joondalup Hospital 11.12.2024

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Into the unknown?

 

 

 

Feeling a bit tentative about 2025?

 

 

 

Then turn on the Boxing Day test!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 My ongoing mantra for the coming year!

And when life is not treating me well, I need to remember to blow a tune out my arse!

Happy new year!

 

 

 

 

For Sherin And Tamina - Once Upon A Time In Heavenly Beverley...

We had the most terrific bunch of backpackers in the Gallery yesterday. They were all taking a holiday break from their jobs working towards their visas to continue their Australian adventures. Before boarding the bus for the Big Smoke, two of them, Tamina and Sherin lingered in the Gallery for quite some time. After introducing them to my Mob of Meerkats (actual collective noun), with much laughter, I realised I had never actually told the tale of how Heavenly Beverley became the baby Meerkat centre of the universe for two days back in September 2018...

One spring day just over six years ago, a couple of bright sparks went to the Perth Zoo for an outing. One of them, obviously an intellectual giant, apparently "fell in love" with a month old Meerkitten, scooped it out of the enclosure and popped him into a cooler bag. After stopping for a meal at a fast food outlet, our heroes hot-footed it to that well-known Meerkat sanctuary of Beverley, 130 kilometres east of Perth. Once back in the home of a third person, they believed the Meerkitten would be an excellent addition to the four dogs and a cat already living at the residence.

Two days later, the gig was up. Keeping a secret is rather difficult in Beverley. Local eyes and ears were instrumental in the discovery of a very large cannabis operation south of Beverley townsite, due to concern for animals on the property and a procession of water trucks coming and going. The Beverley Facebook page is an encyclopaedia of useful information, as well as locating lost pets, found pets and wandering pets. Having an unusual animal like a Meerkitten was never going to go unnoticed.

Six police officers were involved in an International Rescue-style operation to free the Perth Zoo Meerkitten. They proudly posed in a photograph on the WA Police Facebook page after the successful mission. Our Meerkitten was safely returned to the Meerkat Mummy and the rest of the Mob.

One aspect of this story did tickle my way-out sense of humour. The Meerkitten was supposedly being checked on an extremely frequent basis as he was to be unveiled in a ceremony the following day. There was apparently only a tiny window of non-supervision when the Meerkitten was nicked. Oops...

This was not the first time that there had been a fleeting second of lapsed attention at the Perth Zoo. Back in 2011, two endangered Madagascan radiated tortoises were pinched. One was left at a police station and the other discovered in a house being raided on another matter. This retrieval, which occurred just after our Meerkitten saga, probably left management with rather red faces. And perhaps a desire to upgrade some security measures. 

I do have some sympathy. Most of Perth Zoo's visitors would not dream of stealing one of the living exhibits. Spotting opportunistic dickheads is not the easiest of tasks. However, dear readers, be assured that occurrences like this will never fly beneath the radar of Heavenly Beverley's keen eyed residents...

And that's the end of the story.

PS This fantastic folly is why Beverley should be celebrated as the Wheatbelt Home of the Meerkats!

 

 

Not Meerkittens...but in Heavenly Beverley! 

Meerkats - but not in Heavenly Beverley!

 

 

A Meerkitten in Heavenly Beverley!

 

 

 

Another Beverley Heroic team!

 

 

 

Note the gloves...

 

 

 

Meanwhile in the East End Gallery - meet Roberto...

 

 

Mervyn and Mavis

 

 

Michael, Mummy and Chummy...

 

 

And our Meerkittens - Huey, Dewey and Louie!

 

 

 

Lexi Has A Knowlwdge Knob!

Lexi, our silvery Groodle has just had her summer shave for practicality and coolness. This was her second clip with Rochelle Prime, Dog Groomer to the Stars, so her transformation was not quite as dramatic as her first haircut in October. Lexi's previous outing to Spot-On canine beauty salon completely altered her appearance from hirsute Woolly Mammoth to slightly startled and skinny miniature Wolfhound. 

Last Friday, only thirty-six hours after we'd arrived home from hospital, Lexi, Stella and I set off for Rochelle's place. I was also taking Stella to get her nails cut and have a "dry" shampoo as our Staffy-Kelpie girl dislikes baths intensely. Curiously, along with her sister, Stella adores romping through both fresh water river pools and saltwater sea edges with gay abandon. Just don't show her a bath!

Lexi still is somewhat of a wriggler, particularly when she is having her feet trimmed. However, her pads seem to store an extraordinary amount of rubbish, such as burrs, seeds, dirt and general detritus. Rochelle took quite some time to clear out all these trapped items and then used clippers, mini clippers, scissors and mini scissors for the job. She also cleaned both the dogs' ears, eyes and their snouts. The results were frankly incredible.

One of Lexi's features that has always intrigued me is a sizeable lump on the very top of her head. Rochelle was able to enlighten me - Lexi has a Knowledge Knob, otherwise known as a Wisdom Lump.This feature is actually called an occiput and is a bona fide part of canine anatomy.  Unfortunately, those dogs who are lucky enough to possess a Knowledge Knob haven't worked out how to activate it as yet. Rochelle's two Dalmatians are pretty much identical in looks, except for one having a Knowledge Knob. The sad reality is that Rochelle's knobless dog is far smarter! I believe Lexi will continue as another Goofball who can't engage her own Knowledge Knob...

Which really doesn't matter one iota. Whilst we were marooned in Joondalup Hospital, we missed our all our pets so very much. No dog snuck into our bedroom to pinch the cat's biscuits when we weren't looking. No dog barked at the annoying gophers shooting past the front door. No cat glided noiselessly onto our bed to sleep at the top of Michael's head. And we didn't once hear "you're a shit" bellowed out at full throttle by Red, our Eastern King Parrot. 

Our first night home, there was the odd rolling thunder growling in the pre-dawn sky. Stella, who detests thunder more than baths was hyperventilating and scratching at the barricade at the entry of our bedroom. Hence we ended up with two dogs and a cat all on the bed with us.

Bloody marvellous!

 

 

Miss Woolly Mammoth...

 

 

 

First morning home in our bed...

 

 

Along with one Party Girl and one Nervous Nelly...

Mister Chop in his accustomed spot above Michael's head!

 

 

 

At the beginning...

 

 

Suffering through...

 

 

All Lexi's backside clipped...

 

 

On, the indignity!

 

 

 

 

Finished at last!

 

 

Safely back at home with Dad... 

All is well in our world!

 

 

The Bitch Is On The Run...

Sunday afternoon back in my beloved East End Gallery. A gloriously cool day with plenty of breeze to push any remnants of the latest heatwave out the doors. We won't get many days like this over the summer months, so I am enjoying every second. In my space.

The last two weeks seemed to have passed in a blur of pain and fever and breathlessness and fear. The ferocity of Michael's illness took us completely by surprise. How he went from being upright and full of life on the night of our Celebration to becoming very sick in less than 48 hours.

I knew he was in trouble when I discovered he was drenched in sweat on that Sunday evening. And for the next few days, his condition worsened. Then, there were the deliriums that came like a thief in the night and robbed his very essence. Waking in a very confused state on the most awful morning, he didn't know where he was, who I was and struggling to know who he was. 

Ten years ago, in the same place, and the same ward, Michael battled the Bitch, another pneumonia and lung abscess that nearly killed him.  This incarnation was another Bitch, and although only spectacularly brutal and destructive for a shorter time, still left her mark on us. 

A exceedingly sneaky bug, going by the name of Human Metapneumovirus (hMPV), was able to breach our defenses and into our home. I believe I picked up the virus at Midland Gate shopping centre, developing a secondary chest infection a couple of days later. I had an incredibly painful cough but began to improve after a couple of days on oral antibiotics. Even so, I needed a second course whilst Michael was in hospital and I still have a whisper of a chest that feels slightly off.

Michael, who has a very high pain tolerance, was just felled by the Bitch. The bouts of coughing exhausted him, the endless muck in his chest made him nauseated all the time, his rubs hurt like he'd been hit by a battering ram and the continuing breathlessness scared the shit out of him. 

Initially, we thought he would only be in hospital for about five days, but when the first choice of IV antibiotics failed to deliver any relief, he was placed on an eight hourly regime of much stronger drugs.Saline nebulisers were added to loosen the sticky phlegm in his chest, regular paracetamol for pain and melatonin to help him sleep. Haloperidol, given orally (rather than by IV as I requested) did not stop the deliriums. I dreaded each night.

Being in hospital for more than a few days is an exceedingly weird experience. Initially, we were happy to be interrupted by staff checking on Michael, but the novelty did wear off. Particularly when the nursing staff did not respond to his bell in a timely manner or let his IV alarm go on for up to ten minutes. So every eight hours, we were disturbed by the alarm of the antibiotic finishing, followed by the alarm ringing again after the saline flush was administered.

I discovered he was being paracetamol every six hours, instead of every four hours. This delay in controlling his temperature spikes allowed the Bitch to soar to new heights, leading him to vivid hallucinations that terrified us both.

We were given a huge boost last Monday. His IV antibiotics were ceased and he was no longer needing supplemental oxygen. His oxygen saturation levels stabilised, his temperature normalised and the horrible coughing had begun to ease. Suddenly, home was a viable option.

On Tuesday afternoon, we were checked by the OT to make sure we were compos mentis enough to head for the hills. She was happy to release us, Scott was happy to send us away with a pile of antibiotics and we were ecstatic. We made our escape on Wednesday, stopping for a few errands on the way home, before arriving back at Station House on a baking afternoon. 

Michael, as ever, tried to minimise the reality he had just been released from hospital. He insisted on helping me in with some of our gear, promptly felt terrible and retired to bed. Over the last few days, I have been using my usual tactics of being as subtle as a sledgehammer to continue his recovery. He is now sleeping more - not all the time- on raised pillows, is not objecting when I order him to use his Ventolin, take his antibiotics or go for a rest. 

The Bitch is retreating slowly. Michael's return to full health may take the rest of December, perhaps longer. In the meantime, he is willingly back using nicotine patches to control his cravings. His appetite has gone from zero to acceptable and I am trying to serve him his favourite foods. He is not yet capable of any task apart from playing on his phone, reading the paper or watching TV. 

This morning, I was delighted when Michael sat on our front garden bench whilst I watered our jungle of pots. He even ventured up to Jodie's emporium for a chat, and then with James who wandered past with his Huntaway, Rosie. That was enough for him.

This encounter with hMPV and the secondary bacterial pneumonia has taught us a valuable lesson. Michael has often regaled that he has no fear of death. This hospital stay has shown him in very graphic detail that the path to death may be confronting and horrible and painful. 

For the very first time, I am seeing him taking more control of his health. I am so bloody relieved. I guess I do have to thank the Bitch for that...

 

 

At our Celebration, two days before Michael was admitted to hospital...

 

 

The virus responsible for Michael's miserable ten days...

 

 

 

 

 

Fours days in, holding his new Christmas shirt...

 

 

 

Chest physio!

 

 

 

More chest physio!

 

 

We are out of there!

 

 

 

There is no better aid to recovery than our own bed with no disruption!

 

 

Throwing in a couple of fatheads...

 

And of course, his Majesty, Mister Chop!