Here we are in the middle of November...already. Christmas is an alarmingly close 38 days away and the entirety of 2024 will be over 7 days later. Honestly, I have only just come to terms with being in this year. Wasn't 2000 just the other day? And how the hell could I possibly be 63 years old?
Remember when we were kids, counting the days until the next holidays, particularly the long summer ones. The three terms seemed to stretch interminably into the far distance. Holidays would be embraced with clothes of our choosing, activities of our own choosing, unconfined by the school walls... Even as a fish-out-of-water teenager, holidays brought relief and rejuvenation. I could catch up on sleep, become relaxed and daydream of a happy future.
With marriage, work and study, life settled into a different routine. Then came motherhood, a crazy juxtaposition being frantically busy one minute, then spending long nights awake with a grumbling baby or toddler. Alex added an added dimension after he turned four - his routine of appointments, intensive home programme, OT, physio, speech therapy, daycare and pre-primary meant days just ran into each other with me trying to stay afloat in a sea of semi-controlled chaos.
The years passed, my family grew up, my first marriage ended and I embarked on a single path. An affair with the Sicilian Sociopath was followed by a series of hilarious first dates, a four week romance with a very nice, very acceptable and exceptionally dull bloke which ended just after Christmas 2008. All of which convinced me that there really wasn't that special someone out there for me after all.
Then, at the age of 47, I met the love of my life. The last 15 years have flown past at the velocity of a speeding superhero, particularly after we moved to Heavenly Beverley and climbed into the roller-coaster.
Yes, our lives are not all beer and skittles. I remained enraged by the immovable stubborn and recalcitrant juggernaut that is the NDIA. These people would be incapable of organising a piss-up in a brewery. All those bureaucratic organisations that have erupted spontaneously in the wake of the NDIA are supposedly there "to help". They become bogged down by their own protocols, which are inevitably not user-friendly. Some are decidedly dodgy.
And medical practitioners fall into two categories - the pompous pricks outnumbering the patient doctors by a wide margin. Our local GP is possibly not the greatest quack on the planet, but he listens and explains, treating us accordingly
Take Michael's Watusi Quickstep with his grinder a couple of weeks ago. On a stinking hot day, Michael was working in his studio, in a teeshirt and work pants with an industrial fan blowing for cooling purposes. In an instant, the fan blew his teeshirt into the grinding wheel, which became entangled and then went rather out of control. Without uttering a sound, Michael managed to turn the grinder off when his teeshirt firmly jammed to a halt. He then appeared into the Gallery, announcing "I think I need medical attention!".
The grinder had gashed him from his navel to the top of his trousers. His left forearm had also been caught in the mayhem and was bleeding fairly profusely. I stopped the bleeding, poured the drops of death (Betadine) all over him and bandaged him up using metres of Fliximol. Neither of us considered he may need to see the doctor until the following morning when his belly had become rather tender.
Michael escaped from this latest mishap remarkably lightly. He avoided a tetanus injection, was placed on antibiotics and the wounds redressed more suitably. Some pain relief and a few glasses of vino fully restored his equilibrium. Two weeks later, I can barely see the remnants of this encounter. Since then, we haven't needed to use that fan yet either...I shall wait with bated breath.
As for me, I have seen enough cardiologists for the foreseeable future. What would one call a group of cardiologists? Having researched some collective names for a flock of quacks, I think a Fibrillation of Cardiologists, a Stenosis of Cardiologists or a Bypass of Cardiologists are the most appropriate terms. Over the last few months, I have met cardiologists with the personality of either an empty room or a stationary stonefish. Informative communication would be the bottom of their list of achievements. And spare me from those condescending buffoons who give a pseudo-sympathetic response, belittle my fears or tell me downright lies.
There are of course, exceptions to this rule. Alex's cardiologist, Doctor Luigi D'Orsogna, was his physician for over eighteen years. He diagnosed Alex's heart defect in-utero and then had the guts to tell me so I could prepare for the extraordinary ride after Alex's birth. I have yet to find a cardiologist for myself that has the calibre of Luigi D'Orsogna. I live in hope...
We are lucky enough to have a handful of courteous, thorough, knowledgeable and approachable doctors whom we highly value. One of them is Scott Claxton, who began as Michael's respiratory specialist in April 2014. He now also treats Alex and me. Perhaps we could receive a family discount?!
Anyway, I have digressed. Following 12 months of start-and-stop respiratory and cardiac testing, we met in Scott Claxton's office last Wednesday. After a suitable period of irate huffing and puffing (pretty sure to his amusement), Scott utterly redeemed himself by slowly, carefully and clearly explaining the outcomes. Finally, I had a definitive diagnosis.
Known for my ability to hit the jackpot, long COVID was probably responsible for me developing Small Airways Disease. In short (!) my teeny weeny airways are narrowed, causing reduced airflow. Totally unrelated is developing Exercised-induced Pulmonary Hypertension. The pulmonary arteries travel from the heart to the lungs. When I exercise, the blood pressure in these arteries spike abnormally.
Personally, I think these terms are rather dull and do not explain the inconvenience of these two conditions. Small Airway Disease should be renamed The Totally Unsexy and Most Irritating Heavy Breathing Contest. As for Exercised-induced Pulmonary Hypertension (EiPH!), my alternative title is Up Shit Creek Without A Paddle In A Very Dark Tunnel.
The good news is that neither will likely kill me now I am being treated. My drug regime is increasing but I am actually starting to feel better after an entire year of breathlessness. I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere. I have far too much to do!
In other reports, Jef, our fabulous Belgian backpacker, has returned to the bosom of our family for the last three weeks of his current stint here in Australia. Come December, he leaves the country, completes his visa application for his third year in Australia and then waits for its approval. His car is staying with a mutual friend and his job will remain available for him upon the granting of his visa. We will look forward to that day.
Meanwhile, Sue our artist resident in Station Studio, has been opening the Gallery on Mondays and Wednesdays in the lead-up to Christmas. Her generous volunteering, along with Marion and Bec in Studio 116, means that the East End Gallery is currently open 6 days a week. Absolutely fabulous.
Speaking of our beloved East End Artists Precinct, our collective space is looking positively spectacular. We have set up 3 Christmas tables specifically for easily finding that special gift. We are bursting at the seams with the individual, the edgy, the thought-provoking, the hilarious, the astonishing and the beautiful art pieces.
DO NOT FORGET TO RSVP (BY 22 NOVEMBER PLEASE) FOR OUR 10TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION ON FRIDAY 29 NOVEMBER BETWEEN 7PM AND 9PM.
Rebecca, our caterer, is planning to have an entire Grazing Table of canapes
Michelle will be in charge of the bar with quality wines, sparkling water and a non-alcoholic punch.
TICKETS ARE $10 PER PERSON, PAYABLE AT THE DOOR, WHICH INCLUDES THE GRAZING TABLE AND YOUR INITIAL BEVERAGE.
FOLLOW-UP VINO WILL BE $5 PER GLASS AND PUNCH WILL BE A GOLD COIN PER GLASS. WATER, EITHER SPARKLING OR TAP, IS FREE OF CHARGE.
In this year of our 10th anniversary, we are already focusing on the next ten years. We look forward to seeing many of our guests, friends and supporters on Friday 29 November or until we close for our summer recess on Tuesday 24 December.
And what's worth waiting for...
The fantastic Mister Jef Ver Berne...
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