So Bloody Glad To Be Alive, BUT...

Unusually for me, this is my second serious post in a row. However, in times like these, needs must. Let me write a quick preamble to explain my thoughts.

I have forked out for private health insurance - willingly - for thirty years. When I met Michael, he had no hospital insurance, so he joined mine. We paid an additional premium for ten years due to his age. Some fortnights, when money was tight, we would forgo other payments, but never missed a private health insurance installment.

Michael's hospital admission, to St John of God Subiaco, in April 2014, was a very rude shock. The nursing staff on the Respiratory and Rehabilitation ward were careless and disinterested. Sharps were left on the floor next to his bed and there was poor recording of his worsening condition. The assigned specialist only saw him twice in five days (he changed Michael's meds over the phone) and the junior team gave me conflicting information. The food was always inedible and cold due to the ward's location. After the specialist turned his back on me during a somewhat heated exchange, we left without a discharge summary, which the hospital later claimed they had provided. A three page dot point complaint letter to management was ignored. HADSCO and AHPRA were both toothless tigers.

We found a sanctuary of excellent care and palatable food and drink at Joondalup Private Hospital on the first day of the April school holidays after Michael and I had fled St John of God. Michael was resident on H4 for two weeks. We returned to H4 twice more during 2014 and always had positive experiences.

Unfortunately, standards have fallen at Joondalup Private Hospital, along with the Mount Hospital and Hollywood Hospital. The Mount, operated by Healthscope, is owned by the North American private equity group Brookfield which has worldwide assets of more than a trillion dollars. Ramsay Health Care is the owner of both Joondalup and Hollywood Hospitals.The previous CEO of Ramsay took home an annual salary of $2.1 million...All of these hospitals are run as businesses for the benefit of the companies and their shareholders. Patients and staff rate a poor second.

How can we comment on these hospitals? Because we have both been patients and/or carers in all three hospitals and witnessed the decline in standards. The media and pollies are obsessed with either mercilessly bagging or singing the praises of the public health system, but the private hospitals are a law until themselves and all commentary about them is strangely lacking.

 In no particular order, here are some of our criticisms. None, to our knowledge, have been adequately addressed by management in any of these hospitals -

• unacceptable waiting times for nurses' bells to be answered (up to 20 minutes) or not answered at all. (Hollywood and the Mount)
• late provision of drugs, in particular pain relief. Drugs forgotten or inadequate explanation of their timing. (All three hospitals)
• poor cleaning of rooms. Domestic staff appear to be ill-trained, lack appropriate equipment or not have enough time for their duties during their shifts. Bloodied swabs and other detritus under beds, next to toilets, around furnishings. (All three hospitals)
• beds left unmade, leaving patients sweaty, uncomfortable, soiled and wet due to not enough nursing staff. (All three hospitals). 
• Torn and stained bed linen. Inadequate coverings. No blankets. Central airconditioning utterly incapable of meeting patients' needs. Pillows past their use-by date with torn plastic covers. Not enough pillows. (All three hospitals).
• collapsing bedhead.  The bed was not replaced. (Joondalup)
• meals forgotten or not ordered (Joondalup) 
• diet restrictions not passed onto the kitchen (Hollywood).
• a lack of staff available for disorientated or distressed patients who need additional care. Michael tore out two cannulas and was found wandering the ward during the night on separate occasions.(Joondalup) He suffered from post-operative delirium after hip surgery. The first time this occurred, I was disbelieved. (The Mount)
  
•  nurse handover often not including patients and carers, held outside the rooms. (All three hospitals)
•  inconsistent identification of nurses/doctors/patients' wishes and dates on patient boards that are meant to be filled in every shift. (Hollywood and Joondalup)
• no information provided about a procedure, during which I had stopped breathing and was resuscitated, for four fours. I had to crawl onto my bed, was breathless, in pain and distraught with no knowledge of what had occurred. Fentanyl, available in the emergency department and extremely effective could not be given due to staffing constraints. Oxycodone took about an hour to alleviate my symptoms. (Joondalup)
• delayed admission and discharge (All three hospitals)
  
• lack of social support or companionship. Long term patients with no family being left on their own. One volunteer was sitting with an elderly chap for 1 hour a week (Joondalup).

Some of our friends have expressed surprise that I have returned to the East End Gallery immediately after my health adventures last week. Actually, once I had recovered from the shock of having to be resuscitated during a procedure last Thursday, I could not wait to get out of hospital fast enough. Joondalup Private Hospital can't get their admitted patients out of Emergency and into wards fast enough. I waited eight hours for a bed. Discharge, supposed to be at 10am, took until 1.30pm due to unfinished paperwork, the discharge summary and my prescribed medication.

Who, outside the Private Hospital clique,  has the courage to seriously and urgently tackle these falling standards, which are paid for by our private health insurance? We have had private health insurance for a very long time. We are currently paying over $5000 a year for the "privilege" of not clogging up public hospitals. The private hospitals have shown themselves to be incapable of self-regulation.

We are currently evaluating our options. We will not be maintaining our hospital cover after 2025 unless conditions rapidly improve. I expect there are many other West Australians considering similar moves.

 I have given up writing to hospital management as improvements never appear to materialise.

Patients in hospitals may be in pain, sometimes excruciating. They are also frightened, confused, bored and angry. Carers of patients may be frustrated, bewildered, worried and unable to make informed decisions. Private hospitals need to have better ratios of nurses to patients, ancillary staff and access to additional assistance as required.

Patients need to feel as comfortable as possible, with nutritious meals and provided with all information, in plain English, about their conditions. Carers need to be welcomed with both empathy and respect and included in decision making.

In an aside, we are waiting for Michael to see a private geriatrician to streamline his medications, officially diagnose his PTSD and manage his complex medical status. The referral was sent in December. We are nearly to the top of the Triage list...

My private cardiologist's fees mean we will soon reach the medical safety net, which means we have spent nearly $600 out of our own money during the first two months of 2025.

Enough is enough... 

 

 

St John of God Subiaco...

 

 

The Mount, Perth...

 

 

Hollywood, Nedlands...

Joondalup in Joondalup...

 

 

Transoesophogeal echocardiogram (TOE) was what was going on...

 

 

 

When I stopped breathing!

 

 Not happy...

 

 

Would be nice to hear...

 

 

 

Patients are often left bored, anxious, confused and ill-informed...

 

 

The bloody nurse bell!

 

 

 

 

The Long And Winding Road...

This is the story of us. 

Happy and sad, the expected and the unexpected, extraordinary, infuriating, surprising and always different. And embark on our next adventure.

In 2025, Monday evenings usually begin with "Australian Story" at eight o'clock on the ABC. Most of the time, the show follows ordinary people who may face quite unforeseen challenges. There is not always a happy ending for those portrayed. However, there is often a dogged resilience in these people and, occasionally, with persistence and sheer force of will, they do indeed, triumph over adversary.

This week's "Australian Story" followed a couple who met through an online grief and loss support group for those who had lost their partners through sudden death. Laura and Col were not looking for love; they just embraced the chance to share their experience with somebody else who instantly understood their situation.

Then, they fell in love.

How soon is too soon to find love again after the loss of a partner? Col and Laura began their relationship nine months after Col's wife Sheree had died. He and Laura explained this issue beautifully "Love can co-exist"...

They continue to revere the partners they have lost, live on acreage together and have successfully integrated Laura's daughter with Col's sons. Recently, they welcomed their own baby boy.

Their previous partners, Sheree and Laura's husband Stuart are seamlessly part of all their lives. However, Col recognises his decision to begin his relationship with Laura lost him friends, who were unable or unwilling to understand his journey.

This was Michael's story. 

He began a relationship with me, six months after his wife Joan had died. He was terribly lonely and searching for companionship without judgement. His children and some friends completely rejected him when we became a couple.

I had come from a background of being abandoned or abandoning. I was rejected by my mother on multiple occasions, not for hours or days, but years. My darling Dad abandoned me (and my brothers) by never protecting any of us from her. And I stayed in a very bad marriage (for both of us) because I didn't want to abandon my then husband. All I ever wanted was "the happy ending".

This was my story.

Almost sixteen years ago, like two orphans, we found each other. I tried to facilitate reconciliation with all four of Michael's children but they have never been interested. He has five grandchildren he has never seen. Although we are so fortunate to have my boys, Callum and Alex, Cal's gorgeous wife Bronwyn and our two divine grandies, Imogen and Violet, they are Michael's his flesh and blood. Their existence in our lives is absolutely wonderful, but there is a constant sadness that is ever present in Michael's psyche.

As we began our long and winding road together in 2009, we would snatch short interludes when we were both free. Because I was forbidden to come to Michael's house by his children (with whom he was desperately trying to maintain a relationship), we would meet at a park close by and share a bottle of wine whilst watching the dogs gallop around on the grass. He would spend a few nights a week at my house, which caused further friction with his children. After a Christmas apart and a bout of bronchitis, Ruby his Beagle arrived to live with my dinky little duplex. When his health collapsed after a year, he moved in with me and we have never spent more than a day or two away from each other.

Arriving in Heavenly Beverley in January 2011, Michael slowly began to heal, as much as PTSD allows. First, we had the project of renovating the House that Rocks and planting half an acre of garden.  Then came the acquisition of the Forbes Building, followed by four and a half years of a lot of sweat, some blood, a few tears and the odd tantrum. With absolutely no plan, the concept of the East End Gallery evolved into a glorious reality. The final piece of this path was building Station House with our jungle courtyard, van Gogh colours and Dory the fish emblazoned on the front wall.

There have been a few changings of the guard. Ruby the Beagle, Sascha the Weimararner and Pip the Jack Russell are all playing happily in that big doggy oval somewhere in the universe. Ruby and Suey, the fickle fairweather felines are probably ignoring each other and preening to whomever is passing by.

Dogs Stella Bella and Lexi Pooh, with Chop the cat and Red the parrot, all hold court at Station House. We can't imagine what life would be without them but we know that we may potentially outlive our current crop of furry and feathered babies.There may be other canines and felines in our lives, as we have every intention of being in Station House for as long as possible. 

Our plans for 2025?

Michael's head is filled with endless possibilities for new sculptures. His latest piece, CAST Away, sold after only a few weeks and he is close to finishing his next work. When he is creating, his intensity is incredible to watch. His mind and body are one with his entire artistic focus narrowed to the objects in front of him. He usually plans each sculpture within the confines of his brain and uses a high table to finalise the arrangement. His skill in knowing when the balance is right, both in weight and in the number of artifacts, is truly a joy to observe. For him - "less is more" remains the mantra of his art.

We are staying put this year, delaying our next adventure to the North West for 2026. So, we will spend a whole winter in Heavenly Beverley.  If you come to Station House during a cold spell, be prepared to remove most of your clothes as you enter, because we dislike temperatures below twenty five degrees...

There will also probably be some form of surgery for me during 2025. My hole in the heart is rather similar to our Italian dishwasher, Fabio, who works only when he pleases. Usually not more than two nights in a row. My ASD (Atrial Septal Defect) had been as silent as a mouse for over sixty years. Come COVID and I developed Small Airways Disease (SAD) as a consequence. I believe this change was the trigger for the ASD to finally awaken, which then caused the Pulmonary Hypertension to emerge. Over the last seventeen months, I have lost fitness, become fatter, tire easily and am breathless to some degree all the time. I hope this problem ASD is closed fairly soon, as the size may be relatively small but the bastard has been packing a sizable punch.

That is my focus at the moment. I want to get better. I want to be able to walk the dogs, fossick with my beloved Michael and have energy to be the best Front-of-House I can be in the East End Gallery We want to return to the magic of the Goldfields in spring. I want to free Michael of all other distractions so he can give full rein to his sculptures and the stories they tell. Maybe, just maybe, I will finally self publish our book.

Oh, the possibilities! 

 

 

Come join us...

 

The original music by Paul McCartney. One of Michael's passions is the Beatles...

 

 

Always watchable...

 

 

"Heartfelt" - Laura and Col's story...

 

 

Good advice...

 

 

 

 

The beginnings of our story...

 

 

What could have wrecked our story...

 

The original three musketeers - Ruby, Pip and Sascha...

 

 

The other Ruby!

 

Chop's brother Suey...

 

 

Introducing our current menagerie - Red the Eastern King Parrot...

 

 

 

Lexi - Groodle...

 

 

Stella- Staffy/Kelpie cross...

 And finally, Sir Chop!

 

 

 

 

Will The Real Culprit Please Stand Up?

Thursday evening in Room 17 of H4 ward at Joondalup Private Hospital. Quite an eventful day so far.  The fun started last night, knowing I would be fasting from midnight in preparation for the Transoesophogeal Echocardiogram scheduled for this morning. Nothing to eat from midnight and no water after six o'clock, Not sleeping well anyway, I woke up in the wee small hours and tossed fitfully until one of the night nurses arrived with a pink chlorhexidine spray wash, the sexiest of hospital gowns and an extra name band for my ankle in case my left arm mysteriously disappeared along with its band. Finally, another of the hospital's phlebotomists stabbed me in the back of my already bruised right hand to insert another cannula. Showered, stinky and skewered, I then waited anxiously to go downstairs for the echo to be performed by Professor Jenny Deague. 

My general panic about undergoing this procedure rose steadily as I lay on the trolley in Pre-Op. Michael wasn't with me; he'd had to go and feed the highway robbery parking meter. I hated being on my own and tried to calm myself, with little success.

Finally into the echo-cardiology room. The caring and exceedingly good looking anaesthetist looked just like Richart E Grand with a smooth bedside manner should have soothed my increasing fear. I am sorry to say that I have forgotten his name, but I will never forget his kindness and compassion. 

After being assured that I was just going to enjoy a short nap, I couldn't understand why I felt so terrible upon awakening in Recovery. The echo had been completed, but I was sore, more breathless than ever, cold and terrified. Why hadn't I seen that bloody hypothetical truck that has reversed over me?! I couldn't stop crying and I had no idea what had happened. Returning to room 17, Michael was waiting for me. 

I had never been so relieved to be back in Michael's immediate orbit. He and the nurses helped me back into my own bed. My body was wrung out and exhausted, like a floppy rag doll. Eventually, with some pain relief, the symptoms eased and I hoped that Jenny Deague may have some answers for me.

Arriving mid afternoon, she and the other members of the team regaled the timeline of the procedure. Once asleep, I promptly stopped breathing. Apparently, all hell broke loose as I was resuscitated. There was really nothing else spectacular to report. My ASD was smaller than originally envisaged, my right heart was not enlarged and my valves were spectacularly normal. She gave us permission to go home tomorrow.

So, what's the story, Morning Glory? The other symptoms are still a fluttering sensation in my chest, nondescript intermittent chest pain ranging from dull to sharp, breathlessness, extreme fatigue and bradycardia (slow heartbeat). In fact, bloody slow. Last night's monitoring revealed my rate dropped as low as 27 beats per minute...Jenny blamed my sleep apnoea. At last, I thought we had the answers we had been seeking.

In desperation, I called Olivia, one of the sleep therapists from Place of Dreams to check my CPAP machine. Maybe, my device was malfunctioning or had ceased operations. Olivia duly metaphorically parachuted to my rescue, in order to examine Batman, my CPAP machine. After reading the SD card information and a slight adjustment of pressures, she declared Batman was fit and well.

She also threw rather a large spanner into the works. Why, knowing I had Obstructive Sleep Apnoea, had I been given an anaesthetic without any breathing support by a cardiologist and a cardiac anesthetist? In her opinion, I was always going to end up in strife. And another reason for my unresolved symptoms has been tossed out the window.

The good news is that we are not up for the cost of a new CPAP machine, yet. The bad news is that Jenny advised us to purchase a very portable and reliable ECG recorder. I am shopping around for the best price for a purchase tomorrow. Now two hundred dollars does not seem a large expense for some. For us, it is one eighth of our fortnightly pension...it is what it is...

We return for a consultation with Jenny Deague on 27 February. That cost should tip us over the medical safety net, in February. But I am nervous. I have already started more research and so the questions have begun piling up. I still remember being treated with total dismissal when I told the staff at the Royal Children's Hospital in Melbourne that I believed Alex had suffered a stroke. In 1992. I am sadly used to being disbelieved.

Hoping for a better outcome... 

 

Horrid stuff...

 

 

 

 

Always worth a selfie!

 

 

 

Doesn't leave much to the imagination...

 

 

My adventures this morning...

 

 

How I felt afterwards,,,,

 

 

 

 

Simple explanation by the Muppets!

 

 

What? Another possibility?

 

 

Again...

 Is this journey never ending?

 

And On The Third Day...

Being admitted to hospital has been as unpredictable as riding a rollercoaster. Entering my third day of being resident on H3, I finally feel well enough to ponder this experience. I have barely touched my laptop until this morning. I have played Spider Solitaire as an escape from this weird reality when I have had the energy. Mostly, I have been too exhausted, too scared, too frustrated or too annoyed to attempt much at all.

Monday was, generally, a blur of fear of the unknown. I woke with severe palpitations and extreme breathlessness. I lay at home in our bed, with Michael and Sir Chop, willing these awful symptoms to pass. Except they didn't. Showering and dressing was like a marathon of endurance. Then I woke Michael...

Driving the exceedingly short distance to the local doctors' surgery and walking through the door nearly felled me. The place was already chaotic. Only one doctor was in residence, with patients piled up in the waiting room. I really felt like I might die.

An ECG, a conversation between my GP and cardiologist, a letter written and we returned home to Station House. With Michael's help, we packed enough gear for an Antarctic expedition and set off for Joondalup Health Campus. To my utter amazement, I was still more or less upright.

With arrived at Emergency just after two in the afternoon. Triage took my symptoms very seriously, I was whisked in a wheelchair into a cubicle and donned the ubiquitous uniform of the hospital gown. 

The pain relief was wonderful. For a time, a sensation of floating and calmness replaced the fear and pain. I was poked, prodded, x-rayed and observed. Surprisingly, I felt strangely secure and comforted. Couldn't have that for too long, could we?

Eight hours on an Emergency bed was a torture test for my arse. As time dragged, I began to wilt. Tidbits of information were drip fed to me. I was admitted but still very much in a twilight zone of what was actually going on in my body. And the hospital was at capacity, so finding a bed for me was a monumental task.

Eventually, we moved to H3. I was rung out with exhaustion. I was settled on the ward, a folding bed found for Michael and finally sleep.

Day 2 was disjointed and jarring. Medications had been stopped with little explanation. Was I moving to the Telemetry Unit or to H4 or was I staying where I was? A trio of junior doctors attended my bedside, asking questions, flipping through my file and woefully unable to answer my concerns. Was an Atrial Septal Defect of 13 millimetres considered large? What was happening? What was the plan? 

The pharmacist visited, tut-tutting at the state of my drug chart. Apart from the standard four hourly obs, I barely saw anybody else. I showered, divesting myself of the bloodied and dirty hospital gown and dressed in a clean nightie. We realised Michael had run out of one of his drugs and didn't have a repeat script. In a hospital full of doctors, as a boarder, he was unable to obtain one,

I found a local GP clinic and made him an appointment. I also signed a pile of other repeat scripts so he would be able to get all his meds. I asked him to shop for a packet of raw sugar, some teabags and jelly beans. That flurry of activity sent me into another oblivion of exhaustion.

A black comedy of errors followed. He couldn't find the clinic and was half an hour late. After about ten minutes of frantic interaction using my phone's Google maps, I was able to lead him to the destination. I rang the clinic and explained the situation. He was finally seen and left clutching the precious prescription. Shopping was a rather hit and miss affair. He arrived back with my tea bags, clumpy brown sugar (instead of raw), no jellybeans and only two of the medications he actually needed. He tried to feed the meter in the carpark with the card that had no money in that account. After changing to the card that did have funds, the ticket machines in the carpark gave up the ghost completely...The hospital reception advised him to try to pay for parking in the morning.

In the interim, I was seen by one of the more senior doctors in the cardiology team. He was personable and far more knowledgeable that the flurry of young doctors I'd seen earlier. A transoesophogeal ultrasound (tube down my oesophogus to look at my heart from the top under sedation) was going to occur on Thursday. Then, I would have to wait to see Professor Jenny Deague at the end of February as the operation to close my Atrial Septal Defect had to be booked as an elective procedure. Why? Because, that's why...

A final excitement was the return of chest pain when I decided to attempt a walk to the kitchen with Michael. I was ordered back to bed, stabbed twice by the After Hours on-call doctor and ECG-ed. By seven thirty, I'd had enough and gratefully sank into sleep.

And so to the Third Day. I woke at five-thirty for observations and another ECG. I have been awake since then but am slowly fading once again. I woke Michael out of a deep sleep to feed the carpark meter. I shall last until breakfast but then I think I will need a morning snooze. I just wish this endless fatigue would ease. 

Being able to write without appalling spelling mistakes and punctuation would be an added bonus. Stay tuned for the next installment!

 

 

How Michael's Chatting Saved The Day!

Michael's nocturnal antics have been legendary for as long as I have known him. I asked him this morning, after another memorable night time episode, what the hell had happened in his brain. He described being immersed in fantastical situations and I am only privy to his dialogue and his actions. Rather like being in his own action thriller...

There have been occasions when comedy is the main feature of his all too amazing dream sequences. Who could forget our cat in stilettos, climbing onto our bed with her suitcase and stealing Michael's bread out of the toaster, and departing down our hallway at high speed, on her stilettos.

Then there was Mister Carrot, who was the chosen delegate from the Salad and lectured Michael about the lack of healthy vegetables he was ingesting.

The tiny Red Tractor rocked in for a chat on another night. Michael also transformed into a television controller with suitable beeping noises whilst asleep, pointing his arm at the imaginary television floating above our bed...

Those were some of the past epics I could actually understand. During multiple other events, he talks in gibberish that can last for, literally, hours. If he is unwell or very anxious, he may go off for a wander, usually seeking the toilet. So far, he has not left the house or somewhere else we are staying. Fortunately, there are only very rare times he does not recognise me.

Back to the most recent chapter. I retired early and was almost instantly asleep. I became vaguely aware of Michael arriving next to me in our bed around midnight. Two hours later, he was off and racing. He had removed the tube to his CPAP mask (the bane of my existence) and claimed he could not re-attach the hose as he only had one arm...

Thoroughly cross at being woken out of a sound sleep, I had to turn on my light, put on my glasses and tend to his latest shenanigans. Successfully completing this operation, I told him to shut up, turn on his side and not disturb me again. Or else...

By then, I was thoroughly awake and even more irritated. So, I absently flicked through our accounts, checking the parlous state of our finances in the endless hope that miraculously, some additional loot had just turned up unannounced.

What stared me in the face were two transactions I had not authorised. These were not great amounts but there was exactly ten dollars difference between the two figures. They appeared to have originated from Google and the game Candy Crush.

Now I have never played Candy Crush in any way, shape or form. I could not explain how they have come to be in our account. Plus, with incoming bills this week, I had calculated every single cent. Now, my carefully balanced monies had been severely disrupted by these actions.

I tied to return to slumber, but I was really so worried, I think I only dozed. Rocketing out of bed at six o'clock, I was able to reschedule Michael's hearing aids payment and then block my card so it couldn't be used again. I need to contact the bank once the two amounts have finished "pending", so they can investigate further. Hopefully, I will get our funds back. 

Returning to bed absolutely shattered, I realised that the bloke I love, who claimed to have somehow misplaced an arm, had possibly saved us from further financial chaos, courtesy of his very active brain. As this morning was the first cool one for a while, I cuddled up to him to warm up. gratefully falling back to sleep and deciding I wouldn't make him wash the dishes...!

Michael had morphed out of trouble into my saviour. Well, golly gosh!

 

 

Get out of here - the cat just nicked Michael's toast!

 

 

 

Cat about town...

 

 Mister Carrot...

 

 

The little red tractor...

 

 

 

Beep Beep...

 

 

When you misplace your arm...

 

 

 

Bingo! Wide awake again...

  

 

Someday!

 

Which is exactly how Michael managed to get out of strife this morning!

 

When We Need A Distraction In 2025, We Could BE Like Dory!

Not to put too fine a point on it, but 2025 has been, so far, incredibly disappointing. Hoping for a somewhat more positive year than 2024, our anniversary on 2 January was the pinnacle of last month. From there onwards, we were on a very slippery slope heading down...way on down...

Locally, we have had a fit, healthy and active teacher at our school die in her sleep. Plus, Bec, our Jeweller to the Stars in Studio 116 decided to go camping with her family at a beautiful local lake reserve which I have always considered a safe haven for children and adults alike. Before she could say Jack Robinson, she was involved (literally up to her eyeballs) in the attempted rescue of a lad who fell off a pontoon and did not surface. Despite all efforts, the young boy drowned. Bloody hell.

After those events, I felt, very strongly, that we should cancel 2025 and start over. Unfortunately, we have suffered the inauguration of some maniac that enough Americans voted for to become President. I hope they are satisfied with their choice. I am so delighted not to live in the United States for the next four years. Land of the Free...? 

The only good news for the rest of the world is that Mister Trump has withdrawn from both the Paris Accord for Climate Change and the World Health Organisation. 

With his massive medical background, the President (in his previous incarnation) suggested people drink bleach to combat COVID. Needless to say, some whack-jobs believed him and suffered fairly nasty consequences. And his current pick for Secretary of Health believe the MMR vaccine causes Autism and that COVID 19 was created to benefit billionaires like Bill Gates. As we barely have a cent to our names, I am rather cross to have actually had a dreaded bout of that pesky Coronavirus!

As for leaving the Paris Accord, his decision will probably cause less chaos and division at future Climate Change talks. There is a the conundrum for Climate Change deniers like Mister Trump - global warming doesn't give a shit whether you believe in the science or not. The people of the United States will need to make their own minds up during the next four years.

Very few politicians will respond with rhetoric to a significant tragedy. Over the last few days, we have witnessed, graphically, the crashes of two airplanes and a helicopter in America. Instead of sticking to a circumspect and empathetic reply, Donald Trump has used these tragedies to blame, wait for it, the gender diverse and the disabled for these disasters. This man literally takes my breath away.

Plus, Western Australia will be having a State Election at the beginning of March, which will be followed by a Federal Election before May.  Needless to say, we are being deluged with political promises that are not worth the paper they are written on. Although I am grateful we do not have the American system of politics, I dislike the fact that neither major parties, Liberal nor Labor, give a toss about regional Western Australia. They only appear during campaigns and we are soon forgotten after the election is done.

Hence, in Heavenly Beverley, 130 kilometres from the Big Smoke, I can't access a hydrotherapy pool for safe exercise or a manned gym to improve my health. Our hospital relies on Telehealth, a quaintly frustrating experience involving waiting hours to speak to the on-call specialist and then being transferred to a larger medical facility in Northam, 68 kilometres away. Even better, any serious condition could send you (not to jail) onwards to the Big Smoke, which is probably where you should have gone in the first place...

In light of all these events, I have decided that we need proper diversions when the going becomes too tough. Remember Dory from "Finding Nemo"? I believe that Dory's abilities are the answer to these trying circumstances. Her short-term memory loss allowed her freedom to forget the unpleasant, her optimistic nature gave her happiness and she appeared to be able to communicate well with others. In other words, Dory had positive empathy and sound recognition of what was important to her.

I could certainly benefit from Dory's example. I tend to focus about the lack of money/ unknown medical results/the current heatwave/ the uncertain state of the world in the middle of the night. I try to just notice these annoying thoughts, put wings on them, fly them out of my head and return to slumber. If I am uncertain how an important event will work out - I could borrow Dory's "canny impulse for action..." and just ride the wave. If I obsess about unpleasant people/family/rumours/emails, I could just respond with politeness, saving my love, enthusiasm and "fierce sense of loyalty" for my family and friends who really matter. 

I suggest there are times we could all BE like Dory...

Sometime during the years we spent in our Dinky Little Doer-Upper in Brooking Street, we unearthed a small broach in the shape of a fish whilst digging in our garden.  What did we name this broach? Dory, of course. Whilst keeping her safe for posterity, Michael then created a 2.2 metre diameter of her as a metal sculpture. He cold bent 53 circles of mild steel, incorporated a glorious glass eye, gave her exceedingly luscious lips and a beautifully fluid tail. She was mounted in the front window of the East End Gallery, but Michael was really reluctant to part with her. The solution? Dory was relocated to the front wall of Station House. Shouldn't everybody have a sculpture of Dory on the front of their houses in the Wheatbelt?!

Luckily for us, we don't have far to go to BE like Dory. Just head out our front door and look left. And remember to just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

My feelings at present...

 

 

When people die...

 

 

They leave an abyss in others' lives...

 

 

Just beautiful...Who out there remembers MAD....

 

 

One of Mister Trump's most vocal whack-jobs...

 

 

Gotta love approaching elections,,,

 

 

 

 

Welcome to Telehealth - yeah right! 

 

 

 

Instead of focusing on all the chaos, enjoy your family and friends... 

 

 

 

Be enthusiastic and have FUN...

 

 

Remember, we can BE brave...

Here is our Dory broach on one of Dorothee Geevers' beautiful watercolour cards (to show scale)

 

 

Dory in all her glory on the front of Station House...

 

 Which was the result of a love affair between a sculptor and a very special fish!