Are We Heading in the Right Direction? You Bet We Are!

Coronavirus has been responsible for many spanners in the works over the last six months. Initially, we were looking forward to an extended Northern Jaunt between May and mid-August, returning for the extravaganza of the Beverley Agricultural Show. Once COVID 19 began rampaging across the world, a May departure was becoming less and less likely. In a somewhat hysterical Anxiety Girl panic, I seriously toyed with the idea of leaving almost immediately in March and fleeing to what I hoped what be a virus-free sanctuary.

I was secretly and pathetically grateful when Western Australian Premier McGowan closed our state borders to just about everybody. The foolishly hasty decision of an early departure was taken out of my hands. The state borders remain shut and I wonder if the Premier ever has the urge to blow raspberries at the Eastern States, particularly due to the serious outbreak in Victoria, a smaller outbreak in NSW and nervousness in Queensland, whose Premier was calling us wimps for not letting all and sundry back into WA.

Anyway, I've digressed. Both an ill-considered and premature flight and our original May departure were both given the kibosh by COVID 19. Once intrastate borders were re-opened, we delightedly set another blast-off date for 19 July.

But fate intervened once more. Due to his high pain tolerance, Michael really didn't express the discomfort in his right wrist and hand until June. Four weeks before our latest  Dash for Winter Warmth, Michael underwent surgery to solve all the damage caused by arthritis and forty years of using his hands.

Which was a resounding almost success.  Three hand bones were successfully fused, however, the shortening of his ulna bone went utterly pear-shaped. The bone chose to split at the base of the plate, leading to four weeks of swelling and monstrous pain. Five days before we were due to leave, this catastrophe was discovered. Two days later, Michael was back in theatre.

We'd both come to the end of our tethers. Michael's post-operative recovery was a vast improvement on the previous episode. We decided to damn the torpedoes and leave on Friday 24 July, with me in the driver's seat.

Last week was a whirling dervish of post-op and splint appointments, squeezing in a frantic packing of the caravan. We gravitated between being quietly confident and totally disbelieving of leaving Heavenly Beverley. Red the Parrot was moved to Jan and Greg's house. Volunteers were locked in for the Gallery's continued operation, also led by my unsinkable offsider Jan. Madame Ruby the cat would enjoy a six-week respite from the Canine Clowns.

Having planned to leave Station House at High Noon, we eventually roared away at ten to two. I was nervous and apparently nearly came to grief on one of the first bends leading out of Beverley. That Michael was skilled at pulling Digger, and I was not, this led to some very cross words. We stopped in Northam to grab some quick takeaway and I nearly locked Lily's doors to leave him there.

I think my driving improved as we headed into the late afternoon. We eventually pulled into our first stop, Dalwallinu, just before six o'clock. I was exhausted. Fortunately, all we had to do was heat up Val Moad's pumpkin soup for dinner. Our first night in the caravan with the dogs was restless. And the morning was very brisk as I arose to toilet the dogs at seven-thirty.

Much to our relief, they had immediately reacted to caravanning with massive enthusiasm. I swear that Stella did not wee for about sixteen hours, given her joyful distractibility for any other odours. However, during the first two full days, we have not had any travel problems. Excellent.

We have continued to unwind gradually. I had not realised the strain of pulling the caravan. This new role has tested my endurance and concentration. I held my heart in my mouth as I passed two wide loads, praying we would not end up off the road. We have bickered due to our reversal of roles, but less often and with more humour. We have met Laurie and Merle from Albany on our first night, a couple from Busselton yesterday morning and a quartet of young people heading to and fro from Karijini.

The most glorious moment today was realising that I was sweating in my leggings and a long-sleeved tee-shirt. Tomorrow, I intend to don jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. And we are still three days from Marble Bar, our first lengthy stay.

A long shower is on my agenda this morning. Tonight we will be stopping for a free camp at Gascoyne River South. I am hatching a plan to introduce our World Famous fridge magnet, Magda to other unsuspecting campers...

Until next time!

Get your arm UP, Michael!

The cast going...

Going...

Gone.

The Steampunk Splint fitting...

Adding the hinge...

And the finished result, featuring Occupation Therapist to the Stars, Sandy Kevill.

First afternoon, enroute to Dalwallinu...

Good morning, Dalwallinu!

Last of the Wheatbelt...

Oncoming traffic!

Approaching Mt Gibson...

Murchison sky...

Being passed by a triple-trailer roadtrain...

Good morning Mt Magnet!

Lily and Digger in the well appointed and very clean Mt Magnet caravan park...

preparing for blast-off from Mt Magnet.

With My Tongue Firmly In My Cheek...

As most of us will attest, 2020 has been a memorable year thus far. Bushfires, floods, Coronavirus, lockdown, stupidity unmasked and inspired leadership - these circumstances have brought out the best and the worst in us all. My personal "Year of Wonders" continues to astound, annoy and amuse me.

Take my birthday this year, for example. All was running smoothly for a family get-together, a birthday dinner and a chance to have most of my children with me in Heavenly Beverley, including Miss Imogen Ivy, the grandbaby responsible for my descent into continuing inanity.

All those careful plans of Mice and Men were thwarted on Wednesday. A supposedly routine x-ray of Michael's arm revealed an utterly unexpected and concerning outcome. Finally, all those four weeks of pain had a cause. Michael's ulna had split at the base of the plate after the bone had been shortened. Not only was my birthday thrown into disarray, but our postponed Northern Jaunt was once more on the chopping block.

Worse still, we would have to return to the Mount Hospital, scene of not an entirely satisfactory stay a month previously. In anticipation of my boarding, I rang the hospital on Thursday morning. I was immediately transferred to Bed Allocation and any concerns I had vanished into the ether with confirmation Michael and I would have a shared room at our disposal for the duration.

First possible snag resolved with no reports or injuries. Friday's admission was routine - slow and boring before transferring to the room on Karri Ward. We were ushered into a clean and spacious room, much improved on our last experience. There were tissues on each of the bedside tables. An extra chair for our use. Soap in the bathroom. Day nurse Tina began admission procedures and we were almost immediately visited by Evelyn, who I believed was the new Director of Nursing. We were assured that positive changes to the Mount were afoot.  We were given the opportunity for our feedback on the improved state of the room. All our needs and requests would be promptly resolved.

Once I had lowered my eyebrows from having shot up under my hairline, I began a personal inspection. The room had been comprehensively scrubbed. There was not a skerrick of dust anywhere. The artwork was pleasant. The bathroom had a newer showerhead. A shower chair was insitu. I began to suspect this room would be primarily used for those having hip replacements, thus the extra space and facilities.

However, other issues were still a problem. In all the rooms we have stayed, not one of the toilet seats would remain upright under its own volition. There were no towels in the bathroom, so I whizzed off to the linen cupboard to collect some. The airconditioning was too cold. For the second time in a row, a COVID 19 checklist was nowhere to be seen as we were due to head to theatre. There was confusion about Michael's wearing of stockings. Or not. Pre-op did not have the amusing Eric insitu, so we endured a half-hour wait in the cold and austere setting. However, Michael was provided with a heated blanket that was most gratefully accepted.

The Mount Patient Finder was a great tool to track Michael's progress through theatre and into recovery, however, some carers might be put off by the need for an admission number to begin the process. To the IT department, being able to enter a surname would be preferable in this instance.

By the time Michael returned to the ward, his dinner had been waiting for nearly an hour. Another hour passed before he was able to eat. There was still no microwave in the Patients' Pantry and I had no idea whether staff could access a microwave as this option was never discussed. Thus, Michael, who was starving, was fed by me lukewarm roast pork, veggies and cauliflower soup.

Postoperatively in hospital resembles a mishmash of both extremely close and frustratingly lagging attention. Michael's observations and drugs were all dealt with in a timely fashion. However, there were other less than ideal situations, such as having to find his nurse after two attempts to source pain relief or having a drip infusion alarm beep for well over twenty minutes before we were rescued. The piece de resistance was Michael being handed a pill to swallow after it had been on the floor. We were initially too stunned to react and only afterwards did we ponder what had happened. In my opinion, that action was not satisfactory.

We were slightly overwhelmed by some of the attention. I was asked whether I would like green tea after my supply of teabags was spotted. In a later search, I discovered no green tea in the pantry, so that would presumably have had to be ordered from the kitchen. Michael's drip line was removed early in the morning routine - a task we have always had to request. We were not hurried out of his room and actually stayed until after lunch, so we could enjoy a hot meal before we headed for home. All firsts.

I wish I had thought to check some of the other rooms for tissues and soap. I was embarrassingly aware that our stay had been prepared in advance to our arrival to give a good impression. That the wards were cold and nothing had been done to try and alter the temperature was illustrated by an elderly chap dressed in flannelette pyjamas, a dressing gown and a woollen beanie. I have never been cold in hospital rooms such as Hollywood and Joondalup Private.

Not that we aren't grateful We are so thankful for an improved hospital experience at the Mount after some pretty ordinary stays. However, I hope that our stay becomes standard practice for all rooms in all wards. Everybody has the right to be as comfortable as possible and their needs met whilst at the Mount.

For those of you who wish to lodge comments about the Mount Hospital, I can only suggest being very specific. My observations of the lack of tissues and soap and proper cleaning of the room were seemingly easy to resolve. Certainly, most aspects of Michael's care was significantly improved. We hope that further admissions have similar outcomes.

I wait with bated breath for the promised renovations. The lull in elective surgery over the Christmas and New Year seems a perfect opportunity to work efficiently and speedily on refurbishments.

In the meantime, I can't help an element of cynicism being attached to my thoughts about our latest hospital stay. Hospitals can't be easy establishments to manage, however, if the executive teams become more proactive, I am convinced that these and other issues could be minimised or even cease altogether.

And now, we hope for Michael's uneventful and speedy recovery.

And here we were again (not!) happy as can be...

Hospital gowns are the pits to put on...

Worse to wear...

And are woeful keeping patients warm and comfortable in pre-op!

Sometimes, this is quite accurate...

As is this!

Michael on the evening of my birthday...

Feeling more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed...

Had something to eat and drink...

Following morning, feeling much improved...

And certainly cheekier!

Sunday morning with his beloved Madame Ruby in bed with him.

Happy Birthday to Me (with love from Murphy and Buckley)...

Four weeks ago, we were cooling our heels in the Mount Hospital waiting for Michael to have a major procedure on his troublesome wrist and hand. Our orthopaedic surgeon, Mister Ben Kimberley had identified a number of issues related to Michael's use of his hands as a primary tool for over forty years. There was no cartilage between the base of his hand and his wrist. Painful spurs had erupted from his ulna, which needed to be shortened. Two bones that shouldn't have fused together had...and three bones needed to be fused to keep them in position. We had decided to tackle this operation before leaving on our Northwest Jaunt as driving was becoming almost impossible.

The surgery went ahead and we were duly discharged the following morning, back to Heavenly Beverley for his recovery. Michael was almost immediately in serious trouble. The swelling was so intense that the cast had to be taken down and replaced four days postoperatively. One of his pain meds played havoc with his reflux. He complained of a clunking sensation at the site of the plate. The initial splint was unsatisfactory and had to be remoulded for him. But the unrelenting pain was by far the worst of his symptoms. He was being ground down and became chronically exhausted.

His need for opiates and other strong medication was puzzling to us. Michael has always had a high pain tolerance and I could not believe that he had turned into a wimp. And the carrot of our trip away from the winter cold was drawing tantalisingly closer. Michael was hoping the warmth and sun would aid his stalled recovery. I was steeling myself with the possibility of driving all the way there and back.

On Wednesday, Michael's hand, wrist and arm were x-rayed, followed by a second post-operative appointment. Michael convinced himself that his pain was beginning to ease. We just wanted to have this appointment with Ben and be on our way.

The films were stunning, for all the wrong reasons. A screw was sticking out from the plate. Worse still, Michael's ulna had fractured at the base of the plate. Suddenly, all the pain made sense. Michael had spent the best part of a month with his ulna split in two.

Which is why, four weeks after his initial surgery, we are back in the Mount Hospital waiting for him to go back to theatre. Michael is snoozing. However, this admission has gone extremely smoothly, much to our relief. We have had an amicable discussion with Evelyn, the Director of Nursing. There are tissues on our tables and soap in the bathroom. The room is much pleasanter than that of our previous stay. Some lunch was found for me as I was unable to eat before we left home. Our day nurse Tina was caring and kind. Now, all we need is for Michael to have the operation, pray for a boringly uneventful recovery and maybe be able to still escape to some northern warmth in about three more weeks.

That's the plan. And let's face facts. 2020 has been a year of dashed plans, of utter chaos across the world and of constantly changing circumstances. 2020 has morphed into a combination of a Coronavirus crisis, followed by a collision with Murphy's Law and Buckley's Chance.

Today is also my fifty-ninth birthday. We were supposed to be having a leisurely break with Callum, Bronwyn, Imogen and Vanessa inside our wonderful home in Heavenly Beverley. Instead, we are in the Big Smoke, in a hospital. Cal and Bron transported Immy up on Wednesday and Thursday nights. Vanessa met us at the hospital entrance this morning and loaded all our gear into a wheelchair in reception. Then she will be the dogs, cat and bird sitter until we return tomorrow. Leadlight artist David was already manning the Gallery today with Jan and Gem covering the weekend.

All I really want for my birthday is for Michael to come through surgery relatively unscathed with his ulna secured in place. Murphy and his Law have had a field day in 2020, so I am somewhat sceptical. As for Buckley, I remain hesitantly hopeful that we will have slightly better odds than his and we do actually get away in a few weeks.

Wish us luck!

Michael in the Gallery - Sunday 10 July...

Miss Imogen Ivy - 16 July 2020

Husband and son at lunch, York...

Entertaining Miss Immy - evening 16 July...

Immy with Jan and Daddy...

And what a way to spend my birthday!

Just prior to going to theatre at 3 o'clock Friday 17 July 2020.

The Beverley Hillbillies share their Mid-Year Revue...

I had thought of compiling a review to celebrate the riveting end of the current financial year. But, instead of boring the entire populous (literally) to tears, I decided that a somewhat scathingly upbeat performance would be far more desirable...

Welcome to the Beverley Hillbillies 2020 Mid-Year Revue!

Way back at the beginning of this year, with apocalyptic fires threatening the eastern shores between Brisbane and Melbourne, our heroic PM took off on a "well-earned rest" to Hawaii. When this decision turned to complete shit, he gallantly blamed his daughters, insisting he had no choice but to succumb to their pleas for an overseas holiday. Outstanding...

Upon his return, the Prime Minister then attempted to shake hands with a series of exhausted firies and locals whose world had exploded around them. He was definitely not there to receive a spray from distraught and angry residents and promptly retreated. Way to go...

Way out west, we were also enduring a gruelling summer heatwave and anxiously watching the Emergency web pages for news of infernos in our neck of the woods. We appeared to have dodged a mighty bullet when we emerged unscathed. January was the month of holding our breath. A tad concerned...

The fires eventually took an almighty deluge from above to be extinguished. Parts that had been drought declared and ravaged by the fires were almost washed away. However, other regions remained, frustratingly and miserably, in the grip of the Great Dry. And then rumbles started to emerge from China about a peculiar and very contagious pneumonia. The calm before the storm...

February was the precursor to the announcement of the pandemic. I found a handy phonebooth, performed a lightning change and emerged proudly as Anxiety Girl. This scenario was terrifying. At that time, we had no idea whether this illness would cause the casualties that were being seen in China. My immediate response was to PANIC and prepare to flee if at all possible. Oh, my giddy aunt!

Our West Australian premier actually did me a huge favour by slamming shut both our state borders and intrastate regions. With no community transmission, I was able to take a deep breath, slow my pounding heart and rocketing blood pressure and start to enjoy Isolation. Ahhh...

March and April were gloriously COVID 19 led months of relaxing in Station House. I settled into a frenetic routine of cleaning every morning, followed by some watering, exercise in the cool of the day, tackling those household tasks that had been put on hold and applauding Michal's projects, such as preventing the back fence from collapsing under the weight of rusty metal. Putting on the brakes...

Almost reluctantly, I was issued a G2G pass, so I could travel to the Big Smoke to see the kids and our divine Grandbaby Imogen. I unashamedly used masks and gloves, sprayed our homemade hand sanitiser copiously in all directions and practised social distancing with a vengeance. Michael was not going to get bloody Coronavirus or any other bug for that matter. Sergeant Major is IN...

Restrictions began easing in May. We took the decision to reopen the Gallery at the end of the month. Due to my absence and distinctly laid back lifestyle for more than two months, I was flummoxed by the demands of my previous existence. As a result, I proposed to move a few items around in the Giftshop to familiarise myself with the artists and pieces once more. Which necessitated more shifting. Which resulted in a chaotic circus of copious repercussions. The East End Gallery resembled a bomb hit bazaar for a number of days! Whoops, I did it again...

June was busy. We enjoyed carloads of escaping refugees from the Big Smoke just desperate for a Drive in the Country. We began the countdown for our delayed trip to the Deep North. We saw the orthopaedic specialist, Mister Ben Kimberley, about Michael's troublesome right hand. Two weeks later, Michael went under the knife to solve these issues. Between a rock and a hard place...

At this moment in early July, I wish I could produce a witty retort about Michael's post-operative experience. Not fun. Michael's post-operative pain has been intense. We have dealt with failures to give him enough pain relief on discharge, to inform us of the possibility of immense swelling, to have the current splint becoming less than ideal as the swelling subsides and having very little idea of rehabilitation at some stage in the future. Bollocks...

I believe these issues are a result of our home location. We are regional but not remote. First aid and nursing posts and outback health centres are geared to provide excellent services because the nearest larger hospital isn't readily accessible. Here in our position, an hour and a half drive from the Big Smoke, neither the surgeon nor the anaesthetist can write prescriptions for pain relief once we leave hospital. Regional GPs, such as ours, are meant to provide post-operative crisis care such as prescribing adequate pain relief. Northam Hospital took down Michael's first cast and created another, due to his significant swelling. The hand therapist who moulded Michael's splint is a hundred kilometres away, the splint has become looser and less comfortable and we are trying to avoid using half a tank of fuel to see the occupational therapist for an altered splint. Rats!

This morning, I have launched into decisive action. Sandy Kevill, Hand Therapist to the Stars, is still practising, seven years after I last saw her. And she works out of her home near York. And we need a referral. I rang the surgeon's rooms for a referral, but he is on leave all week! In desperation, I organised a phone appointment at the GPs to gain the all-important referral.

And I thought that living in the country was meant to be dull and boring...

In other news, we have enjoyed a splendid weekend in the Gallery with art pieces off to new homes, additional stock arriving, and you guessed it, further movement within the East End Gallery.

Stay tuned for the next exciting instalment!

First came the "Black Summer" of bushfires...

Then came the flooding rains...

Followed closely by Coronavirus!

Our Local Hero, Premier McGowan closed the state and intrastate borders for a number of weeks. Go, Mark!

When restrictions eased, we christened my Mother's Day firepit with Callum, Bronwyn and gorgeous Immy...

Immy with Grampy...

Immy with Nanny...

Then the boom was lowered on Michael. Post-op Friday 19 June...

Saturday 20 June...

Tuesday 23 June...

And Darth, the bloody splint!

And in light of recent outbreaks in Victoria, I am delighted that our borders are still closed!