Where The Hell Did November Go?!

 I haven't posted since 5 November. I hear you. What have I been doing?! Actually, rather a lot...

Those of you who are familiar with the Australian banks will not be surprised to hear of the ordeal I have suffered at the hands of the ANZ. Largely thanks to Indian call centres with a specific script that allows absolutely no deviation, I have had the EFTPOS terminal cut to the East End Gallery, numerous emails, messages and phone calls all because their "Know Your Customer" form required an Australian Business Number. Which we did not have and nobody told us that we needed one...

Finally, I have been granted a complaints person, small business assistance and an apology with a goodwill gesture of $300 for that month of  pure frustration. Am I placated? Well, any credit from a Big Four bank is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick...However, as of this evening, my Sole Trader profile has not been "uploaded" and I have received no confirmation that the horrendously harassing "Know Your Customer" team have received the details of my ABN.

Then, of course, the NDIS has continued on its merry way to duck, weave, wiggle and obstruct any attempt for us to be reimbursed $1600 for Alex's CPAP device...from his existing funding. That's right - the funding is there in Alex's name and so far, we have been unable to access this refund, in spite of meeting all the NDIS' criteria. This has been an ongoing saga for eight months. I have most recently written to the Minister (again), the CEO and the State Manager. 

My black sense of humour entered overdrive this morning when I was contacted by yet another NDIS complaints officer asking if my concerns had been addressed. In response I sent her sixteen points of the NDIS' failures in the last four years. I ended my response with the cheerful comment - "What is wrong with you people?"

I also sent my concerns to the ABC. I have yet to receive any acknowledgement. We have had a royal Commission into Disability in this country, but frankly, nobody actually gives a shit about our situation and I suspect, many others like me.

Michael has now been diagnosed with Severe Obstructive Sleep Apnoea and will begin his CPAP trial next Thursday. As for me, I have endured various examinations and tests which has left me with more questions than answers. One of our local doctors listening to my chest led to an X-ray. Hiatus. Then a chest CT. Hiatus. Bronchitis? Inflammation? Asthma? Heart defect? Hiatus. Today was an excruciating illustration of how an echo-cardiogram technician should not behave. I understood he had to move my boob around but he could have warned me before he did so. He questioned why I wanted Michael with me and pontificated in a patronising tone that a cardiologist - "heart doctor" - would have to view my results before the report was sent to my GP. What an officious little prick.

Once more I now wait. I have an exercise stress test and a calcium score CT next Thursday. I have looked up what the latter test, so I know what will happen. Then? You guessed it...Hiatus. I then see the cardiologist on 13 December...

No wonder we all are anxious about our health. We are not privy to information or results until some bloody doctor decides...This situation is entirely unacceptable. 

Tomorrow is another day. With no mistakes as yet. So I will take Miss Lexi and Miss Stella for a walk before the heat becomes too great. I shall open the East End Gallery with a smile on my dial. 

And keep hoping for resolutions.

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Apparently, this defect was viewed on my cheat CT...

Of nobody giving me the assistance I need...

Tales of Woe - Continuing Obstruction by the NDIS, a Demented Dishwasher, Miss Destructo Dog and a Feline Back Foot Blowout...

There have been some days recently that I wished I had pulled the bed covers over my head and refused to rise. 

The National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) has continued to thwart my refund for Alex's CPAP machine. Back in March (!), we entered a claim for his machine, based on a good night's sleep being essential for Alex's well-being and ability to function well. We have followed up with reports from his rehabilitative physiotherapist, his occupational therapist and his support coordinator pointing out his additional diagnosis of an Acquired Brain Injury (ABI) along with Autism. The NDIS received this information late in 2022 and finally added ABI to his profile in May this year (!)...Any scientific journal regarding sleep disturbance linkage with either of his disabilities is freely found online. We have also added the concept of his being able to live safely and independently in his own home - an NDIS principle. 

Our Local Area Coordinator has requested the NDIS escalate the review into this latest rejection. I just have no idea what the NDIS means by "insufficient information" as we have provided so much supporting material. Can anybody out there please explain?...We really need that refund.

Closer to the home front is our misbehaving dishwasher. I have become most irritated by the seemingly programmed obsolescence date for "modern" appliances. I remember Mum's washing machine lasting for twenty years, having washed countless loads, my second hand dishwasher happily operational for a similar period. Anyway, a bit of plastic broke off from the top shelf unit in the dishwasher, which is six and a half years old. The part that broke can't be replaced - we have to buy a whole new top shelf...As we currently have ten cents in our account, this purchase is currently off the radar. Through trial and error, I discovered that if the top shelf is not stacked at all, the dishwasher will run. However, his Majesty thought better and because he couldn't load every item on the bottom rack, he put a few on the top...Although I repacked the dishwasher (and fitted all our crockery and cups), the top rack had changed position and will not play nicely. As a result, the boy in the man suit was told to go home and wash dishes...and not fiddle!

As for Miss Lexi, she has taken to adolescence with all the finesse of a battering ram, delighting in the shredding of the TV magazine, business cards, paper work - all usually left in range by my beloved husband. She also enjoys pinching tea towels, running around the house with my knickers and removing clothing from the ironing pile. She is the happiest of dogs, her goofy smile lighting up our lives and becoming the loyal sister of Stella Bella. Their play is punctuated by great amounts of growling, tearing around after each other both inside and out and chewing each other's legs/ears/tails. With the advent of the hot weather, she is being clipped on Tuesday by Deb (in the doghouse), a cheerfully eccentric Queenslander who has wandered around the Wheatbelt over the last few years as a mobile dog groomer.

Finally, I am a bit worried about Mister Chop, our black and white cat who name was delivered after some of his tail was removed due to infection. He managed to have two large prickles pierce his back right foot between the pads. We removed as much as we could see, but his foot has blown up to the size of a miniature elephant. I suspect a trip to the vet may be our only way to treat this problem. Oh goody...

However, I refuse to be upset by any of these First World problems on a warm and lazy Sunday afternoon. I shall be in the Gallery for another half an hour and then I plan to water my beautiful potted garden and hopefully find a few strawberries ripe for snaffling.

Oh, and I may have to insert a large garden gnome up the ANZ bank's bottom for being singularly unhelpful whilst making huge profits. That can wait until the morning as well.

 

 

Why is the NDIS so difficult to navigate?

 

 

Why we are seeking a refund for Alex's CPAP device...

 

 

 

 

How the top rack of the dishwasher used to look...

 

  

 

How it looks at present...

 

 

 

An image of a fiddling man!

 

  

 

Lexi at the park...

 

  

 

Stella at the park...

  

 

 

Playtime!

 

 

You may notice some similarities in these photos of Chop...

 

 

We are seriously considering this option as...

 

This is a happy gnome...

 

 

This is my gnome avatar!

Another Week, Another Event In Heavenly Beverley...

Spring is bopping along merrily with fine days and mild nights. We have had a few hot days, unusual in October and harvest is underway due to a drier than average winter. This evening, on my leisurely stroll with the canine clowns, the pool's lawn was being mowed and the Beverley Horse and Pony Club was being prepared for this weekend's Tetrathlon. Pardon, I hear you all asking? Apparently this is a four stage competition, featuring riding, shooting, running and swimming. Tetrathlon has a strong following in Western Australia and is particularly popular with boys and young men. I must make sure to pop down to the venue with my trusty digital camera to catch some of the action.

This fast approaching Saturday night will be the debut of the Brothers in Arms band, featuring our own local hero, Mister Guy Slingerland. I believe the show promises to be a sellout. We will be immersed in this performance, from dancing along with "Twisting by the Pool" right through to contemplating  the futility of the Falklands War in the haunting "Brothers in Arms".

I will be reporting on both these exciting events in due course. Last Friday and Saturday saw the spectacle of Beverley's annual Rose Show and Quilt Exhibition. This is definitely a Big Deal in Beverley's calendar. In my role as roving reporter and tourism touter, I made sure I attended the Town Hall to record the occasion for posterity.

The rose and quilt exhibitors certainly met the brief of colour and diversity. For a two-dollar entry, I was enchanted by both the flowers and the quilts. I wandered happily about taking numerous snaps for this post. 

I am now a convert to the exquisite nature of rose blooms. Admiring other people's roses has allowed me to retain my laissez-faire method of gardening focusing on more forgiving plants. I have never successfully grown roses, usually due to my tried and trusted method of pruning them to ground level in response to an outbreak of black spot. I do not like rose thorns and I don't have the bravery or patience for all that feeding, trimming and careful application of water. And thanks to the Rose Show, I can enjoy the flowers without all that hard work.

As for quilting, that is another beautiful hobby I will never take up. Back in Year 5 at primary school, I successfully sewed the apron I was creating to my school uniform. The sewing mistress had never faced such a challenge before and after unpicking me, decided I should take up knitting for the rest of the year. I was appalling at that craft as well, and my scarf was never resolved as the teacher failed to show me how to cast off. Even now, I shudder at the thought of sewing buttons back on garments and leave that task to Michael. Or just go button-less.

Anyway, enough prattling. Please enjoy the photos of last week's Rose Show and Quilt Exhibition and mark the last weekend of October to attend in 2024.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Is It So?

Back in the time of the dinosaurs, an American physics professor was able to infiltrate our television screens thanks to his love of science, his instantly recognisable wild hair and horn rimmed glasses and his joy of illustrating science through his many recorded experiments. Ladies and gentlemen, vale Julius Sumner Miller. 

The youngest of nine (!) children of American immigrants, he graduated with a Masters of physics in the early 1930s. An early job was an a butler for a wealthy doctor, his wife Alice acting as a maid. He began to secure university appointments, and won a science grant which allowed him to meet his hero, Albert Einstein in 1950. He joined the physics department of El Camino College in Torrance, California, which is now part of Greater Los Angeles in 1952. He remained on staff there until 1974, his eccentric style a hit amongst the students.

Between 1963 and 1986, he was a Visiting Professor at the University of Sydney. When a filmed experiment involving a straw and a potato failed, he uttered a disparaging comment at Australian straws being sub-standard. The following day, he arrived at his lab to discover that a million straws had been helpfully dropped off, so he would always have a spare straw to meet his requirements.

Julius was intolerant of poor spelling and bad grammar, once exclaiming - "We are approaching a darkness in the land. Boys and girls are emerging from every level of school with certificates and degrees, but they can't read, write or calculate. We don't have academic honesty or intellectual rigor. Schools have abandoned integrity and rigor." My darling Dad would probably agree with his point of view.

"Why Is It So" was both the title of his television series and his frequently uttered quote. Julius is quite dead, and has been since 1987, which is not at all to my liking as I have a number of questions I would wish the great man to ponder...

1. Why are medication blister packs so difficult to open?

This problem is, I believe, a conspiracy generated by Big Pharma to entice us to lose medication so that we have to purchase more. How many of us struggle to push out tiny capsules or tablets from these blasted packs. More often than not, this procedure turns into a physics experiment as the force needed results in tablets flying across the room to be swallowed by the dog, disappear under the couch or be destroyed underneath a shoe. I recently cut my nails, which usually act as the instrument to pierce the dreaded foil.  I expect I shall have to resort to buying a pill ejector to assist in this weekly grind.

2. Why are the size, shape and colour of medications constantly changed?

 I kid you not, these bloody meds have more alterations than an influencer's clothing choices. Michael's frequent complaint is that I have not included a particular medication in his weekly packs or I have doubled up. This is rarely the case. Pharmaceutical companies seem to delight in making tablets bigger or smaller, pink to white or oval to round. And back again. I expect this is why so many elderly people end up overdosing because they have no idea what they are taking. Webster packs do not help in this process as they can't be taken to hospital and deny patients knowledge of their medications. Our invaluable domestic assistant, Michelle, whom we greet with open arms once a fortnight has witnessed older clients arguing about a tablet on the floor, whose it is and who should take it!

3. Why do we have to work out what side effects we are experiencing?

I have been using Efudix ointment on my arms and hands for a couple of weeks. Having used this topical chemotherapy before, I was not particularly perturbed and did not expect any side effects, nor was I provided with any warnings by the specialist. Whom I shall have to chastise next time I see him. Soon after starting this drug, I also noticed I was more tired than usual, was wheezing a bit at night and felt like my heart had moved into my throat. 

Thinking my CPAP device Batman needed an overhaul, I changed the filter and the tubing, replaced the mask and cleaned out the bath. These renovations did not improve my symptoms, so I explored the dim recesses of my brain to ascertain when the discomfort had begun. 

You guessed it - these effects had coincided with the commencement of the Efudix ointment. Then I went searching for connections. Doctor Google helpfully pointed out that shortness of breath and changes in heart rhythm might be an allergic reaction and to cease using the perpetrator immediately.

I shall now have to return to the delicious Doctor Daram cutting bits out of me twice a year.

4. Why am I always stressing about the "hereafter"?

Many thanks to Mister Ron Elston for providing the title of this dilemma. How many times a day do I ask myself - why am I here and what am I after...? Where are my keys, my purse, my phone? Why am I standing clueless in the pantry/bathroom/laundry? Yes, my grip on reality is usually lost in one of these three places. And no matter how hard I try to remember, sometimes the intended activity just flies out of my brain to an alternate universe. Michael is not immune either. His most unintended gaffe was asking for dinner when he had just finished the meal...I must admit my hooting laughter could be heard for quite some time.

There are also those embarrassing occasions when I completely forget the name of a close friend. Which is always followed by that look of recognition when that bosom buddy realises I have  suffered a complete mental blank and am desperately seeking the information. So far, I have been able to either disguise my appalling lapse or thankfully, remember in the nick of time.

I live in eternal hope that I will not be found out during on of these brain f$#@s!

5. And finally for today, why does the hot water always run out when I am in the shower?

Think about this disaster for a minute. The hot water never runs out when I am washing my hands or the dishes. During summer, the cold water has the habit of emerging at boiling point due to the heat of the pipes. And does the hot water ever fail when I am trying to enjoy a cool shower after a day where the temperature has reached 480 degrees. 

No, the hot water chooses to run out on a breezy brisk morning with a Force 9 gale entering the bathroom and I have forgotten to turn on the heater lights. Needless to say, winter provides the ideal conditions for the cessation of hot water by our gas bottles. 

And if we have a power failure, which those bureaucrats in the city orchestrate frequently for us regional people, the gas hot water shuts down due to its electric ignition...

Plus, I am sure that some gas bottles are just not nice. Recently, one of them gave all the indications of drawing its last gasp, necessitating panic mode to order a replacement. But when Marcus from our local hardware arrived to do a switch over, he discovered that the suspect bottle was still about a third full. How dumb did we look? I expect the gas bottles had a good chuckle about that farce.

Thus endeth my rant for today. Julius, do us all a favour. If you would be so kind, I would very much appreciate a rise from your grave and a revival of "Why Is It So?" for all of us who are contemplating such massive issues on a daily basis.

That is all. 

 

 

Indeed...

 

 

Who remembers the boiled egg and the bottle...

 

 

Those damned blister packs!

 

 

 

 

What Big Pharma is orchestrating!

 

 

*Sigh*...

 

 

Here come the good questions...

 

 

 

 

And now for that final act of infamy...