Upping The Tempo @ The East End Gallery...

My last post (woe was me) was an unmitigated flop. I knew I did include some details of more important facets of my life, but honestly, a thousand pardons for boring you all to tears...

Plus, Jodie Edom Nolf (Photographer to the Stars) and proprietor of the Vincent Street Emporium has provided me with some excellent images of our Saturday Night Soiree, along with my latest photos taken during these early days of March. And I have sputtered into action once more today, with wonderful encouragement from Beverley artists Mandy Evans and Kelly Duncan, assisting me with that awful and confusing entity named Social Media, as well as receiving information regarding the proposed establishment of a Sculpture Park, directly across the road from Station House. We were a tad surprised to be informed about this endeavour indirectly.

Anyway, onwards and upwards with the fabulous content of this post. We thoroughly enjoyed a rather unusual first Sundowner of 2025. Regular "Mick and the Sundowners" guitarist Lawrence Jones was strangely absent from the action, preferring to sit out the back in Michael's Studio with the man himself. Michael and Lawrence have been close friends since high school, but only were re-united after absence thanks to that other stalwart of East End Gallery Sundowners, Mister Guy Slingerland. 

We didn't have many guests as such, but our musicians didn't miss a beat. They rocked on until fairly late in the evening. I am sad to say I had abandoned the Good Ship East End Gallery shortly after nine o'clock, but was fully aware of Michael coming to bed around two o'clock in the morning. He apparently rang Mister Geoff Newby-Butt for a chat just before that particular witching hour. Michael had absolutely no memory of this call until today!

We were thrilled to see Di and Steve Mainwaring, along with Border Collie Brynn, at lunch on Sunday. Di, an incredibly versatile and talented artisan present me with a trio of the "Rustling Farm Animals" - Cora Cow, Sheila Sheep and Peggy Pig. More gems to join the East End Gallery!

We are gradually enjoying a cooling trend now that autumn has arrived. Not that we are experiencing that today or tomorrow, with scorching temperatures still around...sigh 

Right, that's enough whinging. Within another month or so, we will be lamenting the arrival of rain or wind or cold and we will cope with enthusiasm and gusto. So sit back, relax and enjoy the latest images from the East End Gallery and the March Sundowner.

PS don't forget to attend a "Welding for Art" Day with Michael. Bookings essential, morning tea provided. Fifty dollars per hour for 1:1 or forty dollars each per hour for 2:1. We can negotiate for low income participants.

Or just turn your vehicle in an easterly directly and come see us in Heavenly Beverley for a day, a weekend or an extended stay! 

 

 

John, Betty, Rowan and Guy...

 

 

Gabi, Seanne and David...

 

 

Oh my giddy aunt! Betty's glorious hair!

 

 

Jan...

 

 

 

In full flight...

 

 

John, Louise and Craig...

 

 

Bloody oath, we are still in love!

 

 

Guy and Betty...

 

 

Guy...

 

 

 

the "new three amigos" - Guy, Rowan and Betty...

Michael with Lawrence

 

 

 

Jan letting loose with the tambourine...

 

 

 

 

Passing the mantle...

 

 

 

and new placements in the East End Gallery,,,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hocus, Pocus...FOCUS!

There are times when I wonder if I have been transported to an alternative universe. Or whether I am actually being stirred within the confines of a witch's cauldron, along with eye of newt and toe of frog, part of some grotesque spell over which I have no control. I have caught myself questioning conversations I've had, information I've been given and decisions that I've made on the basis of this knowledge, only to ponder contradictions that imply I have misheard or been mistaken.

Which I bloody well haven't. I may sixty-three but there is absolutely nothing wrong with my recall or interpretation. I have been flung from pillar to post like a pinball in a bizarre game of fantasy versus reality. For eighteen months, I have sought to find the basis of my debilitating breathlessness and explain the unrelenting exhaustion.

I have given volumes of my health history to various medicos. I have searched the inner recesses of my memory for clues. In doing so, I have been gifted snippets that have added to my overall understanding. Unexpectedly, I have unearthed a possible cause of my obesity. I remember Mum telling me how she used to add extra formula to my feeds so I would sleep more. She was so very proud of her cleverness. As a result, I slept through the night before I was four weeks old and developed severe excema and an egg allergy as a result. From then on, I was prone to chubbiness.

I have swung from constipation to diarrohoea and back again all my life. Tummy upsets were a miserable night time companion which led to teenage insomnia. During my thirties, I found the only lasting solution to weight gain was to exercise, which led to my ten year career of running, pounding the pavements around Karrinyup. Exercise was also a panacea to my first not-terribly-satisfactory marriage, leaving my troubles behind as I entered into a rhythmic mediation with my dog. Only when I stopped running, having developed knee and ankle pain did I slow down to walking, and my weight increased once more.

I was still able to walk for fitness until September 2023. I had discovered the absolute majesty of the Outback, the thrill of fossicking and the adventures Michael and I shared. I had walked through the Kennedy Ranges from the camp to Honeycomb Gorge and back, completely underestimating the distance, which was over six kilometres return. I remember being tired and triumphant on my return but definitely not breathless in any way, shape or form. We climbed all over Walga Rock, tramped around the Mt Augustus ground tracks and explored endless square kilometres of abandoned tips, towns and mining sites. That is what I want to experience again...

The only doctor who has my unconditional trust is our respiratory specialist Scott Claxton. I have seen various cardiologists over the years, one completely useless who missed my Atrial Septal Defect (ASD), one who saw the ASD and didn't tell me and the latest, recommended by Scott, who keeps changing her tune and clouding previous conversations with contradictory statements.

This cardiac guru has caused me uncertainty and anxiety, as I was confident in Scott's judgement. During our first consultation, she stated, loud and clear, that my ASD had caused the Pulmonary Hypertension. I was so surprised at her candour that I asked her to repeat this statement. Which she did - word for word. After the TOE (transoesophogeal echocardiogram), she wrote in my discharge summary that there had been no complications and I had tolerated the procedure well. What she related to me was that I had stopped breathing, the theatre nurse didn't have the strength to hold my jaw open, a doctor had to step in to keep my airway open and they nearly chose to bail out of the test.

I did not receive this information until four hours later.  She told me my sleep apnoea was uncontrolled and that I was in her "top five worst patients". The sleep apnoea therapists I see have taken umbrage at these comments, noting my sleep apnoea is completely controlled by CPAP and that I only stop breathing if unsupported. 

All I knew, waking up after the TOE, is that some awful event had occurred. I was very breathless, in pain and distraught for several hours with zero understanding. My follow-up appointment with her was last Thursday. She denied ever saying that the ASD had caused the pulmonary hypertension and that my breathlessness was multifactorial and probably mostly due to my "uncontrolled" sleep apnoea. She also surmised that closing my ASD probably "wouldn't help much now" but was a useful "preventative" measure as I continue to age. So much for expert advice. At least we were only out of pocket for less than one hundred dollars...

To say I am furious, confused and frustrated is the understatement of the century. In spite of her change of mind, she still added another beta blocker to my regime that treats heart failure and referred me to a cardiac surgeon. She also mentioned bariatric surgery as a solution to my weight, noting our health fund would cover that operation ...Ye Gods.

So, next week brings another appointment. I have emailed the cardiac surgeon with my relevant medical history, hopefully saving time when I see her. Whether she reads my email or not is entirely another matter. I just want to have opportunity to ask all the questions that matter to me. So I can make informed decisions. Wish me luck on that endeavour...

In the meantime, I am trying to FOCUS on what I know to be true and real. Our family, our friends, our home, our fur and feathered babies and our Gallery. I have retreated into this protective space to breathe, rest and rally for the next round.

Our first Saturday Sundowner in 2025 was an absolute blast, in spite of having very few guests other than our musicians. Did they care? Not at all. They were too busy having fun.

Sunday saw our friends Di and Steve, along with Brynn their border collie, join us for lunch, bringing three hilarious clay farm animals to add to the Gallery. Betty and Rowan, musos and artists, joined us as well, whilst husband and Dad Craig attended a charcoals workshop at the Station with Artist-in-Residence Lorraine.

Yesterday, a public holiday, still welcomed nearly twenty guests, both new and repeat offenders, to the Gallery, My executive officer, Mizz Sue, handled the Gallery with her usual efficiency and aplomb.

Today is a beautifully cool early autumn day. The garden is grateful, the dogs are snoozing, the parrot is quiet (!), the cat has left the building, Michael is happy with his latest piece and I will be catching up with household jobs. Much to my surprise, I am relishing this opportunity for a slow home day.

Maybe I am slightly bonkers. All the best people are... 

 

 

I'd forgotten there were so many other bits and pieces in a witch's cauldron...

 

 

Or maybe I'm in an alternate universe...

 

 

Feeling like a pinball...

 

 

Having bared most of my orifices... !

 

 

Growing up with a dodgy gut...

 

 

Run, run,run. I ran as fast as I could...

 

 

Alas...

 

 

What we wish doctors would remember...

 

 

And for all our sakes, read this book!

 

 

My boys, Bronwyn and the grandies...

 

 

 

Lexi, Stella...

 

 

Chop...

 

Red...

 

And our beloved East End Gallery!

 

 

 

 

 

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!