Delightfully Relaxed and Friendly

A few months ago my partner J drove me to Newcastle Airport so that I could fly to Brisbane to visit my high school friend, It was my first holiday in many years having not flown since 1991. I also found the experience very different to my time as an Ansett hostess in 1975/1976.

The Virgin crew were very good on the ground at Newcastle Airport. They assisted me via hydraulic lift to enter the airplane and the same on debarkation. While waiting for the lift at Brisbane I disclosed I had not been back to Brisbane since I lived and worked out of there as an Air Hostess for Ansett in 1975. The team leader promptly told the Captain and they all escorted me off the plane, chatting about the changes as I was wheeled to where my friend was waiting. The team leader was keen to meet up sometime to talk but I did not have my wits about me. I need to get some cards printed up so that people can contact me as it will make it easier, especially when advocating for people.

My friend was waiting for me, it was so lovely to see her again. It was a lovely drive to her home and so precious to spend time with her. She was on half yearly break and also needing the holiday. I met her wonderful daughter and we three went to The Bee Gees Walk which was amazing. I felt terrible for them though as my legs are so weak now I could not walk very far and had to sit a lot. However in the car I was fine and it was a wonderful trip there. We passed Indooroopilly Shopping Centre, a huge complex which we also visited on my last full day there. We also passed Ikea. Now I know where my Brisbane based friends are when they say they are shopping at Ikea.

Another day we drove to Morton Bay Shire and I adored the country town about an hour inland where L took me which had fabulous antique shops and galleries etc. I bought fudge from an antiques shop, after a long lunch with her and her friend. L bought some charming Wedgewood dessert plates from there. We then went back to her friend’s rural property where I met her family. It was lovely to see the family’s alternate lifestyle and be with fellow upcyclers etc.

L has committed to buying nothing new for a year and in that vein we went to many many fabulous charity shops. Amazing clothing in all the top designers was found and I hoped I could manage to get everything into my suitcase when I left!

I had one disaster with my colostomy. I had shockingly rapid output one day and I just managed to get to the toilet in a small shopping centre. The disabled toilet was huge however it had no surfaces for me to lay out my supplies and wet wipes etc, so disaster struck. It took me ages to clean up the toilet and floor etc and my poor friend was patiently waiting outside for me. After checking my clothing I considered myself lucky it did not go on there and then we launched ourselves into food shopping upstairs in the centre. Me holding up a quite a queue of able bodied climbers! However I found everyone I met there delightfully relaxed and friendly.

Straight after we had an appointment for tea at a friend’s Persian restaurant. On the way in the car I kept smelling poo. I checked my hands. Peeked into my leggings. Nothing. I scrubbed my hands with sanitiser but it was still there. After saying that it must be all in my head my friend started to smell it too! We were at a loss. I sprayed lots of my Frangipani perfume to cover it up and we went into the restaurant.

L introduced me to her lovely friend and we tried to decide what to have to eat. Eventually we had coffee and tea and decided on taking food home for dinner. We grabbed our bags, car keys and sunglasses and made our way to the car. I clambered into her car and buckled my seatbelt and when I went to put on my sunglasses I smelled poo. Yes….there was a blob of poo on my blackish brownish sunglasses. After screeching with horror then laughter I attacked them with my disinfectant wipes and we tried not to think of the sunglasses on the restaurant table for all that time.

When we returned to L’s house I texted my son, asking him if he could guess what had happened. I texted in short sentences building the drama. Of course he upped the ante by answering in funny memes of horror! It was storytelling at its finest. I sent that all on to my partner, though he loves words he also loves the way C and I are so alike and so bonded, even in our humour.

We had many wonderful meals at L’s home. A fabulous curry courtesy of her fabulous daughter E one night and L’s homemade soup another. The mornings were a great time to relax and prepare for the day. During a couple of the days L had some alternative medicine treatments while I op shopped to my heart’s content. When I was finished I found two great coffee shops in the trendy part of town. One vegan type one was so popular that police teams came in for their lunch. The other was a Coffee Club which had a distinct Queenslander feel to it. It had a huge outdoor room on the pavement and I commended them on their Disabled Toilet being Ostomy friendly.

On the last day we popped over to Indooroopilly Shopping Centre for a bit of shopping and lunch in the food hall. While we were there I received an urgent voicemail from the manager of dad’s care home. She said that my estranged brother was saying that he was in charge of dad and he wanted all his ID and paperwork so that he could move him to near where he now lives. She had managed to stop him but was very concerned. I told her I would be back the next day and the rest of the afternoon, my last day with L was spent making phone calls to see what could be done to stop this happening.

The next morning L dropped me at the airport and I made my way home. Waiting at Newcastle Airport for me was my lover, my friend, my companion and my partner. All four rolled into one. We had a glorious drive back, after watching the Airforce aircraft taking off just over our heads at Williamstown.

Advertisements

I Cannot Let Myself Go Down That Path

Today my story is featured on ABC News Radio and News Online which both go national across Australia. This is my second time being interviewed by Giselle Watakama and she really makes it easy. She also has a magic way of pulling the secret stuff out of me. The stuff I try to cover up from the public, the people I know and often from my loved ones. She even manages to capture the quaver in my voice, because dammit I cannot hide that. Would if I could, truly.

I do not want my son or my lover to see me panting as my body tries to fill my ostomy bag. Panting as if I am birthing a hippopotamus. Because that is what it feels like. Pure agony for at least thirty minutes, often two hours  and exhaustion afterwards. And then there is the small matter of getting a bag to fit on my ostomy now. The mesh has sucked an area a bit like an inverted teacup beside my stoma. Right where the mesh is. And it is next to impossible to get a seal. So out of the myriad modern devices designed to make life easier for the modern ostomy I am left with an older version which does not seal and also the filter does not function well. Requiring me to ask friends if I stink. Because these days all I smell is poo.

Things are not all bad. As everyone knows I do not like to give in. And I am very stubborn and determined. And I like to advocate to help others who are injured and to try to stop others from becoming injured. While in hospital last week I met a really impressive Colo Rectal surgeon, Dr Peter Pockney who also teaches surgery at Newcastle University. And he is a member of my surgeon, Dr Brian Draganic’s team Newcastle Colorectal. I was impressed with his intelligent way of communicating. Dr Draganic also is very down to earth. I am hoping at some stage to talk to them about starting a mesh clinic up here at John Hunter Hospital. Or a Hernia Mesh Clinic as RPA has the Pelvic one. These two surgeons did not place my mesh. Presently I have started a support group on Facebook for Hernia Mesh injured. It is called Australian Hernia Mesh Support Group. We are gaining more members due to the radio interview on ABC today which is wonderful. People who do not usually use Facebook so I have given then my name and mailing address instead.

Some of the timeline of the article was a little bit out. So much for Giselle to sort through. Basically I had the mesh inserted in 2015, three years after my ostomy was formed. The photo above was taken after I got home from the mesh repair. Not knowing then I had a mesh infection, which is NOT considered to be a good thing in mesh circles.

So for most of early 2015 I was in and out of John Hunter with bowel obstructions. I was given emergency surgery in August 2015 for a Parastomal Hernia  and mesh was inserted. I have been much worse since, though not to the point of vomiting faeces but that is because I am so vigilant to not let the obstructions get to that point. But she is right. I do fear choking on faeces, because I did, for many many hours and even The NG  tube could not suck it all away. It was the only time in my life I wanted to run away and die somewhere where nobody could find me. Well I did once after I started looking after my demented parents in 2013 but I had just left my nasty husband and walked into the hell of Alzheimer’s. With a new stoma and a then undiagnosed Hernia.

So basically Giselle let me talk, and tried to make sense of what I said, with no medical training and my tendency to ramble she did a great job! What was even better for us Mesh campaigners and advocates was the info she came up with. We need these skills!  Basically the College of Surgeons are concerned about this Hernia mesh issue. It is so good to know that.

‘Anyway the article is here. I will leave you to read it, to absorb it, and to try to know that my life might sound awful but I do see the bigger picture. In my case I do not have Alzheimer’s. Whew. And I can still laugh at myself. My son is wonderful,  as are my friends. And I have a magical lover/partner who does not notice my bag, thinks I am brave and encourages me to not see myself as disabled. It is only when I try to walk that I feel disabled, and it is only brief. Cause I cannot let myself go down that path.

Finally I would like to thank the lovely Rosie and Marion of John Hunter’s new Acute Surgical Ward. Talk about wonderful nurses. Beyond wonderful. And then there was the delightful Rory, the resident from Belfast. And the canular technician called in who finally got a vein. Am covered in bruises. Little love bites to remind me of my stay.

I Never Want To Feel Like This Again

Today was the fourth anniversary of my mum’s death. It is always a very hard day for me. I was so unprepared for her death. So unprepared for her new life. I needed more time. And today time is all I had. And memories. And photos. And more time. Sharing photos and those memories to Facebook. My friends doing their best from a distance to make me feel better. I have the best friends. The best network. The absolute best son in the world. And a wonderful partner.

However my partner was unable to be with me today, even for a short time, as he had a previous commitment to a weekend birthday bash. A sleepover one filled with all sorts of people, interesting and average and quite a mix of ages. And some of his family.

Usually we communicate throughout the day fairly regularly. And we say good morning and goodnight by telephone, a prolonged goodnight, over three hours last Friday night. Perhaps I should be happy with the time we do have together, such as last weekend where we had a fabulous, romantic weekend away together.

But I am cursed with wanting more. I did not have enough time with my mum, I am conscious of time and how things can change in an instant. I want more. I want to meet all his kids, his grandkids, his friends. Have heard so much of them but they seem to be denied to me, for now anyway.

Earlier today I was interviewed by ABC Newcastle about my Hernia Mesh. I have been in hospital again this week and it was stressed to me that I should really come in with all my bowel obstructions. I hate it though as they seriously cannot get my veins and then there is the dreaded NG tube. So I treat myself at home, always ready to go to hospital quickly if the pain worsens or if I start vomiting. As it did in 2015. It is serious and not to be messed with.

The reporter was fantastic. I have met her before. We did this over the phone as she wants to get this report to go National ASAP. We had a good talk then she did the thing where she said she wanted to know how it really affected my life. So I told her. She is excellent in getting to the absolute heart of the subject.

And it is one of the reasons why this thing about time is so important to me. To grab life now, because I do not know if this will kill me one day. I really don’t. And before then I want to see all my friends and meet my lover’s family. And not feel like the other woman. Because that is how I have felt all weekend. As if I am someone who cannot meet most of  his family. Must not let his family know we are together. That his obligation to this female friend exceeds his obligation to me.

It might seem stupid to him but it is how I feel, and how most women in my position would feel I believe. I have given myself heart and soul to this man, and maybe that was wrong. Anyone who cannot be there or even find the time on such a day as this to let me know he is thinking of me, of my son, may not be worth my love. I have a lot of thinking to do and we need to talk. I never want to feel like this again. I need that to be very clear.

He Had Never Left Us

On This Day five years ago my mum went into her only time in respite. It had been a desperate time for my son and I. Still traumatised by what we had gone through in Sydney, trying to do the right thing by mum and without transport most of the week it was a nightmare trying to get things organised.

D the Public Guardian had taken on the sourcing of care homes and after her saying there were literally no permanent places available within Lake Macquarie City I told her Newcastle would be fine. Within a day or so she called to say Tinonee Gardens in Waratah, Newcastle had a respite bed coming up a few weeks later.

One of the home care aides had told us stories about being sworn at in many different languages at Tinonee Gardens and that she had enjoyed the patients there. So I had some background from a trusted person and it was getting desperate at home with mum walking down the steep hill, forgetting she could not get back up again because of her heart condition. Also her anxiety and sundowning was off the charts. She would antagonise dad on purpose at times and f we had not been there I could see she would be black and blue again, as my relatives had told me she was before dad’s stroke.

We simply had to get her to safety and give dad a break away from her. So we accepted the bed and I then started the preparations for her admittance. This was hard or me as there was so much paperwork. Since I left my emotionally abusive husband earlier that year I had been so traumatised that I had trouble with paperwork and phone calls. Which made this very difficult.

I had to phone mum’s GP and get paperwork from him. Which was no easy task as he was never available to do it. In the end the day before mum was to be admitted I went into the surgery and made such a fuss that the office manager immediately found a GP who would do it for me. I had been very forceful about mum losing the bed and it would be their fault if so.

Then I popped next door to the wonderful Swansea Amcal Pharmacy. They of course were well prepared. The pharmacist and all the girls wished mum well and reassured me that everything would be okay. They delivered my parent’s medication to them weekly and knew how isolated my parent’s home was. Nestled against the bush, with no transport, and tri level. It was beyond unsuitable for my stroke damaged dad and demented mum.

I had to go out several times to get mum clothing as she barely had anything to wear when I moved in. With the help of Vinnies I managed to prepare her enough for her two weeks in Respite. Luckily G was up for several days so we were able to be driven to Swansea to shop and do all these things.

Dad kept saying something would go wrong and mum would not be able to go and sure enough, on the morning mum had to be there I heard a clatter in the garage. I waited a few minutes but heard nothing so continued to gather everything together into a bag that I had hidden in the laundry so that mum would not be alerted to anything.

As I came back into the kitchen dad came through the garage door into the family room. He was holding his arm up in the air and crying in a strange way. Almost hyperventilating. I then saw blood pouring down his arm. As I went towards him I grabbed some clean tea towels and used them to staunch the blood flow.

Dad was crying so hard I could barely understand him but I worked out that he was saying that mum would not be able to go now. He was shuddering with shock. I managed to get the blood to almost stop by holding his arm up and applying pressure. Then I had a look. He had shredded a piece of skin down his arm like cheese off a grater. About a centimetre deep and just hanging off his arm. The whole way down his forearm. When he saw it he started shaking again. I assured him it would be all right and wrapped his arm again and asked him to hold it while I went to get Helen who was showering mum.

She had just got mum out of the shower and we got her dressed together and then Helen came back to help me with dad. She came through and asked him what he had done now. I had found bandages and gauze swabs and spray on antiseptic in my mum’s amazing FirstAid drawer and had them on the counter.

Between us we looked after both of my parents as we filled a bowl with water and I swabbed dad’s arm to see what needed to be done. I had found some small scissors in that drawer and had put them in boiling water and then Dettol. I then cut the strip of skin off and we had a good look. It was going to be tricky to bandage but I knew elderly people’s skin was very fragile and could tear easily so I felt confident we could treat it ourselves.

The main thing was to calm him so I made him sweet tea and mum a coffee. Then we applied all the products. Starting with spray on antiseptic and gauze and finally the bandage. By the time we had finished he was just shuddering. I hugged him and said it would be fine. We would get mum there. He started crying again.

Eventually I asked him how he had hurt himself and apparently he had put his bad foot on a chair to do up his shoelaces and had fallen over. Slicing his arm on the printer stand.

I was speechless but managed to keep a calm demeanour. Dad had only been using velcro shoes since his stroke. Whatever made him go back to ones requiring two hands? He only had one functional one. I went to get his good lace up shoes and put them on him and laced them up.

While all this was going on Tony the owner of the hire car business had turned up to take us to Tinonee Gardens. It was a thirty minute drive and we needed to be there around lunchtime. So as soon as dad was calm and mum distracted I gave Tony mum’s bag to hide in the boot and then I told mum we were going out. She grabbed her handbag, very excited.

Helen left just before us and we locked up, then started on our first journey to the facility. It was a pleasant trip, mum chatting to me and not expecting a response due to her deafness. When she was not talking I encouraged dad to talk to Tony who was experienced in these journeys. It was very stressful and non stop for me, keeping everyone on an even keel. Dad was fine by then, hard to believe the state he had been in a few hours earlier.

We arrived at Tinonee and told Tony we would call him when we were ready to go home. Mum looked suspiciously at the office reception but was okay when the RN Laiju arrived to take us to Daffodil, the building where mum was going to spend respite.

By then mum was fractious, angry and suspicious. She kicked dad a few times as we sat waiting on a settee near the dining room where residents were sitting waiting for their lunch. Eventually the NUM Michelle arrived and she knelt on the floor and took notes on mum’s medical needs. By the time mum had her blood pressure taken she was well aware something was going on.

They then showed us the room off the dining room which was especially for Respite. It was near the nurses station which was reassuring. We took mums bags in there and I put them on the bed. She took them off the bed and kicked them with all her might to the other side of the room. And flounced across to dad and told him to get her out of there. Now.

When he just cried she kicked him. Then she kicked the bags. And threw them. Never seen her like it. My gentle mum. She then said in a quiet deadly voice I have never heard before.

“Tom, you take me home now. Tom. Tom. I am telling you to take me home now or I am going to scream and scream.” Dad just cried.

I took her out of the room to the settee. But she kept going back in and saying similar things. No swearing. Very ladylike. But with the deadliest undertone.

Dad came out and shouted, his way of communication, that he was going to have his prostate fixed and she had to be here while he was in hospital. Mum had no clue what he was saying due to her deafness and just thought her was angry with her.

Michelle came and said mum could sit down at the table for lunch, we could go then. I settled her, dad kept crying which really was not helping things. Then I said dad we are going to have to go. We said goodbye and she started to wail. And wail.

Laiju and another nurse came and got mum and walked her away from the table, half dragging her as she cried out to us.

“Do not leave me here. No. No. I am not staying here without my parents. Mummy. Daddy do not leave me here.”

Absolutely heart wrenching to watch her being semi carried around the corner away from us. We exited the secure door and made our way out of the second secure door. Dad crying all the way. Me phoning Tony. By the time we walked out to the front he was there. He had never left us, on this, one of the worst days of my life. Thus far.

 

B0AF0628-9AB1-42E7-A248-7651BBABAD2B

I Got That From Her

On This Day five years ago G and my son and I had a great shop at our local Vinnies in Swansea. We stocked up on lots of clothes for Mum as we knew she would need a lot for when she went to Respite in the Care Home. She needed warm clothing, nightgowns and dressing gowns and shoes and slippers.

She loved cardigans, indeed one day a gorgeous softest silver grey boucle cardigan arrived for me from eBay UK and when mum saw it she beamed cheekily and grabbed it and said its mine. Of course I gave it to her instantly. As she had with me as an adult. She would literally give me the clothing off her back. Come to think of it I got that from her as I do that too!!

Shopping was pretty exhausting as we trotted off to Coles to stock up on food for the folks. Mum had eaten us all out of house and home again! When I got back I left the youngsters to unpack and escaped to my little retreat way downstairs where I read and knitted each afternoon after getting everything for my parents organised in the morning. I loved it down there though it was starting to get very nippy.

We brightened and personalised the empty space by rearranging the furniture and adding a cube bookcase, a big faux leather storage ottoman and some affirmation plaques. Very much needed after what we had been through for the last year. G has them now in her flat, I no longer need them as I am on the other side of everything now.

Where I Choose To Be

Yesterday was my late mum’s birthday. But that was not why it was such a difficult day. In the morning I rang my dad in the aged care home. He has dementia, stroke damage and stage four Prostate Cancer and he was very worked up and totally out of it with agitation. He told me he had manhandled and literally thrown a lady out of his room and that her friends had come to help her. Dad had swung at a man who used to be a fighter, who said he ducked. And dad told me he was going to get a man, later on. He has never been fond of people he finds stupid and these people are demented, bless them.

My son and I then set out after lunch for my appointment with Dr Russo of The Hunter Pain Clinic in Broadmeadow. It’s a level one pain service where medications and injections and ablations into and of nerves occur, unlike at John Hunter Pain Management. I went six months ago, found great success with my SFN and other neuropathic pain due to past surgeries and mesh. It is a lovely bus trip by the lake to Cardiff and then a train to Broadmeadow. Unfortunately it’s a long walk for me from the station, I know now to get a taxi from there. Silly of me not to, I was overconfident.

At some stage of the day the AINs told dad his blood pressure was up, probably to try to get him to stop fixating on the men he particularly hates. So he started phoning and when he could not get me he left messages. Three before I wised up and stopped taking the voicemails. Each was worse with him crying, wanting to go to hospital and beside himself thinking he was going to die.

Meantime my son and I waited over an hour for Dr Russo, who was brilliant as always. He said I needed to increase the Lyrica in my Neuropathy cocktail by 75mg. After that nerve ablation of the Femorogenital Nerve and the Illinguinal Nerve on the left side is all that is left to do. He also wrote that I could have a sustained release painkiller, Palexia. All I use at the moment is Panadol Osteo.

The trip home was a long one. To avoid the walk to the station we caught two buses, one to Glendale which was forty minutes and then a bus home which was around twenty. I stopped being a nasty snarly bitch to my poor ever suffering son once off my feet and on the bus and dropped into a ten minute retrospection ending in quite the insight. I have had moments of clarity before but never quite like this.

I was wondering if it was worth it. Really. To have Small Fibre Neuropathy pain so badly that I had needed a walking aid to get around. The pain so unspeakable I found it hard to describe it. And to lose that pain totally for four months only to have it start to return? With no real hope of it ever going or being controlled. More so with the unbelievable mesh pain beside my stoma. Would I have done it if I had known? Would I not have been better to not have that wonderful break, only to have to learn to deal with the agony again?

And yet, if I had not tried the cocktail, I would never have got off the walker, might even have been encouraged into a wheelchair by now. I would not have had the courage to meet up with my man of many voices, not in an intimate way. Would not have started any relationship at all. Talking to Dr Russo I realised how much had changed since I saw him in November. For the good. Life is full of joy for me, despite the pain. Or in part because of it I truly appreciate life and the beauty in the world.

So yes I would have tried the drugs, I would have knowingly tried them even if they had told me they would not continue to work much beyond the six months. Because where hope is is where I want to be. Where possibility is is also where I am meant to be. Where determination is is where I choose to be.

But for dad, my quandary is very different, to hear him at 4.59 this morning. Crying. Because he “does not know what is happening.” The catch cry, especially of the Vascularly demented. What is the point in prolonging his misery? His fear? His degradation? Should I have ever let the specialist put him on the Zoladex which is stopping the Testosterone which is fuelling the cancer? It will wear off by the end of this year anyway but it’s month upon month of agonising fear for my dad, a once proud, strong man. Can I in good conscience ask for it to be stopped? And let the disease take its course?

In other countries he might have been able to choose his death. But dad thought he was immortal and never prepared for old age. Now I am trying to look after us both. Making tough decisions for both of us. Mine is just pain, it will not kill me though the increase in Lyrica will likely affect my memory. But only while I take it. Whereas dad is going to die. A long, drawn out protracted death whereby he slowly withers away. Even now he is dehydrated. He could choose to stop eating at any time. It happens. And I will be here witnessing it, but thankful my mum did not have to. That she was taken before that. She always looked after dad, he was her first thought in the morning. Her duty was to care for him. Her duty born of love. Mine is a different love, but mum knew I would look after him. It is who I am. And who I am is very much someone who questions suffering. Suffering, the kind that does not enrich life, only demeans and terrifies our elderly. Our loved ones with dementia.

 

 

Resigned, Not Panicked

Today I went to the local Dental Clinic to have my mouth assessed for dentures. It is a difficult place for me to get to. The local bus that connects has a forty minute wait so I walked up to the shops via Belmont Citi Centre where I had a very nice coffee. Then I popped into two charity shops, scoring three gorgeous jackets for myself and a gorgeous dress too. I made it to the bus stop as the bus pulled up and it was a pleasant trip around the lake to the Dental Clinic.

However getting off the bus was problematic as it was not accessible so did not have a ramp and the driver pulled up right on the road. I tried about three times to get off then climbed down backwards, hoping my good leg would reach the higher curb.

Then began the walk down the really uneven unkempt sidewalk to the Clinic. I asked for a glass of water as soon as I got there as was feeling a bit rattled and the lovely Sarah got me one straightaway.

Then the male dental assistant…a first for me… called me in. I was sitting sipping water and quite well dressed and well presented if I do say so myself, wearing an art deco styled tunic in greens with black leggings and a bottle green tshirt under the tunic. Black sandals and an off white lace cardi coat completed the outfit. So it is always a surprise for medical staff and others when they see me get up and attempt to walk.

This lovely male dental assistant took my handbag and everything off me to assist me immediately he saw me hobbling. He commented that was some incapacity and was it recent. So I explained the mesh implant and how it had entrapped my nerves causing Drop Foot and other issues. Angharad the dentist and the lovely chap were pretty stunned.

My mouth is looking pretty good apparently. Apart from a chunk of bone Angharad picked out after numbing that side of my face with gel. She then arranged for me to see a Dental Technician to have two dentures fitted, one top and one bottom. And also a referall to Sydney Dental Hospital for implants.

I then started to make my way back to the bus stop to return home and found I was having a lot of trouble moving my left leg. It is the one with the drop foot but this was more the whole leg would not work which is the Cervical Stenosis at its worst. Lesson learned, too many dental appointments not good for me and I need to get a taxi or a lift back.

For some reason it reminded me of when my dad and I were in Swansea after seeing his GP and having a coffee in Cozzies. We waited outside Cozzies for over two hours for a taxi. I called and called and not one of them would come down from Belmont to Swansea. I was getting frantic as I could not leave dad alone as he had no road sense due to dementia but I could feel my Colostomy Bag filling up. I was really horrified when it burst open. I rang one final time and let Newcastle Taxis have it, telling them I had a demented man sitting waiting beside me near the Pacific Highway and I had just burst my Colostomy Bag.

Of course dad was horrified by my bag bursting. He said I could go find a toilet but I could not leave him and I could not take him into the disabled toilets nearby as he would be even more horrified if he saw my stoma and what I had to do to clean up the mess.

Luckily a lovely taxi driver who works out of Belmont took pity on me then and was there very quickly and drove us the short distance to Cave’s Beach. He ignored the awful smell and apologised and gave us his card so we could call him directly in future.

Today I waited outside Belmont Citi Centre and again there were no taxis as it was changeover time and the few cabs there were usually picked up schoolchildren from various places. I decided to try to walk home but needed to rest. The looks from people had been horrified as they saw me dragging myself across the carpark.

So as I sat I reflected on the fact that this time I was resigned, not panicked as I had been five years ago about getting home. This time I did not have a demented dad relying on me for everything and who was unable to get the bus or walk up the two hills.

This time I only had myself to deal with. However my precious son came and met me at the Centre. Looking very concerned at my face. He does not have to look at my legs or tummy, he can read everything on my face. I so very much wish he did not know how to. But he has been exposed to so much pain and suffering since we have been up here that he just gets it. And how proud I am of him, the way he went and bought me an iced coffee to sip while he popped to the post office. Knowing that when he came back we would be able to get home without a taxi as there are lots of benches on the way home to rest upon. Which is what we did, he had brought my walking stick with him and I walked on the grass verge and it was a lot easier than the pavement.

Am resting now, thankful for the lesson my body gave me. And eternally grateful to have such a wonderful son.