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.

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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.

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.

Nothing Short Of Magik

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about my man of many voices. I sent him the post as he is my First Reader and I value his reactions and help with editing.

The last time we had seen each other we had lunch at my friend’s house and after that J kindly drove me home. This takes about ninety minutes via the coastal route and was wonderful as we had both lived and enjoyed that region when we were young.

On the way we looked at the houses we had lived in then. Mine with my parents and brother and him with his wife and children. They were a few streets apart. I was also honoured to be shown his brother’s grave nearby. He had died in a car accident when they were both in their twenties, shortly after they migrated here from England. I was very moved and embraced him. He was trembling and I held him for a long time and massaged his chest, where I could feel his heart beating. Very hard. I kept my hand there until I thought he was more composed.

My son was home when we arrived and we all had an enjoyable time together. When J left he kissed me for the first time. I was so stunned I instinctively turned to my son and mouthed he kissed me! One reason I was so stunned is because its over twenty years since I was kissed by a man out of affection. And I was married for a lot of that time. So I thought I had forgotten how to do it.

We arranged to meet up again the next week on the Wednesday, this time without having lunch at my friends. She is wonderful but it was hard to have any time to talk to each other there. My friend H drove me down to Gosford as she works there three days a week. She dropped me off at Hungry Jacks in Gosford where we had arranged to meet. H and I had toasted sandwiches for breakfast and H waited as long as she could then she went off to work. I waited and then J texted me that he was at a different Hungry Jacks!

He soon arrived and we went back to his place, which I had not seen before. It was exactly him. Books and dvds and sofas galore. Lush green rugs and various pieces of art which had special meaning to him. He showed me over the flat and pointed out the huge sofa where his adult children slept when they came up and where his daughter’s room was. It was very spacious, with lots of furniture but still felt as if it was sparsely furnished. Quite a hard thing to do. Perhaps because its quite a big flat, indeed my entire cabin could fit in his lounge room!

We shared a pot of tea together on the sofa, looked through some photographs of his family in the UK and chatted and were very relaxed together. Then he stood up and said lat’s go and get comfortable shall we and disappeared to his room. I sat there wondering what was going on then followed him. He was laying down on the bed so I followed suite. No idea what I was getting myself into. He put his arm around me and we kissed then he took his shirt off and said that was better. We kissed and fooled around a bit and then he took his shorts off. I took my tunic off and eventually my bra. After a while he went to put the radio on and came back and shucked his sexy aqua under shorts off.

I was a bit bemused by then but willing to go for it. I still had my leggings and undies on, mostly to cover my bag and fat tummy. They obviously got in the way so eventually and excruciatingly self consciously took them off and snuggled into him and he sighed that that was better.

He was so gentle, so considerate, so giving and every step of the way kept telling me everything was in my control. My choice. That he wanted only to bring me joy. He massaged me with Nivea lotion and most tenderly brushed my hair from my face.

We explored different positions as we were not even sure if we could have intercourse due to my scarring and so called deformities and defects from childbirth. And the last time I had sex was with my husband and basically rape while I was recovering from surgery in 2000.

Eventually J asked if I had brought lube and I said no as I had not been expecting anything to happen. He said I had spelled it out in my blog post the night before, where I said about making love to him. I said I meant much later, when I lost my inhibitions. He said well then I was very, very brave. He says that a lot. In a kind of awed way. Whereas I think I am impulsive. But with this man I trust so much it is safe for me to act impulsively, on my instincts.

He is gentle though passionate, kind though brutally honest and a loving partner yet still an individual. I am madly in love with him and I also love him. Two different forms of love but together, deep and exciting.

Since that day we have made love many many times. We found a way to get past my scars and imagine the surprise of finding a fully functioning vagina behind all the scarring. And no pain. It takes a little longer and a few weird angles but we are fine with that. The cuddles, the massages, the caresses are magic and once we go to bed its hard to stop. Though we managed to last week, we went out for a meal afterwards and I think the glow was there for all to see. The afterglow of an afternoon spent loving each other’s bodies and the glow of love we have for each other.

We are also trying new experiences. Unfortunately we were caught by a hiker in the Watagan Forest a few weeks ago when we started making out but we managed to get naked together later in a much more isolated spot. J on the picnic table, me worshiping his body with my mouth. And later we tried to make love leaning over the picnic table but J kept slipping backwards into the dirt. He never said that my movements were knocking him backwards! We have some practice to do on different positions due to my surgeries and are so up for it.

After a largely loveless marriage since 2000 for myself and also a bad marriage for J in the past we are not wasting any time. We are juggling opportunities to get together. We love our time exploring each other’s bodies but also love the region where I live and have been exploring it.

Lake Macquarie is magnificent and its beauty has healed me in so many ways. Now I love someone who has history in the area where I grew up and also where I now live. And I have history where he now lives. Synchronicity. Its an incredible thing to feel like you are meant to have met someone before. And to actually meet them at this stage of our lives. Well its nothing short of magic.

Timing Is Everything

In July 2015 I bought a small unassuming cabin with a nice sized garden. The place is Land Lease in that I pay for the use of the land and utilities. This is becoming a popular thing with Baby Boomers who need money for their retirement, or like me have little money after bitter silver divorces. The actual park has masses of huge trees and flowering shrubs which are home to an abundance of bird life. It is a short walk to the lake and near to shops and transport.

I was really excited to move in, apart from being heartbroken that I had to leave the family Burmese cat behind. Chanti and I were devoted to each other, as she was to the whole family. Except we had a special bond due to C and G going overseas and Chanti and I really bonding while being alone together. I truly believe she healed me of some of the dreadful pain I felt after my mother’s death in mid 2014. She is an old cat and never jumped onto anyone’s lap, however the day I was leaving she came running down the hallway and leapt onto my tummy and snuggled close. It was harder than leaving my son, because I knew he had wanted his own place since he was 18, and now he was finally getting it.

I ordered my lounge furniture to be made in teal chenille which would take up to three months, and settled in as well as I could with everything else that had been delivered. G drove the removal truck and with C they moved my boxes that had been in storage since April 2013. I had not brought a lot with me from Sydney, mostly my quilts and my art and quilting books, unfinished quilts and my two favourite tea sets of mixed china. Bedlinen, duvets, blankets, towels, cushions and throws needed to be bought up here as well as dinner sets etc. I was basically starting again, I wanted to leave the near thirty years with my ex totally behind me.

My son stayed in Wallsend, his fiancé in Sydney came up weekends and they visited on Saturdays at first to help me get settled. The garden was neat but not really to my taste so I tidied it while I worked out what I was going to do with it. I found it hard at first to adjust to being alone after living with families and my own family for over forty years but I adjusted and enjoyed the time alone to read and watch DVDs and Netflix etc.

However all of 2015 I had been in and out of hospital with bowel obstructions due to a Parastomal Hernia. Luckily one Saturday in late August my son and his fiancé were there when I had a really bad one. Due to nearly dying and needing months to recover physically and psychologically from the surgery I did not return to my home until November. The garden was in a shocking state and there were so many deliveries from eBay and various stores as I ordered most of my household goods online. Luckily the Park staff once they found out I had nearly died opened up for me so the deliveries could go straight inside.

Eventually I had the place absolutely as I wanted it, a spare room for my son or friends to stay in, which they did. My dad visited with a nurse regularly for tea, weekly in fact. Meanwhile my son had a dreadful experience with a home invasion in his place, people were badly injured who got in the way of the assailants. He came to stay with me until he got up the courage to go back but we were both concerned for his safety. Then he broke up with his fiancé early 2016, Chanti the Burmese went back to Sydney with G and eventually C gave into my nagging and the detectives suggestions that he move out of Public Housing and in with me.

Easter Monday 2016 he moved in with the delightful Robinson movers who service Lake Macquarie. The owner had not realised it was Easter Monday so his lovely wife helped him. They did such a great job, very friendly and professional. When they finished here they took his furniture which would not fit and his excess boxes etc and put them into a Storage Facility for him. C was pleased to be in my bedroom as he had a double bed he wanted to eventually have in there. I moved into the spare room which had recently had the floor replaced and wooden laminate put down after a nasty episode of water leakage all over the carpet under the window. I also pulled up all the lino in the kitchen and bathroom and found a layer of stagnant water there. Once it was cleaned out though the floor was sound and no mould was found. I managed with the horrid old adhesive lino as I knew water could not get under that and damage the walls.

We really enjoyed being back together again, though it was an adjustment for both of us we always get on well and work as a team. Around the same time I got stuck into the garden, holding the left side of my tummy firmly as I did so. I cut back really hard the Lily Pily and had my handyman Alan remove some horrid old Azaleas. There were several good plants that I also cut back and I planted a few Buddleja Davidiis. Removed a lot of horrid cobbling which was not working as a path as it was covered by the Lily Pily. A lovely dad and his two girls came and dug them up for me and removed them. For free! Then the long experiment with what would work as a ground cover started. The ground was shocking, I loaded the soil with Blood and Bone regularly. Tried white ground cover magnolias, mass planted. They died. Then white daisies, also mass planted, all but one died. The most success I had was with ground cover nasturtiums, with sugar cane mulch to germinate them.

So after much rearranging and selling of furniture C and I have blended our things to create a cozy though tiny home. Having our own home has made me feel rooted to the community, helped me destress when things with my dad and his care home became so very difficult. Shutting the door, getting a cup of tea and putting my feet up in our home, because it is very much my son’s and mine now, is so therapeutic. After two years of turmoil and the torture for so many years before that, this is my haven, my peaceful place and I love inviting special friends into it. One regret I have is that I broke off contact with someone after I nearly died, that I did not trust that he would want to be my friend through this. However we have reconnected now and are very close. He is the one of the many voices, and I love him so much and trust him. We are so very good together. Sometimes timing is everything, as we both know so well.

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