If I had the power to get somewhere, where would I go right now? Considering that I just had my vacuum cleaner catch fire, and am immersed in the drudgery of running a household tonight, I would say New York. I would go in a heartbeat. I feel immense love and connection to a place I have never been. I can smell the aromas from the food stalls on the streets, hear the sirens and horns beeping in Times Square. The ads flashing across the neon signage. I would catch an off-Broadway show, thrilled to be supporting writers and actors in their aspirations. I wouldn’t do the touristy ride through Central Park with a horse and carriage. I would walk through, delighting in the squirrels scurrying in the trees. I would meet my kind, my soul group. The artists, poets and dreamers. I would know them and they me. I would have to travel with my daughter. This is her tribe too. We would skip through Central Park, amidst the fairy lights, and I would hail a cab and go directly to Greenwich Village. My child would show samples of her art to a friendly crowd gathered in a bustling café, and we would listen to a singer with guitar accompaniment. The Village would be welcoming, and the smell of pizza slices and garlic would fill the air. We would retire to the brownstone flat we had rented, and be amazed that the city is still as alive at 2am as it was at noon. Windows sealed, the noise is dulled, and we prepare for sleep. Who can sleep! We are in New York! So much to see and do. We wander the compact flat, and go to the linoleum table in the little kitchen, the hue of butter. We write down ideas, drawings, and lists of places we want to go when we wake. I feel safe here. The block of apartments has a fellow downstairs, and the natives are friendly. There is nothing to fear here, not even vacuums which explode.
Patron Saint of?
I am attempting to do a post a day, on subjects the wonderful folk at The Daily Post think up. Today’s is a cracker. In 300 years, if I was to be named the patron saint of something, what would I like it to be? I didn’t even need to ponder. I would unequivocally choose compassion. Compassion encompasses so many other virtues. I don’t believe we can summon the courage necessary to stand up for ourselves and others without first having compassion. Compassion inspires warm regard, to believe that we are worth fighting for, as are other people. To be courageous without compassion is dangerous. We can come across as fired-up and obstinate. Compassion is closely related to empathy. We can’t love without having a compassionate heart, nor can we form meaningful relationships, or communicate wisely without it. Yes, if I am to be Patron Saint of anything, I would like it to be compassion.
Share this:
Winter.
Winter, it’s here again. Yesterday heralded the changing seasons, brutally and abruptly. The sky was grey, and morning and dusk were shrouded in a fog. The rain poured down, and the wind was icy. No easing into this season. The green and vibrancy of the garden receded and everything appears to be withering in preparation for death. Before I was abducted all those years ago, when my home was a mouldy old icebox of a room, I recall climbing under the grey blanket, pulling it up to my chin, and hugging my knees to keep warm. I remember the cold. The sort that gets into your marrow. I was so cold in the months leading up to the lightning strike. When I woke on the ground, I was shaking from being utterly exposed. I have never liked winter, and as a child would get as close as I could to our gas heater. I remember the delicious comfort when I was wrapped in foil by the paramedics to entice heat into my broken body. Since my fall, I have dreaded winter. Not only for the abysmal memories, but for the ramping up of my physical pain. Spinal arthritis doesn’t take too kindly to frosty mornings.
The anniversary is coming up, and strangely, I will rejoice. Rejoice that I am here, and my book was published. After this watershed, I will celebrate my daughter’s birthday. She was born in winter. The only event of beauty throughout my life’s winter’s. Her birth has replaced the scarred, knarred horrors. She was born at the tail end of winter, and heralded the arrival of spring, of birds nesting and flowers in bloom. I will go for walks in a coat and hat, make soup and celebrate the best of this season. Time brings healing. I know that winter won’t trumpet the end of my life, as I once feared. I wish I could reach through time and space and tell that young girl.
Share this:
My Spine, Part 2.
When I broke my spine again, I had a small child to look after. I should have been on bed rest, followed by bracing and possibly in a plaster jacket as well. When driving, I would psyche myself to go through a roundabout, as the pain would make me scream when I turned the wheel. Once a week my daughter would go to occasional care, and I would crawl back into bed. ABC kids was a godsend in the months that followed. I had to take heavy-duty painkillers, and relied on buses to ferry us about as driving was out for the most part. My daughter and I danced in a coordinated manner, and she would help me in so many ways. It made our bond stronger, and she reflected the enormous pride she felt in assisting me. I could either sink or swim, and my child kept me buoyant. Pneumonia followed, as I couldn’t breathe from the base of my lungs. Home Care sent a dear soul to clean up my house once a week. I looked out the front window, and saw an elderly lady struggling up the three steps to the front door. She would groan, trying to vacuum and wince when she mopped. We ended up having cups of tea on her visits, she regaling me with stories of days gone by. I couldn’t put her to work!
My local neurosurgeon says that he cant operate for pain relief, as it simply wouldn’t help. When structurally I am unable to walk, or breathe, then we will go in. He encouraged me on my last visit, telling me I am doing a good job. I have to keep moving, and exercise every day. Whether it be a walk, swim or visit to the gym, it helps. I feel connected to a body I spend quite a bit of time attempting to escape. I do weights, and work out on the cross trainer, as it doesn’t provoke agony afterward. A scientist friend put me onto Zen Spray by Martin and Pleasance after I broke my back again. I find it helpful, and it can be used on fracture sites. I have a lumbar brace, which holds me together and provides some comfort. I use a walking stick, as without it, I fall over, particularly when tired. I have learnt not to compare my days with others. Anything accomplished, whether it be sitting at my desk, or pegging up washing, is a triumph. I take medication to help with the pain at night so I can catch a few hours sleep, and if I have a busy day coming up, I have to plan for it. That means resting before and after, just laying flat, and pain killers. I have a TENS machine, which I use frequently, and wintergreen oil helps soothe the arthritis.
I will be trialling new hormones to compensate the bone loss in the next few months, and seeing my neurosurgeon at St Vincent’s. I feel blessed. When I suffered the breaks through the thoracic region, my right arm couldn’t be lifted high, and I suffered constant tingling. It is somewhat better, enough that I can write and grip things. Positive self-talk is a must for the mornings I crawl to the bathroom. “You can do this!” I insist. When I am out and the pain ramps up, I work out how much longer I have to be upright before I can rest. Funnily, it helps. “Almost there!”
One wrong move, or carrying too much weight, and I can feel (and hear), the scaffolding go. I have come home from grocery shopping in agony, which nothing tempers. Relaxation music and meditative cds are a blessing as I try to escape the pain at night. Bowen therapy has also been a help when the pain isn’t acute. It is worth trying to maintain your mobility and limit the daily pain. I know what it is like to feel helpless, to have pain drag you down. I know what it is like to feel isolated, removed from the wonderful things going on outside you. Be kind to yourself, surrender when you need to, and do something that shall help you feel good. It is a mental battle, living with pain. Be your best advocate.
Share this:
My Spine.
Since my back was broken in the fall at fifteen years of age, I have had almost twenty years of intense pain. Operations, grafts, casts, hardware, braces, physio…I have endured pain that I never would have imagined. I lead a ridiculously full life in spite of it all. At fifteen, I had a hip graft and Harstshill rectangle wired in. The next year, the hardware was taken out as it had slipped out of place. At seventeen, I had operations to save my life, as my spine had collapsed, crushing my stomach, heart and lungs. At twenty, I had surgery to remove the rods screwed alongside my spine. Nobody knew how I would cope or be able to hold myself up without them.
Throughout the next year, my spine was weaker, and as my oestrogen levels dropped-the result of medication I was taking for endometriosis- my bones weakened. I slipped over when my daughter was two, and heard a frightful snap in my back. The pain was so intense, I could hardly breathe. With no-one else around, I had to pick myself up, and take the stroller back to my car. I drove home, knowing that I had broken my spine. I certainly had, from T10-T12. For those who have injured their backs, the following will make sense to you. In my MRI report, it stated, “At C5/6 there is arthrosis bilaterally, contributing to foraminal narrowing on the right (foramina are channels where nerve roots exit the spinal cord). At C6/7 posterior broad based disc osteophyte (bone spur), protrusion is seen. In the thoracic spine, there is anterior wedging of T7 vertebral body with approximately 30% loss of height anteriorly. Subchondral bruise related to the left T6 costovertebral junction, being degenerate in nature. In the lumbar spine, posterior step deformity of L2 relative to L1 remains. Disc dessication (dried up discs), are present at L5/S1. At L4/5, there is a degree of facet arthropathy of the large ligament in back. L3/4 there is again arthropathy associated with scar tissue related to previous laminectomy, involving much of the upper lumbar spine. At L2/3 the facet arthropathy indents the posterior aspect of thecal sac (the membrane surrounding the spinal cord).”
The report above was tabled almost five years ago. Things have gotten worse. Being in early menopause has made the pain more intense and my bones more fragile. An attempted murder half a lifetime ago, and I deal with the aftermath daily. I can handle the pain, but what hurts is not being able to go horse riding with my daughter, nor skating, nor cycling. If I fell over, the damage would be catastrophic. How do I cope, and what have I learnt? I will tell you in my next blog piece.
Share this:
Nina and my Magnanimous Gift.
My bolshy mate Nina had foot surgery last year. She was desperate to get out, after being housebound for weeks. Knowing she couldn’t walk and was on crutches-her foot needing elevating- I decided to gift her tickets to Les Mis on Boxing Day, when we would be amongst the first to see it in Sydney. Nothing was too good for my friend, so I got the best tickets to the Premiere theatre. Envisioning recliner chairs, and ease of mobility, we ventured out. The first hurdle was navigating her enormous foot and crutches up the narrow escalator of the shopping centre. Phew! We were then informed that the “special” cinema was down three flights of stairs, no lift at all. Bloody hell! We were laughing and she thanked me profusely for my “special gift.” I was making her earn Les Mis. She was sweating and breathless from the effort when we completed the task. Snacks in hand, we sat down, only to have the loudest American on earth squeeze in next to us. We had no recliners, and she had to prop up her crutches to keep her foot elevated. The American needed the lavatory right before it started, so she had to reposition herself yet again. He came back and again she had to move. Right when Fantine sings “I Dreamed a Dream,” the American’s food came. “Bloody hell!” she cursed as the usher made his way past. His orders of wine and other beverages then arrived, followed by dessert. It was a long three hours. Nina cried and I offered her tissues. She pondered how much food and beverage a bloke required during a movie. She psyched herself up for the ridiculous walk to the toilets. Nina is a hero of mine. She was an anchor during the horrid year of IVF cycles. 
Her daughter and mine will be friends for life, much like Nina and I.
Share this:
I Am Thankful.
I am thankful on this gorgeous autumn day. 
I am also thankful for tie-dyed doilies. Where have you been all my life?!
Also, tiny fairy doors, leading to magical portals of splendour. We all need to escape now and then! The news is filled with stories of truth being released from hidden corners; people finally granted the peace which being heard conspires. The survivors of Robert Hughes, and now Parramatta Girls Home… I hope they find a friend like Bristem, devising fun games to take them away from the memories. To have the colour come back to their lives, as bright as my new doily. To have a means of escape as handy as my little fairy door. Most of all, I hope they have a new beginning. I am thankful that they held on. I am thankful for their bravery and stoicism. I adore living in a world with these souls.
Share this:
My Friend in her Nineties.
We used to go down to Ashfield Uniting Church each Sunday, a trip that took an hour each way. It was worth the travel, to see our friends and be a part of a wonderful community. A dear little lady, Joan, joined the community, and had a vibrancy about her. Shortly after I discovered I was pregnant, she slipped me a card. It was addressed to “The lady with the long blonde hair, who brings her little dog to church.” Mitzi Winstopple- our miniature schnauzer-adored our Sundays and we made sure he was always a part of it. I opened the card, to read of her delight that I was having a baby. It touched my heart so. Eight years later, Joan is still in contact, and in her late nineties. She still lives independently and is a source of inspiration to me. Her recent letter, “Your daughter is a miracle baby-one that was born despite hardships. You would have enjoyed the Bill Crews Trust Film Festival that was on last month. Very provocative films-social themes to make you think and perhaps change your views.” How wonderful that a woman in her nineties embraces change and loves being challenged! Salt of the earth.
Another dear soul I think of often is Betty. She was in her eighties when we met, and everyone thought I was her granddaughter as we had the same features. She was so excited on hearing I had given birth, that she took two trains and a bus to come visit. She ended up in our town, wandering the streets. A dear couple took her home, fed her, then dropped her into a mutual friend’s store. This lady in turn, locked up her store, and drove Betty around. The joy when she picked my daughter up… It still fills me with overwhelming gratitude, that a dear elderly lady went to such lengths to celebrate my daughter arriving. Bless all the feisty, spirited older ladies. Now and always. 
Share this:
The perks of brazen gratitude, Part III
The perks of brazen gratitude, Part III
I love this for so many reasons. I love that the lady felt grateful for the buckets of love in her life.
Originally posted on pam grout:
“Let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer.” ― Maya Angelou
Being happy and feeling blessed is Step #1 when it comes to manifesting. As I said yesterday, that’s one chicken vs. egg dilemma that will never be in…
Share this:
The perks of brazen gratitude, Part III
I love this for so many reasons. I love that the lady felt grateful for the buckets of love in her life.
“Let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer.” ― Maya Angelou
Being happy and feeling blessed is Step #1 when it comes to manifesting. As I said yesterday, that’s one chicken vs. egg dilemma that will never be in question.
Last week, when I was in Kenya, loving the heck out of my awesome career, I got this inspiring email from this amazing light named Madeline McCollom. I was so touched by her story that I asked if I could share. It demonstrates Step #1 in vivid technicolor. Enjoy!!
“In 2004 I gave birth to our second child, a son. Henry was born medically complicated (which I’d learned about at 5 mo. pregnant). He spent his first three years in and out of hospitals and surgeries.
“In a desperate attempt to gain health insurance to cover his expected medical costs, our family got poor…
View original post 662 more words
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 