Life is Unfair.

I have a Billy Joel song playing again and again on an endless loop in my head. Only the good die young.

It is a strangely upbeat song for someone sinking into the darkness.

These are the lyrics which echo in my mind after hearing Big Boy's words when I rang him with the news... "Why do the nice people in this world suffer these tragedies and trials, yet the toxic nasty ones go forth without nary a ripple of discomfort?"

We have been friends for over twenty years, I can even pinpoint the date we met. 8/8/1988 - the day I began work at a large investment insurance company. Even through divorce, distance and life's ever changing cycle of demands we have always remained friends. We talk weekly. She and her husband flew in for my 45th bash a few years back. We have shared laughter, tears, anger and sadness. We have had drunken nights, saved kittens under cars, danced at each others wedding.

Friends. The genuine thing.

Today I received a text. In February they diagnosed her with a type of pre-leukaemia with a name so big I could not begin to pronounce it. It was the day she was due to have her large bowel removed after many years of issues. They did not go ahead, obviously. And in the months that have flown by my words of frustration and anger at the lack of action or treatment whilst the medical big wigs pondered this medical dilemma which is my friend, have echoed down the phone line.

"Do you want me to fly in? I am good at kicking medical butt after Wise Woman's fiascos."

"Not yet, I'll tell you if I need you."

"You sure?"

"Yep. For Now. You can be my secret weapon."

"Or your loose cannon, heheheh."

"That too."

Finally they decided to go ahead with her op... but today I received the text.

"It has developed into acute leukaemia. Op off, chemo starting next week."

I have a huge solid knot of fear pitted in my stomach. My gut instinct is sending huge red pulses of angst through out my soul. Those fucking idiots - they had caught it so damn early and yet failed to act. Now I am scared it is too late. I am terrified we will lose her. I am helpless, frustrated and angry.

And if I am feeling this way, how in hell must my gorgeous girl feel?

For God's sake, her girls are only so very young. She is a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend. This is not right. It is so very wrong.

Only the good die young, and she is pure goodness to her very core. Please let it not be so this time, please, please, please...

Look Out Angelina Jolie - NOT!

Today I am performing my pustulated Angelina impersonation.

Not this:

But this:

Yep, you guessed it. The dreaded Herpes Simplex I virus. Cold sores. Two of the mothers. I have a big one on the left side of my upper lip, and the monster to end all cold sores in the middle of my lower lip. The bottom one has also led to the gland under my chin becoming like a rock hard infected pea. Last time this happened I ended up on some pretty heavy duty antibiotics to clear up the secondary infection.

These things not only hurt like hell (Big Boy had had to forcefully pursuade me not to get a razor blade and lop off the affected parts), they make you look like shit too. Small children run screaming, family members wince and cringe when you approach, even dogs bark at you like you are some srt of vile monstrousity.

I know I have been running like a madwoman, sadly, that is life at the moment, but I suspect the party weekend we just had may have topped it all off and my immune system, led by a very distressed liver has gone: "ENOUGH!"

But did it really have to go to these extremes?

Not happy Jan.

And yes, I feel like crap, just in case you were wondering...

#cough*cough# %hack*hack%

When Nice People Attack

Everybody has a breaking point. Everybody can be pushed to their limit. Some people seem to be able to ignore and refuse to engage with the nastiness for a very long time. They are genuinely NICE people. They pity others who feel the need to manipulate, threaten or resort to lies to get to the top of the heap.

BUT when you push them too far, even they snap. Especially if children are involved. I don't know about you, but my lioness side rears loudly when my kids are affected!  And when it is the popular and well-liked people who start to acknowledge the toxic nature of one person, others sit up and take notice far more!

Yes, the soap opera dramas continue, more so for other friends than for me (she really has broadened her target area nowadays), and words are being tossed around like psychopath, which I thought a little extreme until I read this:

 A psychopath will use people for excitement, entertainment, to build their self-esteem and they invariably value people in terms of their material value (e.g. money, property, comfort, etc..). They can involve and get other people into trouble quickly and they seem to have no regret for their actions. But there are warning signs. The following warning signs are based on my experience but primarily research conducted by Robert Hare, Ph.D - the leading expert on the Psychopathic Personality:

Characteristics of a Psychopath:

*superficial charm

*self-centered & self-important
*need for stimulation & prone to boredom
*deceptive behavior & lying
*conning & manipulative
*little remorse or guilt
*shallow emotional response
*callous with a lack of empathy
*living off others or predatory attitude
*poor self-control
*lack of realistic long term goals
*impulsive lifestyle
*irresponsible behavior
*blaming others for their actions
*short term relationships/friendships

A psychopath is usually a subtle manipulator. They do this by playing to the emotions of others. They typically have high verbal intelligence, but they lack what is commonly referred to as "emotional intelligence". There is always a shallow quality to the emotional aspect of their stories. In particular they have difficulty describing how they felt, why they felt that way, or how others may feel and why. In many cases you almost have to explain it to them. Close friends and parents will often end up explaining to the psychopath how they feel and how others feel who have been hurt by him or her. They can do this over and over with no significant change in the person's choices and behavior. They don't understand or appreciate the impact that their behavior has on others. They do appreciate what it means when they are caught breaking rules or the law even though they seem to end up in trouble again. They desperately avoid incarceration and loss of freedom but continue to act as if they can get away with breaking the rules. They don't learn from these consequences. They seem to react with feelings and regret when they are caught. But their regret is not so much for other people as it is for the consequences that their behavior has had on them, their freedom, their resources and their so called "friends." They can be very sad for their self. A psychopath is always in it for their self even when it seems like they are caring for and helping others. The definition of their "friends" are people who support the psychopath and protect them from the consequence of their own antisocial behavior. Shallow friendships, low emotional intelligence, using people, antisocial attitudes and failure to learn from the repeated consequences of their choices and actions help identify the psychopath.
~Michael Grayson Conner, Psy.D
Licensed Psychologist
Clinical, Medical & Family Psychology

Dear Lord. They could be right. This one has now reached avalanche proportion with her behaviour and attempted retribution. It is quite scary to watch her try and manipulate her way out of the chaos she has instigated with a "It's not me, it's them, all of them!"

No remorse. Never her, always others. And the circle of those bad people victimising her grows and grows and grows. Must be hard to be the most loathed person in a small community, I know I felt a little like that when all her actions and toxicity were aimed directly at me. When her lies tried to taint my actions with the poison of her own behaviour. Luckily I had good friends to get me through, whilst her circle is shrinking and shrinking. I watched her the other day, when we were both at a school function. Few approached her, many outright ignored her, others talked of her and her childish high school antics (even some who surprised me with comments as I thought they were unaware of the drama). I would pity her if she only would realise what she has done. Hell, I do pity her to be honest. It must be really tragic to be so unhappy, sad to be so ill and unable to seek help because you do not and will not acknowledge your problems... And to be so very alone.

Won't somebody think of the children?

Wordless Wednesday - And we ALL fall down...

It's The Little Things

The twenty times a day "I'll just ring Mum" flashes through my brain. The numerous times "Oh, Mum'll know..." comes to the forefront of my mind. The inability to sort anything of hers out, and her voice in my head lecturing me on procrastination.

It is the fear I am doing the wrong thing in my attempts to help Boy 2 and my need to ask her advice as she was always my voice of reason and calm. It is my desire for reassurance that the action we are about to undertake on his behalf is the right one, and knowing she would be the only one I would trust to ask.

It is the large, dark bird of grief that hovers in a corner of my brain until I shove it away, unable to face the magnitude of my loss.

It is the thought that I may let her down if I make the wrong decisions, or am unable to make any at all.

I miss her with every fibre of my being, but am trying to be strong for it is what she would wish.

I am sick and even when I was in the midst of Prague I had the security of Mum calls to get me through illness. It is part of the year of firsts. My first virus without my Mum.

Recent events have been hell, and I am holding it together but cannot mourn. Not yet, not now. And so the black bird swoops into vision at the times I let my guard down - and it is driven back again and again.

The Ties That Bind...

Are stretched taut, almost to breaking point.

We walked in to the hospital Saturday afternoon, my two boys, my husband and I, for my frail mother to promptly burst into tears and exclaim "I wish I was dead!" Now, do not think I do not have compassion for my mother in this horribly painful predicament but she is an adult. Yes, an elderly, fragile, ill adult, but an adult all the same. I kicked the rest of my family into the common room and sat down for some tough love. I told her I could not be there if she continued in that frame of mind, I just do not have the strength.

The thing is, we go through this with EVERY fracture in recent years. I was wrong, I thought this was number four, when it is actually number five since 1991. But the last three have followed a nearly identical pattern, as has her behaviour. I know she is scared, I know she is in incredible pain, I know she is frustrated and angry. I do not care if she vents such issues to myself - BUT NOT IN FRONT OF THE KIDS! God, I know I am frustrated and angry and scared.

Because in this situation at this point in time we have a new issue. We have a little boy of eleven years threatening to kill himself. We have a child in such a dark place that all surrounding him are truly concerned about his actions, and what may happen. We have terrifyingly violent outbursts, and serious personal safety issues, so serious that I sat here shaking at the thought of him going to school yesterday. Wondering if my child would be in one piece to pick up. And so I did not send him... I rang our psychologist instead. I cannot go into this in any further detail right now. I just can't.

Many have asked for an update on WW and her treatment, and I am sorry but have just not had the emotional energy or the time to answer. To be honest I am not sure what will happen. At her age it is so simple for it to become life threatening. And the hospital does not seem to either understand or care. I cannot write in detail, but here in point form are recent events:
* WW is legally blind. Normally has some vision but the pain medication makes her drowsy and lowers her vision. They are dumping her meals and running. She cannot see them, she cannot lean forward due to pain, and so doesn't eat. I am trying to be there twice a day for lunch and dinner but it is 1 hours drive each way TWICE daily and my kids need me too. Am so torn and the guilt is killing me.
* Staff come in do obs. To do so they move her walker out of the way. Do not put it back. She cannot move without it. She is going to fall if they do not stop this.
* Getting in and out of bed is excrutiating for her BUT she is better doing it herself. Last night they ignored her pleas to let her get herself comfortable, rolled her, slid her, and changed the bed around on her. She was in agony, and today was far worse than the day we brought her in to hospital. She had been slightly improved but now can barely move and screams in pain when she does. Oh, and they turned the bathroom light off, closed her door, left her alone, unable to move in the dark. Scared. Helpless. 

And they now wonder why when I rang this afternoon (was there until 1pm but had to bring Boy 2 home after appointment) I told them in no uncertain terms that I am her advocate and as such if they fuck up again I will bring our legal team into it, as I did with the last hospital. Don't mess with me, I am tired, stressed and fucking angry that you are such arrogant idiots - have you forgotten the part of the hypocratic oath that states: DO NO HARM! She is my mother and by God she is neither stupid nor suffering dementia... listen to her.

There is more, but I cannot go into it I am so very tired and so truly guilty that I am not with her this afternoon. I wish I was twins. I wish my sister was alive. I wish I could be there for her all the time. I wish this had never happened again.

*#!@%*# - Damn, damn, damn.

Sitting here trying to stay calm,

 *cool blue water*cool blue water*

waiting for 3.30pm to click around. After nearly thirteen years of fighting it, it looks like today may be D-day. My GP has had me monitoring my blood pressure. I skipped a few days due to boys both sick at home (have been going in to my local pharmacy to have it checked), but today made it in at lunch time.

158/100...then 149/103. As I had to fast for blood tests this morning I decided (yes, against advice) to come home, eat, drink, rest and see what happened before calling doctor.

Now:
159/95...then 163/97. Pulse rate is elevated too. Damn, crap, poo, bum, damn. Yes, I repeated myself.

GP appointment 3.30pm and as I always have white collar hypertension it will probably break their stoopid machine.

Posting here as do not want to tell people irl, nor facebook - which is irl. Not enough people here to cross over, and if you are and you tell anyone you will be personally responsible for another BP hike  - so DON'T!

Friggin old bloody age *mutter mutter*.


I was told this would happen in my first pregnancy. The BP issues were mine, not pre-eclampsia, and it was a foregone conclusion it would hit. Mind you, the BP specialist called it for earlier, so I should be grateful I guess.

At least I should be rid of the headache and dizziness of the last few days.

Oh No!

I am trying desperately to fight off some sort of virus at the moment. Sunday, was feeling downright off... aches in jaw (tetanus), incredibly painful stiff neck (meningococcul), shooting pains across chest and down arms (heart attack). Yes, Big Boy says I am a walking hyperchondriac, not that I am NOT ill, just that all my little symptoms seem to be major illnesses in my head. Oh, and then of course I refuse to see a doctor. Big Boy also says I should have been a man (make of that what you will...). Me, I think I just err on the side of caution and one day you shall see on my epitaph: "See, I told you I was sick!"

But I digress. Yesterday I felt much better, thank goodness. And so off I toddled to work and the gadzillion other things I had to do. You see, I am off on a business trip on Thursday. And I cannot afford to be sick. No. And before then I have to have this whole house organised or else the wheels will fall off whilst I am away. I have no time to be sick.

So, damnit, why did I wake up this morning feeling like death warmed over? Really, really bad timing.

Maybe I should have started taking those super multi-vitamins I bought last week, oh and the magnesium too. Some zinc like I am forcing Wise Woman to take along with vitamin C, probably wouldn't go astray either. Oh, and fish oil. Jeez, always have good intentions but am rushing so much I just forget. Hope it isn't too little too late.

Will run off to pop pills right now!

Just one thing to add before swallowing the equivilant of a cup of capsules... I have a new phone. A flash whatsi with all sorts of doo-dads. Now if I can just work out how to answer the bloody thing...

The Weak That Was...

Hell of a weak week, let me tell you.

Sunday I succumbed to a migraine. Not the doozy tommy-whacker ones of my past, but rather a distant cousin. Still extremely debilitating complete with fuzzy vision, nausea, boombox throbbing temple, but not quite the major league three to five day darkened room heavy drugs type I suffered in my twenties. I was up and functioning the next day, something I could not do even with the masses of painkillers I consumed back in them days. Dosed up but do-able I guess would be how I describe this one.

Now, the amount of wine consumed on a social Saturday night could well have contributed to this onslaught, but truthfully, it was not anymore than I do normally drink on a night out. Usually I am up and bouncing the next day with no repercussions. So why? Why now? Why this time?

Well, last week was an *ahem* unusual week to say the least. Some things re-surfaced which were unexpected, and the repercussions really caught me off guard.

Situation one came up when a friend asked me if it could possibly be me the drop-me-like-a-hot-potato former friend was referring to when telling people she was being targeted by a nasty mother at the school. I laughed. Seriously I did. "Come on, no way" was my immediate response. I haven't spoken to her in three months, couldn't be me she was referring to, just not possible. I mean, who dropped who? The only references to her even here have been silly, soppy, miss the friendship sort of stuff, surely that couldn't be perceived as an attack?

Well, you guessed it, another friend who she went crying to confirmed it.

Yeah, me apparently. Normally I would have been really upset by this unjustified accusation, but the fact that both of these people saw right through her little tactic straight away took away the sting.

Then a different person brought to my attention that the stalker had been back up to her old tricks. Luckily, even though it was only discovered by the friend now, it was way back in December when the computer illiterate obsessed one set up a Twitter account and then instead of searching for me in find people typed in my name as a comment. You have to laugh really, I mean how embarrassing, trying to stalk someone and there for all to see is your name and the victim's name in full proof of your obsession. Funny, but still creepy.

Situation three was an old stuff up rearing its ugly head. One I was guilty of. Mea culpa. I opened my big mouth in such an innappropriate situation many moons back. Nearly three years ago now. I still stand by my words, but my timing sucked, and to be honest it really was none of my business. As they say, the path to hell is paved with good intentions. I hurt and lost a good friend over my actions, no less than I deserved. Yes, I did apologise, but it seems anger and guilt have festered over the interim period and I have become the focus of this couple's hatred. So much so that a comment was written in a document pertaining to children's sport. It has done them no favours, sadly. I had no idea until asked (again, this week) what on earth it was all about. More to the point, people (and a lot of parents in this community have seen this written in the openly public book) are assuming the worst of the couple, and making incorrect judgements on the situation. I certainly have made sure the ones who have asked me know how wrong they are. But this is a small town and rumours and chinese whispers run rampant. To be honest, I am not only floored by the strength of their emotion but also by their stupidity in putting it out there. Surely if they are happy with their life they would not be overeacting to such a degree? I am relieved it has not really impacted us, but sad that it has certainly coloured others' perception of their situation. However I cannot change it, and just had to let it go. Again.

All in one week! Is it any wonder, no matter how much easier I found it to let the universe take care of it all this time, that I ended up with a brain short-fuse on Sunday?

Oh well, upwards and onwards my friends. Headache is still a dull throb at the base of my skull, but I'm sure it will feel better once they stop sticking the pins in!

Losing Mum - January 2009

A follow on from my last post, this is a piece I wrote over the dark months of December 2008, January and Febuary 2009. It was never finished as a miracle saved her, and I have not yet had to find out about life without my much cherished mother. I hope it is a long time until I do.


My mother is dying. Not today, not even tomorrow. But slowly, piece by piece, she is dying. And as she disintegrates piece by piece, so do I. I too am dying. I am emotionally dying. You wouldn’t know it to look at me. You probably wouldn’t even realise if you spoke to me. But I am. Slowly, secretly, quietly on the inside. Hidden away. Friends have not yet realised I have severed ties, that I can no longer abide trivial conversations or even manage to be polite. My ability to cheerily chitchat was the first part of me to dissolve. The quivering mess of raw nerves inside my calm outer shell start to expand if I interact with others in reality too long. They threaten to break the fragile cover and reveal their ugliness to the outside world, and I cannot allow that to happen. I am smart enough to feign commitments, to create obligations which prevent me from more than the obligatory, fleeting “hi, must run.”

It is getting harder and harder to leave the cocoon of my bed. But leave it I must, for as my mother leaches life, I must step into her void. She tells me she feels guilty for my illness. I tell her it is not her, it’s me. But I have now realised what a fraudulent life I have led for years. All the time I battled forwards, coping with whatever life tossed my way, laughing in the face of the Gods, little did I know that a gentle, firm hand was placed firmly in the small of my back, propelling me onwards, upwards. My Mother’s hand. It is only now as her frailties eat away her life I realise how much strength was within that small hand. How much of who I am, belongs to her. The hardest battle of my life must now be completed without her, for it is her loss, her death, I am fighting. Fighting a war I will not win. If I stay in bed and utilise the phone as my connection to the outside world I can fool my embattled, weary psyche that all is well. All is as it was, even as her disembodied voice betrays her weakness down the line. But my pretence is short-lived as I cannot abandon her for more than a day, and taking that one selfish day of denial unleashes endless feelings of guilt.

My body is now synchronising itself in sympathy with hers. Physically, as the cancer ravages her frail body, I am falling apart. Is it that we are so aligned, so close my whole physical being links to the betrayal of her body? Or is this just the physical manifestation of my weakness, my selfishness, my inability to save her? As I do not cope emotionally, my body reacts physically. Logically, I know I cannot rescue her, I know nobody can, but that does not deafen my heart’s response. Nor can my logic quell my small bursts of hope, the little explosions of maybe that help me to get out of bed each day and drag my deteriorating carcass into the shower in readiness for another day as her carer. Carer, such an ambiguous word. I am her daughter, her friend, these are my roles, and I should not have to destroy her dignity by helping her do the most demeaning of tasks. My soul weeps when I look at her sad, solemn face. Through her own tears she thanks me, in a quiet ladylike manner, so refined even in the face of degradation by age and illness. My Mum, oh Mum.

This is where it ends.  A week later she was rushed off in the ambulance and as her life was renewed, so too was I. This is not a piece I thought I would ever share but posting about our drive home made me realise how blessed I am, and how close it all came to this emotional house of cards falling down.

Chicken Soup for the Body

I awoke this morning with the smell of my Mother's chicken soup wafting over me. No, sadly my elderly mother had not snuck into my house in the middle of the night to prepare me a surprise feast, it was my subconcious reaction to the general feeling of unwellness (not a word, but the best way of explaining at the moment) which appears to be an early companion as sleep dissipates.

My childhood was filled with illness, I was a delicate little thing immunity wise, and my Mother's solution was soup to sooth my volatile stomach, when nothing else would stay down. As I grew it was the food I craved, and hence requested whenever my body or my spirit weakened.

Many a break up was discussed over soup with my wonderful Mother wiping my tears before they could drip from my chin into her glorious concoction. At other times she sat by my bed and patiently spooned the soup into my trembling mouth, pausing only to ring out the flannel lying across my fevered brow. When younger I believed my Mum added a touch of magic into the ingredients, along with a lot of love and some motherly concern. To be honest, I guess a part deep inside still believes, this would explain my need for it when anything goes wrong.

Now, some reading here would be dreaming up wonderful blends of herbs, vegetables, rice or pasta along with the chicken but you need to remember I was a terribly finical child who existed on Vegemite Saos and Milo in cold milk. Thus, my mother's chicken soup consisted of the following:

Chicken giblets sliced to broil for 2hours to create a stock base

1 onion finely diced

1.5 litres water

A dash of salt

Boil giblets for a couple of hours, adding onion 1 hour in. Remove giblets, strain, add dash of salt. Serve a bowl to ailing daughter.

It doesn't sound like anything much but it was delicious!

And it soothed away all my troubles, be they physical or emotional. Mother's Magical Medicinal Mix.

Mmmm, I can almost taste it now.

I won't even venture to mention my Grandmother's solution of chocolate Paddle Pops...

I wasn't going to post this as it is so personal.

My Uncle is very ill. We had been told of his diagnosis, but thought when the surgery went really well it may buy some more time. I rang today from Mum's as we have always been close. It is not good. Always before, when we talked he and I would be on the phone for at least half an hour before he handed the phone to my Aunt. My Mum always jokes about it because if she rings, she's lucky to get two sentences before he hands over. Today it was I who only received the two sentences.

I have always been his favourite. He is my father's younger brother, and the one most like my darling deceased Dad. He was raised in a harsh, hard-working unaffectionate, farming family, where emotions were never shown. Like my Dad he didn't like physical displays, so it became a running joke when I, as a toddler, attached myself like a limpet to his leg if he refused to pick me up for a cuddle.

Since Dad died, he often comments on how he loves talking to me because I was just like the old bugger. A straight talker. Even today when I asked how he was he replied "Waiting." "In the waiting room hey - waiting for the old bugger to come get you?" He laughed his deep, croaky bark.

We haven't been home for over a year, and thank God, we had organised to go in a fortnight. I told him he better bloody wait for me, or else I'd be putting in a bad word with the old bugger. And yes, he knows I'm mad enough to still have lengthy converations with my Dad. And to believe he hears me.

Hang on Uncle Darleigh, Dad's Boy is coming home.

Lurgy attack, but still bouncing!

Imagination gallops; judgement merely walks.

It has hit, I officially have the dreaded lurgy, or flu as most would call it. But even with feeling exceptionally ill, I still have an underlying emotion of happiness and emotional well-being. The actions of others are no longer clouding my life - I have finally learnt to let things go. Is this a permanent state of mind? I truly have no idea, I certainly hope so.

I am not sure of the reason, it may have been the constant comments by a friend about only being able to control our actions not the actions of others. It could have been the reassurances by many that I have not done wrong, or it could be that I have finally accepted that I cannot fix the jealousy or possessiveness of an unhinged mind, or bear the guilt felt by others. Maybe it is down to being ill and waking up with fevers at ungodly hours allowing me to mull over my own words and deeds and to resolve any self-doubt or recrimination. Whatever it is, I feel unshackled and free, and most of all happy.

And when I see those who scowl, or glare at me with hatred, I just smile and say hello.

Not again!

My two had nightmares last night. Which of course meant they both ended up in my bed and I slept on the lounge - if you can call it sleep. Now I have awoken from my dozing with a sore, raw throat, swollen glands, a headache and feeling nauseous. Oh, I pray this is merely the result of a restless night, little sleep and a lumpy couch! I do not have time this week for being ill. I am, with a bunch of friends, co-ordinating our trivia night fundraiser for our school and it is on THIS SATURDAY EVENING! I cannot be sick, I will not allow myself to be sick, oh please, please, do not let me be ill this week, not THIS week!