EXPECTATIONS VS REALITY (or why the hell does nothing I expect ever happen).

It's a week out of my 49th birthday and I'm not overly enthusiastic about the whole notion. Truth be known it's been a while since I was excited about any birthday, but less so this one. My mother would say " Pfft it's just a number" and yes that's quite true. But to me a birthday is a lot more. It's a yearly self assessment time. It's a taking " stock on where I'm at in life" time. It doesn't have to be, but to me there is no getting out of it because I like accountability. And a year out of 50, I think everyone needs accountability.

But where does one start and how does one work out "accountability"?

I'm a big fan of those letters that celebrities write to their sixteen year old selves. I find them amusing to say the least, because they show a clear division between expectation and reality. So...let's give this a go.

At age 16 I was just finishing school. Due to my "smart bum" migrant status I was the youngest in the year. I had a small set of good friends  who would drop everything to help me, if I needed it, even now. I wasn't popular but everyone knew me. I was the girl with the very long wog surname, which they all used to sing to the tune of the Mexican hat dance. I was loud and very naive with a reputation for sneezing 60 times in a row. I was a school goody goody, and was rewarded accordingly at valedictory with a prestigious school goody goody award. This earned me a place on the honour boards, and the right to tease my nieces about their need to aspire to my lofty heights.

Being the first child is always hard because parents are unskilled and learn parenting through you. I had a limited social life but somehow still managed to get my heart broken. I was self conscious, overweight and European hairy. When I look back on my photos at that age, I actually looked better than I thought I did. At my school one did not wear makeup. You could have tried, but the nuns and my mother would have scraped it off me, if I had money to buy it in the first place. I remember looking on in awe when a new girl in our final year, blatantly broke all the rules and wore a fully made up face every day. I ached to have her spunk.

Because it was expected of me and in reality I knew nothing else, I did my homework and a 16 year old's version of studying. I equated hard work with success and learnt a hard lesson when my leaving score was just above average. There would be no medicine for me, but I still got into a prestigious university and developed new ambitions which varied from the male sort to an actual career. I think deep down I assumed I would be a kept, rich woman, so it came as a shock to realise that in the real world, out of the security of an educational establishment, one has to work in a job of some description.

Jokingly I would wonder if I would be a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker? I toyed with scientist, dentist and finally ( dismayed that my mega rich husband was yet to find me), settled on teacher. For the first time in my life I started achieving excellence. I was hooked but confused. Me...a teacher? I never saw myself as being a teacher.

I also never saw myself leaving the city and never for a moment thought my overly strict parents would allow it. But they did. Hell, they even drove me to my new home four and a half hours away and kicked me out of the nest. It felt odd but I was officially grown up and fending for myself.

Fast forward to today and my title of expectations versus reality.

I never expected to be a teacher but I did and I became a good one. I taught for 25 years and loved every minute of it. I never expected to continue to live in the country, but I did and 27 years later still call it home. I was brought up to believe I'd marry a doctor, a lawyer, a professional like my Dad. I was sort of right. I married a professional nice guy with a big heart and oodles of patience. He is an ex farmer still working in an industry related to farming. Me married to an ex farmer? Who would have thought it....I used to think all agriculture students at uni were closet weirdos and yet I married
one born and bred on the land, and love him to bits.

The one expectation that became reality was having children - two girls. For a while I was sad that I had no son. My husband being the only boy out of seven, needed a son. He needed to do boy things. I felt I had let him down and his family down as the family name would die out with my ineptitude. Such is life. You don't get to choose your kids unless you're operating out of a laboratory. They choose you.

While my children were growing up, I was accused by some of placing too high expectations on my children. Yes, apparently expecting kids to do well at school, finish extra courses you've paid for, have a conscience and an awareness of social justice AND have a life that did not involve drugs and alcohol was too harsh. ( insert loud raspberry noises).

Let's get back to the accountability part.

One of the few things I remember from university is Maslow's hierarchy of needs. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a diagram someone prepared earlier.

Here is the link if you are interested in pursuing this further . It's really interesting.

(http://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

You can have expectations in life and you can work your way up Maslow's triangle, satisfying need after need. But reality has a habit of messing with this - illness, divorce, job loss etc can cause fluctuation between levels. 

My forties have been the worst years of my life due to severe health issues, career disruption and financial strain. Too say this was not on the expectation list as a naive 16 year old or a bumbling " what shall I do with my life" uni student is an understatement. Do I then put a cross on my accountability list? At the ripe old age of almost 49 my health is ****, my career is in tatters and money is a precious resource we are learning to stretch. Well I could load up on the crosses, but what's the point?

When I look at the triangle I am reminded that in reality I HAVE been to the top. I have accepted my 
life's challenges and I know I have skills to solve my problems. I may feel bad that my life feels so crappy, but it really isn't all bad.

So here's my accountability list:

• Physiological needs - mostly met. Sleep could be better but that's why God gave us doctors who prescribe drugs.

• Safety - apart from morality and property... in tatters.

• Rest of levels - not bad.

Real state of flux happening here! Time to get back to basics and concentrate on those safety issues. 

Moral of my story - I'm 49 and I grew up with expectations placed on me by others and by myself. Not many of those expectations have been met AND THAT'S OK because reality presented other situations I couldn't possibly have envisaged. Ten years ago this would have been the end of me, but at the ripe old age of almost 49, I've resigned myself to the fact that expectations and reality do not necessarily go hand in hand.

And I THINK I'm OK with that.

Till next time...xxx

Me - age 48 and 51 weeks

Article written for Blusky Collective, a fabulous new website which went live this week. Please check them out!
https://bluskycollective.wordpress.com/2015/06/26/459/

FESTIVAL OF ASHTON

So it's Sunday afternoon and I am having a lazy time. Last night a group of us went to see Ciara in her production called "A little rain must fall". It was lots of fun but with a message to take away about risks and consequences . I loved the colour, the activity, the loudness and the general storyline. The production is part of the "Perth Fringe Festival"and because there are so many acts going on, Ashton and I are going back tonight to see another production. We're actually going to see a comedian because I think before this week starts we  need a good belly laugh.


So let me catch you up on this family's sagas. This week as I've mentioned already is Ashton's  21st birthday. Her birthday is on Thursday and her party is next Saturday. We have approximately 90 to 100 people coming and it is going to be a fantastic night.

Only one thing stands between today and the rest of the week. No, it's not the fact that the uni year starts tomorrow. No, it's not the fact that some people still have no idea what to wear to the party. It's all about the fact that on Wednesday her surgery has been brought forward. What the hell!

You might remember that she still needs another operation. There is still some fistula in her jugular vein and the doctor (please bow) wanted to get her back into theatre as soon as possible to finish the procedure. The original date scheduled was March 20 and though it was a bit of a distance, we sort of got used to the idea.

Which is why we're all a little in shock that the procedure has been moved to Wednesday 25th February. She was given the option of saying yes I'll have it on the new date or no keep March 20. Rather hard call to make isn't it? Whichever decision you make it is full of negatives and positives. We all eventually decided health must come first, so she has opted to have the surgery on Wednesday 25th and will therefore be waking up in hospital on her 21st birthday. Never in my wildest dreams did I see my child waking up in a high dependency unit on her 21st birthday after her 15th major procedure. She has told the doctors that she expects flowers and cake. The bets are on as to whether they will follow through.

Just to see a smile on her face, Mark and I have already given her our birthday present. If you are not on my Facebook list you will not have seen these photos so I will include them because they have made made a lot of people smile and a couple cry. It's just so nice to see her happy.

We are so hopeful that this procedure will be the last BUT all we can do is hope that this will be true. This June it will have been two years since her diagnosis. That's a huge chunk out of her life and out of ours.

See you in the hospital.

Till next time… Xxx

18 YEARS AGO!

Today my younger daughter turns 18. She made a spectacular entry into this world so I thought I would share it with you all. This is actually the first time I have spoken of this story and remembering it has made me cry, so maybe its good closure.

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I had only one day of morning sickness with my first pregnancy. I was sick almost continuously for the first 3 months of my second. Looking back now I should have known what I was in for. This was a feisty baby, one with an opinion, one who made her presence known.

I remember going for my 18 week ultrasound. Somehow I knew there would be a problem and sure enough her heart was thumping loudly and clearly but she refused to move. The lady said she needed to move, and for the only time ever in my life, told me to go away and eat a mars bar and drink a coke and to come back in two hours. I wonder now about the safety of all that sugar flooding my system but nevertheless, there she was dancing for the camera two hours later. That was her first performance and funnily enough she can still be bribed with sugar today.

On the day she decided to make her presence really felt, I was at work. I was in a classroom trying to manage a bunch of Yr 10 terrors. She didn't like them. I could feel that because she was punching out from inside. Like mothers everywhere I went into protective mode. I got another teacher to mind the kids and walked straight to the car and drove straight to the doctor.

The FED had been five week's premature but the possibility that this baby  might be premature had never crossed my mind. So I was taken aback when the doctor told me I was already partly dilated at 32 weeks. Her exact words were " Ring your husband. Go straight to hospital".

I'm not sure what they do nowadays, but 18 years ago it was strict bed rest. I was not allowed to move, although occasionally I had a short walk to visit a patient in a similar situation, in an adjoining room. The husband and the FED (age 2) came to visit regularly but all I really did for a while was sleep.

Then came the day.

The husband had gone to visit a country show in his home town forty minutes away. He didn't like leaving me but I encouraged him to go because there was no need for him to miss out, and he needed a break from the hospital. He would have just arrived, when suddenly back at pregnancy home base I got my first contraction.

Organized panic set in. I wasn't quite 33 weeks and babies that young had to be delivered in the city because my town did not have the facilities to care for their needs. The GP called the Flying Doctor and set the wheels in motion for me to be flown to Perth...again! This was how my first baby had arrived.

Meanwhile in a time before mobile phones, the husband had been located and was on his way back. He had been close by all week yet I chose the time he was farthest from me to go into labour. Poor man!

Because my baby was still so young I had to wait for a specialized medical team to be assembled to fly up to get me. This took a bit of time and in the meantime I tried very hard not to give birth. Joke!

The Flying Doctor finally arrived and I was wheeled outside for the first time in a week. A storm had started and I didn't fancy being in a small plane up in the storm with a baby that was insistent on being born. The medical crew were fantastic but lets face it, it was early in the morning ( about 2 am) and we were about to go up in a small plane among thunder, rain and lightning. I was terrified and in labour!

I shared the plane with an unconscious young woman, another medical drama. She had been in a riding accident earlier that day and also needed to be transferred to the city. Because the plane was full the husband couldn't come, but he promised to drive down in the morning. 

The plane ride was horrendous and even though I was lying down, I vomited non stop all the way to the city. The nurse and doctor set up a drip because they were worried about dehydration but I just kept vomiting and vomiting.

We arrived in the city and I was transferred to an ambulance. It was about 3.30am and I remember flying down the freeway with the sirens blaring. It all seemed so surreal at the time but thats what happened and there I was in the middle.

I arrived at the hospital to be greeted by the kindest nurse I have ever met. I promptly threw up what was left of me, but she didn't flinch. In fact she had me wheeled into an emergency labour room and promptly gave me a bath. I must have smelt a treat after two hours solid vomiting. Just as I was about to sleep, the door opened and it was my Mum. It was 4.30am and knowing what I was going through she had come to be with me. At the sight of my Mum, I cried buckets of tears but stopped when the door opened again. It was my sister. She had rung the husband to find out what was going on and she had come up too!

Meanwhile, my baby oblivious to the trouble she had caused slept. And eventually so did I.

In the morning, which was only a couple of hours later I was able to work out where I was properly and think straight. The doctor had come for a visit in the middle of the night, not looking too pleased that she had been woken up.  I was past caring as yet another birth was going haywire and this upset me.

About mid morning my baby decided to do a complete cartwheel and then suddenly I felt all wrong. I went to the bathroom and found that the umbilical cord was outside my body. WHY DO THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?

 The doctor was called and apparently there was a problem because my baby had turned and become stuck somewhere. Because she was only 33 weeks it was going to take time to dislodge her without stressing her. The pain was unbearable and I was not allowed any medication...not sure why.

At one stage I was in so much pain, I remember four nurses holding me down. I think they were trying to turn baby around and dislodge her. Whatever it was, I was screaming and my poor husband looked so distressed, the doctor asked for him to be taken outside.

And then suddenly amidst all the screaming, the pain just disappeared. Just like that it left and I felt relieved, till I heard the doctor tell the anaesthetist to " knock her out NOW ". Apparently I had started to haemorrhage and my baby's life was at risk.

She was flat when she was born but soon picked up. This was one tough baby who started life in traumatic circumstances, but fought and fought.

When I was woken from a general anaesthetic and an emergency caesarian, my first glimpse of my baby was not how I ever expected it. Rather than lying on me, she lay near me in a small humidicrib. I was allowed to touch her through the holes in the crib. She was so, so small! 4lbs 8.

Like any premmie, there were issues. She had to be fed via a syringe through her nose, she wouldn't suck and when she did suck she wouldn't breathe. We got through all the issues...one by one. As I said, this was one tough baby girl.

And that's basically how she has been all her life! She is a tough cookie with the biggest heart. She is loved by friends, boyfriend, family...everyone. She has her faults, don't you worry, but you forgive her most things because she makes you laugh and cry at the same time. She is an actress, a singer, a dancer, a clown, a joker and the list goes on.

To me she will always be my Baby Born dolly and my favourite younger daughter (FYD).

Happy 18th sweetheart. Love you to the moon and back xxx

Some non Australian readers will not be familiar with the Flying Doctor. Please check them out at http://www.flyingdoctor.org.au/default.aspx