To Tell or Not

Everyone laughed when Paul Hogan in the movie Crocodile Dundee responded to the question of counselling.  He flippantly remarked in his home town in outback Australia if you have a problem you tell Wally and he tells everyone in town. This brings it out in the open, and results in no more problem!  I had always agreed with this remark.  That was until four years ago.

I first saw a counsellor in 2010 after Merv became ill.  I could not stop crying.  I cried throughout the day, I cried at work, I cried at night.  I cried for four months and then I stopped.  I haven't cried since.  Not because the counsellor, 'fixed me' but with her help I was able to deal with my suddenly changed life in a less emotional way.

We all knew one day Merv would become ill.  He was tested almost twenty years ago when we found out he was HD positive.  As early as 2008 I could see the writing on the wall, there were signs.  I pretended he would just keep on going, but he didn't.  He became unwell and I fell apart.

A counsellor was suggested and I accepted because I suddenly found myself unable to cope.  Kate was lovely.  I thought at first she was too young, she was about thirty.  She seemed so young, what did she know?  Kate turned out to be an angel.  She listened to me as I cried; she gave me strategies to make life bearable again.  She helped me through my trauma.

Kate applied for another job elsewhere and soon she was gone.  I had stopped crying and putting her strategies to work I carried on with life, but I was sad to see her go.

Four years later during one of Merv's many service reviews the question was again raised.  Do I want counselling?  I took some time to think about it.  Much has changed in Merv's life in the last four years.  It's time to talk about it.

Yesterday I met with another counsellor.  Just like Kate, she was calming, listened well and gave me feedback.  I didn't cry.  I will see her again.

It is good to talk with family and friends about my life and receive their love and support.  I can't do without it. 

My counsellor can see things which I can't and maybe others close to me find difficult to share.

                                                              

Sassy Subi

This morning I took the train to Subiaco to catch up with a friend.  We met in a cosy coffee shop, taking possession of a corner table as the warming winter sun danced upon our table. We chatted about our lives, our dreams, our kids, even our coffee while the streams of people outside walked, sauntered or beat the footpath to their next stop. Our conversation entertained us. We enjoyed our coffee and shared half a raspberry and white chocolate muffin of mammoth proportions.  Our hour together passed quickly and we parted promising to do it all over again sometime in the future.


Sassy Subiaco

I had promised myself a walk along Rokeby Road in the warm winter sun.  The main shopping precinct in Subiaco.  In my youth (oh so long ago) Subiaco was a poor cousin of the affluent surrounding suburbs.  Years later an influx of younger people, the well known yuppie population bought numerous brick or weatherboard Victorian houses, renovated them into lustre gems and Subiaco was reborn with a much improved price tag.  One real estate
 agent advertises Subiaco as;
'Stylish Subiaco - Subi to her friends - is a sassy inner-city neighbourhood just west of downtown Perth.' 

Along with the new price tag came multitudes of villas, townhouses and apartments.  Once boring Subiaco was reborn.  While Rokeby Road is no Rodeo Drive it boasts a eclectic range of boutiques, cafes, book shops and quirky shop fronts.  



My bargain buy

I was drawn into one of the quirky shops which appeared to have been invaded by anyone and everyone passing by.  It was like a Myer Christmas Sale!  The biggest surprise of all was this overflowing shop is a well-known second hand store, Good Sammy's.
Thinking it was overrun by grey haired grannies I did a double take.  A young girl on school holidays was rummaging through a cardboard box as she was calling to her friend.  She pulled out a tiny green bikini with great delight.  A young man held up a beige overcoat for his girlfriend's approval.  There were young men everywhere carefully selecting their second chance clothes. Mothers and their children (its school holidays) rummaged through the boxed games, bangles and jewellery.  I was caught up in the excitement and found myself rummaging through the handbags.  Mel goes through a handbag every six months.  I have bought her handbags worth over $100 and they last no longer.  I find an amazing brand new specimen.  I check the price tag and rejoice.  It is $5.50!  A great bargain.  I check out a few racks of clothing but find nothing which inspires me.  I pay for my treasured find and congratulate myself.  Others line up with their spoils.

I am surprised, this most ordinary shop is not only smack bang in the middle of Rokeby Road but it is teaming with bargain hunters! 

I continue on my walk reaching the end of this iconic road.  I cross over to the other side and head back the way I came.  I pause at the old screen door of Ogilvie's Café and enter with expectation.  I have been here before and delight at the French Provincial charm, the wooden tables, jars of jams and chutney and the displays of aged and charming treasures.  I order yet another coffee and a chicken and salad baguette. I sit at a small wooden table and read today's paper as I await my freshly made coffee.  All thoughts of my otherwise stressful life depart while I relax and enjoy my lunch.

My day is almost complete and I make my way back home.   It has been a day to remember. 




Quirky Ogilvie Café

 

Rejoicing the Voice

Last Monday evening the ABC Australian Story ran an interview on Australian singing artist Megan Washington.  It wasn't about her singing, it was about her stutter.  It hit a chord.  I know the horror and the anguish of stuttering.

The program interviewed relatives, friends and people with whom she had worked.  A few of them, like Adam Hills from Spicks and Specks remarked they were unaware she stuttered. 

In 2006 I told my son I was going to a speech therapist for my stutter he looked at me in complete surprise and said, "you don't stutter mum."  Stuttering rarely happened to me in the comfort of my own home but I was still surprised at his comment.

From my late teens I had winged clear speech at times and other times I would contort myself in spitting out the sounds which so often evaded me.  Many times I said nothing because it was just too hard.  Megan in her interview talked about the time she was conversing with another stutterer, I also had that experience.  I couldn't become too close to her, it was just too difficult to have a conversation.

My life had suddenly turned in 2006 and I was working toward employment as a community service coordinator.  It meant I had to talk to staff and clients.  I wanted to talk without blurting, stammering or tying myself in knots.  I have attended social gatherings where I came across people who did not know how to deal with my stutter and made fun of me and others who carefully avoided me.  In my work experience as I stuttered over the phone or face to face the employer or client allowed me my speech performance as if it didn’t occur.  Sometimes they just added the words I was trying so hard to say.  I am never sure if that made me feel better but at times I was relieved.

My community services course was due to finish soon and I was looking for employment in my chosen field.  It was time.

I gathered my confidence and made an appointment with a middle aged, matronly speech therapist.  She was surprised I was almost fifty and had never had speech therapy before.  She asked me what it was like at school.  I could not remember stuttering as a child only in late high school.  She asked me questions I couldn't answer.  I returned home, thought about what she had said and asked my mother.  

I already knew all the answers but I was blind to them.  When I was sixteen I became very ill, so ill I could not stand, I had no energy to open my presents at Christmas (just after I got sick).  My big sister thought I was going to die.  When I finally looked in the bathroom mirror my eyes were hollow and I looked like ‘death warmed up’.  Three months later most of my hair fell out and I needed iron and thyroid tablets to regain my health.  I don't remember visiting the doctor but my mother said she was told my brain was going too fast and it affected my speech!  Goodness me, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  Upon returning to the speech therapist, she simply said, 'trauma.'  She gave me smooth speech exercises to do.  It didn't seem to make any difference so Google and I did some research.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures and desperate I was!  I filled in the form, gave away my credit card number and pressed the 'buy' button.  It was done.  I waited in anticipation never believing it would actually help. 

A week or so later it arrived in a brown paper parcel.  It arrived from oversees and cost me, from memory about $30.  I was hesitant to use it, but what is life without a risk or two?  Being a Christian was hypnotherapy safe to use?  I didn't know but I was going to try it.

I opened my CD player, placed the CD in and pressed the play button.  I listened to the whole recording while I sat on my kitchen chair.  It talked about what caused the stuttering to happen.  I had my answer.  I revisited my illness and my embarrassment of losing my hair and the fear of losing control of my health and independence during my illness.  The illness only lasted a couple of weeks but it had devastating results.

The CD was to be played at night before sleeping.  Every night I put it on, rarely was I awake when it finished. 

Then the most amazing and unexpected thing happened.  I didn't grow two heads or showed disturbing behaviour  but I could connect words together without stuttering for sentences at a time.  I was hooked.  Some days I would play the CD at home, I would recount my trauma, I would give it away and not take it back.  After three months I didn't use the CD anymore, I was almost stutter free.  Sometime later I had what I thought was a relapse and out came the CD once again.  I listened to it again for a week.  Since then it lives in my top drawer, I haven't played it for seven years but I know where it is.

Megan Washington's story brought me back to my days of stuttering.  This week I listened to myself, how do I speak?  I was surprised there is still a slight stutter in my voice but it is infrequent.  If you asked me I would say I am fluent in my speech.  I am never afraid to speak up because I know I will no longer embarrass myself, or others.  It took me over thirty years to do something about my stutter, in hindsight, it was too long.

Going Up, Up, Up

The old saying, 'What goes up must come down' is just about right for everything to do with gravity but for the cost of living it is:  'What goes up, keeps on going up.' 
Once again it's the end of the financial year and the average Australian citizen is being slugged with increases in utility, transport fees and reduced funding for many charities and community groups.  This doesn't appear to be balanced with an offset somewhere.  People are being made redundant and fear has gripped our community.  No one seems safe.  Not the worker, nor the retiree or pensioners.   Seniors are being informed they will lose their senior supplements which provide concessions on numerous utility bills, council rates and transport costs.  The information is confusing with some reports saying it will only affect people with the Commonwealth Seniors Health Card and not the aged/disability pension.  Other accounts are covering pensioners in general.
I know the community is living in fear when my regular breakfast routine was interrupted with much banging, hammering and drilling.  It sounded like a barrage of tool men on my roof.  As I slid open my back door with my full washing basket wedged firmly under my arm I witnessed two quite delightful workmen fixing solar panels on my neighbour's roof.   We are half way up a hill and the neighbour's roof is our not so pleasant view from our patio.  Now we have a row of five shiny black solar panels glaring at us.  I quickly get my brain into gear and work out how much it will cost to add a wooden fence (complete with weeping flowering plants) to change our view.  My budget is already blown so I ditch the idea and convince myself I will get used to their intrusion. 
I know things are bad when my neighbour pays out money. When we were confronted with the 2YK bug on the eve of 1999 he bought himself a water tank and filled it with tap water.  He was convinced life as we know it would abruptly end and our taps would run dry.  Come the first morning of 2000 I confidently turned on my tap and was rewarded with flowing water! Hurray!
My neighbour (he is a good neighbour, never noisy or nosy) is coming up to retirement age and I know he is concerned about his supplements.  He has waited all his life to get a discount on his rates.  What he might lose on his rates he will win on his electricity bill.   I rarely hear his air conditioner in the summer and his electricity bill is often paid with lose change.  He is either  running scared or very smart to invest in solar panels.