photo credit: Martin Lopatka

Today I am not well.  My body is yelling at me to rest.  My legs are aching as if they’ve been punched by a tribe of angry pygmies. It is the familiar ache of chronic fatigue/fibromyalgia that is creeping its way back at the end of an exhausting year.

2011 sucked – for everyone.  It started badly and got worse.  Most everyone I know lost something or someone in all the natural disasters that occurred.  Businesses went broke, we all went further into debt just to buy petrol and groceries whose prices soared throughout the year. We worked harder than usual because there was more to do in the same amount of time.

I spent 12 hours a day away from my family and home to make a living that doesn’t meet the ends and now my body, having tasted the rest I have given it for the past two weeks on holidays, is yelling at me to stay down, don’t get up – but like Rocky, I have no choice.  I have to get up, I have three kids (almost 2 as one has left school this year) to house and feed and support – failure is not an option.

But as my legs ache, and my hopelessness grows about the prospect of returning to those 12 hour days of work and travel in two more weeks, I do not know, cannot fathom, how I am going to do it.

Carry on.

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photo credit: ryPix

There comes a time in every child’s life that they realise Santa is not ‘real’.  That the gifts left in the santa sack are actually done so by parents or guardians and not the ‘real santa’.  This is an often heartbreaking discovery and if you take a moment, you will remember the time or situation or state of revelation when you discovered that Santa was a myth.

For all of us it is different and for all of our upbringings, there is also a different belief in what Santa is, whether he exists or not, the history or the commercialism that is adopted within our own family folktales of xmas.

Before I became a parent I was steadfast in my conviction that we would not believe in Santa in our family – that the heartbreak of discovery would be something my children would be ‘saved’ from.  But when I had children, I too was sucked into the void that is Santa as the osmosis of society permeated my children’s belief system and I had to carry on the myth – knowing that one day they would suffer the pain of discovery.

This year, my youngest child told me that he knew that Santa wasn’t real and he knew it was me.  And I, like all parents who have fostered a falsehood continued with the lies involuntarily and said, “well in our house, if you don’t believe he doesn’t come”.  And so the santa sacks were laid out and santa came and will continue to do so until all my kids are 3o, a promise I barely remember making at some time after a drunken xmas lunch when speaking with my eldest children, who continue to marvel and adore their youngest sibling’s naive joy that santa had brought him gifts.

So what is my advice on the santa myth?  Whatever works for you I guess.  Of all our plans for parenthood, in practicality, none of it actually works and deep down as parents, no matter what we read or believe to be true, we are flying by the seat of our pants in a rapidly changing world where rules and black and white are all blurred into grey, and trying not to scar our children forever – but we will – whether it is with love or deep dark agendas – all will be revealed.  We have to continue to hope that we are going OK and that everything will end up as it should.

Merry xmas, happy holidays, enjoy your family time, and for all the widows out there – we rock and we did it again!

Carry on

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photo credit: rodtuk

FOCUS – Follow One Course Until Successful.

I keep coming across this acronym and it was frying my brain.  How can I pick one course?  I have lots of things that I want to accomplish.  Work and my Masters, Family and successful children, Blogging not sure what the goal there is, and of course Writing – two books screaming for attention.  So which course?  All are equally important to me.

So I decided to follow one course within each category and hope for the best.  So for me that means, made the decision on what subjects/masters I will complete – no more second guessing myself JFDI (just frickin do it).  Family – against all odds, this seems to be on track aside from my eldest having a meltdown because she doesn’t know what to do with her life – more on that in another post next week. Blogging – well here I am and have decided to concentrate on this and one other only for now and see how that goes. Writing – making time to finish one book really well and then moving onto the next.

When I read it back, sounds like a lot. But time is short and there is much to do.

Carry on.

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This week I attended a graduation ceremony for the year 12 class of 2011.  It was an emotional event.  What brought me the most reaction was this however – out of 224 graduating students, only 3 had chosen a future that needed university – a doctor, a midwife and a teacher.  The rest of the graduates wanted to work full time (majority) or finish/start apprenticeships or go to TAFE (technical diploma/certificate) colleges.

It made me think about the future that these students believe is possible for themselves.  There is no drive, determination or clarity.  Most are happy to work and see what happens, see where it leads, find what they want.  This attitude is so different to that of ten years ago, where university was everything, law, medicine, commerce were the most privileged and sought after places.

I believe we have educated the class of 2011 extremely well.  They understand that the pursuit of law is futile, that commerce and economics are forces that will not be changed by the individual and that medicine, while honorable, is set up in a system that cannot cope with the sick.

They are aware that social justice is an enigma, the world is shattered and on the brink of self destruction.  We have over educated them into knowing that anything than a twelve month commitment to anything is fraught with danger.  The world is changing so rapidly that a degree they begin now, can be obsolete by the time they finish – so why bother?

At first disturbing, but on reflection, quite enlightened.  I wish the class of 2011 all the very best of luck, they will need it.  Their finest skills – education, ability to adapt, and to think critically.  Well done to their teachers.

Carry on.

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I nearly didn’t write this post as the lovely Carolyn Hastie @thinkbirth wrote her piece here King Hit on the Funny Bone.  You can catch up on the #hcsmgate tag on twitter to understand what we’re talking about – a group of med students spoke quite inappropriately about patients on twitter.  Carolyn’s article  just about covered all my feelings on the matter except for this.

Working in health is bloody hard work.  It can wreck you emotionally, physically and mentally.  It takes a certain mindset to be able to ‘package’ the endless stream of humanity that you face, looking to you for answers and cures for problems that often the patient has caused themselves by their behaviour.

So I understand the defence mechanism of black humour used to help, especially younger medical students, cope with what they are seeing, for sometimes the first time.  The difficulty of the human race, the inadequacy of our health systems in the ‘western’ and ‘perfect’ world, are far from perfect and black humour is a way to cope.

What is offensive to me and quite unacceptable is the use of this language in the public space.  Not only have they exposed themselves as less than feeling doctors, they have brought disrepute upon the profession.  They have given the public a reason to increase their lack of faith in the medical system.  They have demoralised the human beings occupying those wards, human beings exposed and vulnerable.

So I leave this debate asking this question – What if it was your loved one, spouse, mother, sister, daughter, that were being spoken about, in a public space, in this context?  All doctors need to remember from time to time, to place themselves directly in the patient’s shoes, and understand, as a human being, what we all need – a little dignity and respect in our time of need – not to be referred to as a cabbage patch or labia room occupant.

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Yesterday I had a bit of a tweet fest about #ruokday, something I don’t usually do but something I felt strongly about. Some of the tweets I received in return were quite encouraging, others still missed the point.

The main argument that came back to me was that it was a step worth taking.  This is true and false.  Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s GREAT, FANTASTIC even that mental health is getting a platform, that the taboo is trying to be removed by activities like this.  What is false is what I said yesterday, there is nowhere for people to go to for help.

It is a very dangerous thing to give people false hope, especially those vulnerable and in a state of depression.  You can’t offer support half heartedly.  Infrastructure must be in place to support those who are seeking help and support and it simply isn’t there.  We like to think that it is, in fact those of us who have never experienced it believe that it is, believe that anyone can get help when they need it, they just have to ask.  Unfortunately this just isn’t the case.

Since 1974, the year my mother took her own life, until 2005, I have lost someone every decade to mental illness, not just friends, relatives, loved ones and my spouse.  In that time, although there has been some movement in the social ‘acceptance’ of mental illness, in that people talk about it as an ‘issue’, very little has changed in regards to services available.  It is still impossible to get a bed, people are given scripts and told to take their medication that won’t take affect for six weeks and sent home on their own, sometimes with a guardian who knows nothing about mental illness and is put in charge of a mentally unstable person for six weeks.  Waiting lists for either private or public psychiatrists are in the months and years, and psychologists, if you can pay you can have as many as you want.

I watched my dad lose his wife and two sons to ‘the war’.  The war on mental health and close to his death bed he said to me “it was ever thus”.  I was hoping that this far into the next generation it would be different, and although ‘over the cuckoo’s nest’ scenarios are less, it still is ever thus.

Mental health services, across the board, need to be asset test free.  Mental health issues do not discriminate.  Much like cancer but far less marketable, mental health issues kill people, generations of Australians so far, and those generations are forever affected by those losses.  Although I am generally an advocate of free trade, when it comes to psychiatrists in private practice, it’s inhumane to deny treatment because of a lack of ability to pay, especially a minor.  You can’t judge and blame the parent for their inability to pay when they are seeking care for their child.  Got that off my chest – again.

Carry on.

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Twitter is not big enough for my outrage.

Found this article in my stream Jeff Kennett on marriage, mental health and the family unit and I cannot remain silent.

“THERE is no substitute for parents of both genders”

For children there is no substitute for people of all genders, race, sexual persuasions, political ideals, religious beliefs to form a balanced, happy, thoughtful human being.  It takes a tribe to raise a child not just a couple.

“I further contend that the first seven years of a child’s life are the most important as this sets the values for children for the rest of their lives.”

The early years of childhood have been well documented as being extremely important in setting all kinds of patterns, not just those of mental health, anxiety and learning ability. Unfortunately the first seven years of a child’s life are also the first seven years of a couple’s life facing parenthood for the first time, and this is often the time when the relationship is tested and either ‘passes’ or ‘fails’. I think it’s at the very least, extremely arrogant for Jeff to ‘contend’ this point at all. It’s not a new thought to be considered, however he has put a highlighted negative slant upon it.

“Clearly the best environment in which to bring a child into the world is a stable, loving environment in which a male and female are married to each other.”

It’s just so painful to have to point out how absolutely judgmental and prejudiced this comment is, and in 2011 just plain outrageous.  The Catholic church and its ideals on this are quickly becoming fossilised and Jeff is beating a dead horse here, yelling ever loudly as the ship sinks. What he fails to realise is the children of the two following generations are being raised as far more enlightened and ‘accepting’ such a bad term but will do for now, of all people of all choices, not just those perceived to be ‘right’ be religion.

“A loving environment, where the young child observes good practices, is more important than any instruction that attempts to set values such as respect, honesty, punctuality, hard work, reward and, importantly, love.”

Love is blind – that is all I can possibly say here without blowing a complete gasket. How deaf and dumb can someone of perceived education and enlightenment, possibly be?

“Many adults I have spoken to about their depressive illnesses have referred back to an unhappy childhood and/or the separation of their parents.”

This was the sentence that drove me to this blog post, so full of outrage I couldn’t type fast enough on twitter, then soon abandoned it for this instead.

First what adults perceive to be their triggers for their own ‘depressive illnesses’ (which is a sidestep and a half by yourself Jeff) is totally subjective, based on their own recollections and perceptions – childhood perceptions at that – of what their history is.  It is often not accurate as to what actually occurred and is marred by years of later experience.  Depressive illnesses are born from serotonin imbalances in the brain.  These can sometimes be caused by environmental triggers, but usually the human body is pre-disposed to this type of reaction i.e. it will eventually respond with a serotonin imbalance at some point in life regardless of environment or physical experiences.  A ‘rough childhood’ may bring this on faster, but it is going to occur regardless.

Also Jeff Kennett is not a psychiatrist so cannot with any reasonable accuracy or credit bring these anecdotal responses to mean anything.  This is an unsubstantiated opinion yet he has brought it into this argument as a fact that we should bow to.

Not all ‘bad’ childhoods breed mental illness, my own life case in point, and not all ‘good’ childhoods breed ‘citizens’ free from mental illness (think Jeffery Dahmer). People who speak about their mental illness in such terms, are still in my view and understanding of such matters (which is extensive)  are still dealing with their own issues and have not taken responsibility for their own illness or actions.  They are still blaming an exterior source for their internal condition.  More therapy here please.

“Sadly, many adults take their marriage vows lightly.”

Firstly, get fucked.  Secondly from someone who took their vows extremely seriously, so seriously that I stayed in an abusive situation for probably eight years longer than I should have, this is a global generalisation.  And if you want to stay on this level of argument let me counter by saying, most people take bearing children seriously, no-one thinks things are not going to work out, no-one expects their spouse to threaten to kill them and their children, everything will be fine, nothing bad ever happens to good people.  Do you really want me to go on? Just because a service is available, i.e. no fault divorce, doesn’t mean it’s the scapegoat of every other little thing that goes wrong in marriage.  I put it to you that the ability to leave a bad situation instead of staying in one ‘for the sake of the children’ actually liberates children and sets an example of how strong, independent adults honor themselves and their children, by taking them from a bad situation to something else.

“With changes to family law in the 1970s, many marriages have become more easily disposable. This should never be the case, particularly when children are involved.”

Clearly you have had a very charmed life.  Let me ask you to reflect on something.  My mother was so ‘imprisoned’ in her ‘non-disposable’ marriage she chose to kill herself rather than stay there.  Thousands of women of this age group were fed ‘mother’s little helpers’ by their GP’s to get them through their day.  These medications were often toxic and led to not only psychotic disease but metabolic disorders. Your rhetoric is nothing short of prejudiced generalisations about what is wrong with the world, rather than thoughtful critique.

“Many people ask me why there is so much stress, anxiety and depression in Australia, so often referred to as “the lucky country”. The answers are many, but one which is patently clear is the breakdown in marriages and the declining number of marriages within our society.”

Firstly, get fucked again.  Secondly, as a mother of children in the digital age, I can tell you why there is so much stress.  Children are bombarded by some of the most violent images and sounds, on television ever known to any generation.  I refuse to have the news on in my house at any time of the day.  I was tired of the kids wondering if the war they were seeing was here or where it was. Would it happen here?  Stories of fathers killing their wives and children – that nearly happened to us didn’t it mummy? Mothers taking their own lives – you would never leave us like that mummy, Sept 11 – is this world war three mummy – are we going to die today mummy.  These are the questions that are asked when they see these things.  Of course they’re fucking stressed the world is beamed into them relentlessly.  As a parent I censor it as much as possible – they are on a need to know basis – but I would contend, that all this information makes us all a little more stressed than usual because the world and all it’s problems are fed to us, and we are unable to censor it, because morally we feel terrible if we ignore the plight of the Sudan when we have food on the table.  We want to solve the world, heal the world, while watching our own bank balances, which may or may not be there tomorrow depending on what Wall Street does, which I can stay up all night watching if I so choose.

It’s not marriage that is at fault here AT ALL. It’s a combination of societal factors that we all need to deal with on an individual basis for us to determine how we live as adults in a complex world and how we raise our children to survive in it, once we’re gone.

“But governments are not the trend-setters in values, or good behaviour. We as individuals are, and we must again accept responsibility for ourselves, our behaviour and the examples we set for our children.”

And what world is that “married white world” where nothing goes wrong and the dog never dies?  Dogs die Jeff.  Bad shit happens to good people and not everyone is perfect.  Get the fuck off your podium and get into the trenches and realise that families are struggling to put the basics in front of their children, the world is a hard place with no guaranteed future for everyone and nuclear plants are blowing up live on the internet, television and radio streams right into our children’s faces.  I can’t censor the whole world and neither can you, and nor should you be the judge of everyone and tell us what is the right way to live and the right example for our children.  What exactly is that Jeff?

I don’t even pretend to know the answers to living in 2011 but as a famous judge once quoted around child pornography ” I know it when I see it” and the type of 1950′s rhetoric that Jeff has given us, is not it.

Carry on.

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photo credit: Frinthy

Today was a difficult day.  It started exceptionally early and I returned to my car exactly 12 hours after I’d parked it to return home, only to pick kids up and drop them off.

Yesterday I started a ball in motion that today had me sitting at my desk wondering what the hell I was doing working for the place I am working for.  Some background, one of the directors has hand picked a junior staff member to take on one of the most senior roles in the organisation. She has no experience in three of the core responsibilities of the position, which will directly affect patient care.  There was no opportunity for any other staff member to express interest in being considered for the position.

So I asked the director for a copy of the policy document outlining the rules of internal vacancies, to which I was given short and shrift response, stating there were none, and by the way I shouldn’t be using my title at the bottom of my emails.

Which led to a reply by me, which led to a bullying email back from them, which led to another reply with my director copied in which led to another reply even worse than before, which led me to my director’s office telling them that I think I just got myself into a lot of trouble by asking a question, to which she replied she would take it from there and has begun the process of esccalating this to the CEO.

To which my colleagues replied that they told me so, I shouldn’t have challenged the status quo to which I replied that people like that only getting away with doing things like they do and treating people the way they do, because no-one says anything or takes action to shine a light and their actions.

So anyway by the end of it all, in the midst of three back to back challenging meetings which left me knee deep in budgets and reconciliations, I sat and wondered why I was doing it all for, wouldn’t I be better of as a check out chic for similar money and no responsibility?  Yes there is security where I am, to a degree, pretty sure that once the contract finishes in three years, I won’t be invited back if the director who tried to bully me is still there, however, is the travel and stress and demands of it worth it, when our direct line management (the bully) treat us with such disdain?

No answers here today, just wondering what the best options are for life and what possible alternatives there may be, and whether the fight is actually worth it and what cost is hidden in the detail.

Carry on.

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photo credit: birgerking

I work for a professor in research, so my job involves receiving lots of emails personally, and then dealing with the professor’s so basically I can read and action up to and over 100 emails a day.

I know a lot of other people will be saying OMG that’s nothing I have to deal with blah blah blah. Well good on you.  My emails are sent between professors, heads of schools, deans, vice chancellors, ceo’s etc. so they have to be GOOD.

So I slowly began to realise that my job is actually helping me become a great writer even though I’m not writing the stuff I really want to.  Why?  Because I have to edit, grammar check, spell check, re-edit and make sure I’ve made sense, that I haven’t made my professor sound bad, as I represent them when they’re not available, and make decisions on their behalf.

I think today I wrote the most beautiful email of my life but I was really worried about it because it was going to some very heavy duty academics who could easily have me sacked, was telling them something about money they didn’t want to hear, and I was also gently telling them to get off their butts and engage or the team was going to spend all their money.  So basically I was shitting myself after I hit send but knew it had to be done.

I wrote it out firstly from the gut, this is what I knew had to be said.  Then I edited it for punctuation and spelling.  Then I re-worded it so it was about 200 words shorter so they would actually read it.  I don’t know if you know this but if an email goes beyond the crease of the preview pane, it gets shafted to last. So I had to make them all pay attention and get the main points in before the crease.

I hit send and went out for a smoko break feeling for sure I would have some pretty choice emails in my inbox when I got back not to mention a please explain from my professor who was out of the office at the time but on email.

Instead I got replies from all three “excellent”  “glad you told us this” “we will talk about this tomorrow, this really needs to be sorted out fast”

So I got my end result that I wanted.  They ALL engaged.  They read it ALL.  And I followed the golden rule of writing by Stephen King, write what you think then edit and cut by 10%.  I probably was a bit harder on myself and edited to nearly 50% because I got rid of all the unnecessary words and just left the points in grammatical sense.

So even work is helping and blogging is helping, so eventually I think I might end up somewhere with this writing thing after all.

Carry on.

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photo credit: mpclemens

The adage dance like no-one is watching and write like no-one is reading is my new mantra for the coming year because life really is short and if I don’t start now, I won’t finish where I want to.

Which led me again to thinking, where do I want to end, and why is that important? In some ways I fail at the game of life. I’m not wealthy, I’m in debt like most of us, I know all the principles of how to get out, but one wage and three kids and a mortgage sort of preclude that from actually occurring no matter how good my budgets.

On the other hand I have three great kids, a job I kind of like even though I don’t know exactly where it’s heading. I have access to as much information as I can stand – a life long dream, and I’m reasoanbly healthy after a long bout of illness that nearly wiped me out and took four years to recover from.

So I think instead of concentrating on the end game, I’m going to concentrate on just today, what I want to get done today with the end goal in the back of my mind but leaving it flexible because really as another old adage goes – none of us get out of this alive.

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