I'm Still Here

So...it's been a while since I last wrote on here.
I've been writing, a lot. Just privately.
Using my words as a means of trying to work my way through all the changes, the worry, the unknown.
And there has been plenty of that.
I'm not going to go into detail here about what's been going on. It's still too raw, too intimate, too private for this space.
Which is not to say I haven't done an enormous amount of talking, crying and even occasionally laughing in the real world. Life does go on despite the chaos around us.
I can't help wonder what is being said, how quickly the rumours have spread, if my life is now fodder for old acquaintances around the dinner table. I try not to care....but of course I do.
I thought grief only came from the death of a person. I was wrong. This past year I have felt a new level of loss, of heartbreak. My feet have slipped out from under me - my own fault for changing my shoes I suppose.
Yet I have also experienced great love, acceptance, kindness. I have been overwhelmed by the compassion that friends, colleagues and family have shown me. I have been surprised by people. I have grown, matured, fallen down and gotten back up. I continue to do so. My children and myself are my priorities and I'm trying to keep my eyes in front and not let the judgement or the hurt pull me down. It's not easy but if I know anything it is that life is short and we are ultimately responsible for ourselves - so for now I just keep breathing and riding the waves. I hope I can continue this blog but it's tricky - how do I write about my life when there is so much I cannot share now? How do I write honestly and openly when to do so could hurt people I care about? I don't know how else to write. Bear with me and thank you for reading xo

The Cleanest Colon

I made a NY resolution for 2017 that this would be the year I finally got myself a colonoscopy - what a goal! I promptly put off the organising until early this week (the first week of April - impressive) and I got on the phone to the NT Medical Specialists. Within 3 hours I had my referral, had skyped with the surgeon and was booked in for the procedure in 2 days time. Thank you universe. Not only was I getting a colonoscopy but ALSO an endoscopy which is a little camera down your throat to check out how my duodenum and stomach were getting on. A double plugger if you like.
Now a colonoscopy is not just a camera up your clacker. It's a several day process of cleaning out the bowel so it is squeaky clean for those devilish folk to have a look at what's happening in there.
This involves eating less for a few days and avoiding more fibrous foods - no problem. However the day before the procedure is a little more intense and involves drinking 3 separate drinks over a 6 hour period that assist in cleaning out the colon. This is my story.
15.06 I am one drink down, it is slightly lemony, thickish but palatable. Feeling inspired about writing this down.
15.25 I just sneezed and not only did it smell (bad breath? disease? the drink?) a small piece of poo seriously threatened to raise it's head. Consider me unnerved.
15.30 Just realised we only have one roll of double length toilet paper. Texted Josh to ask him to pick up some as I daren't leave the house.
15.45 It has begun. Currently feels as though my bladder has moved into my sphincter.
15.46 Text Josh back. Please buy the most expensive and luxurious toilet paper currently available.
15.55 The odds of me sharting myself today are sky high. Extremely likely. Almost a definite.
15.59 My friend (a veteran of 3 colonoscopies) texts to suggest baby wipes may help. I text Josh and he replies 'WTF is going on?'. I decide not to elaborate.
16.20 I feel like I may have taken a small tab of acid. I'm clammy, time is infinite and I'm creating waterfalls of shit out of my anus.
16.32 My veteran friend suggests I take a valium to help me sleep tonight. I reply 'Why? So I can shit the bed in peace?'.
16.45 My 6 year old enters the bathroom to ask me if I know anyone who can swallow swords? 'No mate. Nope. I do not. In fact, I know nothing. Everything I know has gone into the toilet. Everything'. She looks at me strangely and backs away.
16.47 The family have started to use the downstairs toilet.
16.51 I'm about to apply nappy cream to my own anus. A new low. Although unexpectedly - quite pleasant.
17.04 It's starting to burn. It's an anus fire. Do I just stay on the toilet? I don't know who I am anymore.
* I stay on the toilet. Then I lay on my bed very carefully until 18.00 and it's time for the next drink.
18.01 I have one litre of donkey piss flavoured with lemon and salt to drink within the hour.
18.16 I am two glasses in and I am Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince drinking the emerald potion from the stone basin - 'I don't want....Don't make me....I want to stop...Please let me stop'. My family carry on ignoring me.
18.37 There is no God.
18.39 There is a God and he is full of vengeance as he punishes me through my anus for every misdeed of my life.
18.47 I am a shadow of my former self. My spirit, my essence, my very being has been spurted out of me down the toilet.
18.54 I finish the last glass. There is no victory, only burning, gushing, spurts of fire from my asshole.
19.30 My 6 year old has a bath whilst I sit on the toilet waiting for the inevitable. She talks on and on about science and reptiles and the big bang and she is fucking amazing until a shower of shit erupts from my asshole. Suddenly there is silence. 'Oh God' I groan, 'I'm sorry'.
'That's fine' she shrugs. 'That sounded cool'. We burst into giggles, mine bordering on hysteria, but it's a lovely moment.
19.40 She has now taken to imitating my moans and whimpers. It would seem I sound somewhat ridiculous. We take a toilet selfie, between gushes and finally she gets to witness me (almost) ecstatically wiping more nappy cream on my ass. I wonder briefly if it's a terribly inappropriate thing for a child to watch her Mother do but a) don't care and b) think it would be worse to shut the door on her. Self pleasure starts at home kiddo.
20.01 It is all sting now. I'm light headed. As a full bodied woman, I'm beginning to feel waif like. I take my phone into the toilet and try to watch Louis CKs new Netflix special. I text my brother to tell him Louis cares more about my red raw anus than any of my family, then quickly follow it up with an apology text. So sorry. I'm not myself. My spirit has left via the back passage. I am a wounded soldier in my battle for good health. I am beyond help.
*Nothing but liquid gushes out of me at regular intervals. I've used A LOT of nappy cream.
21.00 Last drink. It's the same as the first - palatable lemon. I drink it down. Because I fucking have to.
21.17 Surely there is nothing left in me. I am devoid of shit. I think this as I squirt what remains of my soul into the toilet.
21.18 Fuck it. I take the valium. I put a mother sized overnight with wings pad on and hope for the best.
21.33 I return to my best friend, the toilet. She's got me. Forever friends.
*Finally I sleep, waking hazily maybe twice and fortunately make it to the toilet both times.
I wake, the thinnest I've been in years, also possibly the hungriest and head in for my 'procedure' scheduled for 8.45. I'm ushered through, then wait for an hour. There is a girl who keeps crying in the waiting room, but I think that's only because she is scared of needles. I hope so. I finally get called in and go through the litany of questions I'm pretty sure I've already answered 3 times in the last 2 days. I ask if I can please get on her scales and we share a nice moment when I tell her this is the first time I've willingly asked that question in about 20 years. I've lost 4 kilos in 2 days. We almost high five.
I change into my extraordinarily flattering robe and take a cheeky bum shot in the mirror for my friends enjoyment. I get settled into a bed, the anaesthetist sticks a needle into me and I'm wheeled into theatre. They ask me what procedure I'm having (seriously guys?) and I make them laugh when I say 'The Double Plugger!' my surgeon is a gorgeous pregnant young person which I'm so happy about. They roll me onto my side (fuck), inject me with whatever it is, I cheekily call out 'I'm still awake...'
Then some lady is waking me up and I'm so relaxed it's incredible. 'What did he give me?' I ask dreamily and they explain something about fentanyl which I tell them I really like and is it possible to buy it over the counter? I'm left to stare happily out the window and occasionally chat randomly with a lovely nurse who is impressed that before the procedure my resting heart rate was 54 beats per minute it is now sitting at an opium induced 42 bpm. I wonder briefly out loud if they used lube (they did). The surgeon comes to tell me I have a healthy colon and stomach and she will touch base with me again in 2 weeks to follow up. I'm given photos of my impeccably clean and healthy colon and I wish I could share them with more people, I'm just so proud. I could sell that thing As New (without tags). I fill in a feedback form and under 'What's the best thing about your experience at Darwin Day Surgery' I write 'fentanyl - kidding - it's you lovely staff who took care of me and made me feel safe'. Or something like that anyway.
Finally I'm allowed to get dressed, eat some cheese and crackers, drink 2 poppas and my lovely friend Kelly comes to pick me up. I'm slightly giddy, very cheerful and completely chill. I spend the rest of the afternoon lolling on the couch. Seriously that whole prep thing was worth it just for the fentanyl high.
Moral of the story is - take control of your health. Do what needs to be done. Empty yourself of some shit, or get someone (preferably a Dr) to shove a finger up your ass, have a pap smear - just do something so you don't die too young, from something you could have prevented. My Dad died when he was 44 of bowel cancer and you know what - he shouldn't have. If his cancer had been detected  earlier he could have lived, to see so much more of this wonderful, ridiculous life we are gifted with. I wish he had. I hope to live a long, interesting, magnificent life and if that involves cameras up the anus - then lube me up scotty, I'm all in.

What Madness?

In 21 days I will be arriving in Kathmandu, for the beginning of a 14 day tour of Nepal.
My friend Kelly and I will be going to the jungle, climbing mountains, paragliding, zip lining and flying in a small plane around Mt Everest. Eating strange spicy food, being cold, walking (a lot) and meeting Nepalese people.
I mean, it's ridiculous to even write this. I cannot fathom that it is really happening.
A friend asked me if I was excited today. I said I was, sometimes, but currently I was feeling a strange terror. She asked why and I said straight back - Well, I'm a little bit afraid I'll die, but I'm also expecting to be so far out of my comfort zone that I could seriously go into shock.
I've spent the last eleven years being a Mum, a partner, going on holidays to mostly the same places  to visit family. What madness to leave my children and go on some adventure holiday with my friend (who I'm not even sure I can fart - let alone poo around) to a poverty stricken yet magnificent country? What madness? I could die. Do not even get me started on the roads, small planes, hiking, potential listeria concerns that I have.
The Doctor actually recommended I get a RABIES vaccination. Along with Typhoid, Hepatitis A & B. Good lord. I'll gladly vaccinate my children but that's far too many needles for a grown woman who can conscientiously object to them.
I'm afraid I'll shit my pants, or worse erupt from both ends in some disgusting little drop hole toilet. I'm scared I won't be able to shower to clean myself up. I'm scared I'll be too cold, too tired, too hungry.  
I'm scared my kids will need me and I won't be there. I'm scared they will learn to cope without me and I'll be less important when I get back. I'm scared I'll be so out of my depth all my confidence will disappear and I'll be a shadow of who I think I am.
Okay, I think I got it all out. I'm still finalising funeral songs for myself, but relishing in the comfort of keeping such low expectations. I know it's going to be amazing. I know going out of my comfort zone is magnificent, rewarding and it will grow me into a better human. But I'm still a bit scared.
I aim to write it all, from the terror to joy, embarrassment to fantastical and I hope I can share it all here. Whatever happens - what a privilege is it to live it.

Butterflies and Bonding

A week out from Christmas and two of my lovely friends and I decide to head to Litchfield National Park for 3 nights. Between us we have nine kids aged from 6 - 14. We organise to stay at the Batchelor Butterfly farm in their 12 bed Home Stay accommodation.
School finishes on a Thursday and by 5.30pm we are ready to go. We stop approximately 20 minutes later at Coolalinga Macca's for dinner. Leo and I create our own burgers and I have to say it is the best thing I've ever had sober from a fast food restaurant. Fresh lettuce! Haloumi! Red Onion. The chips are served in a metal basket and they taste terrific. I add dijonaise and it just brings it all together so perfectly.
We drive for another 45 minutes and just on nightfall we arrive at our destination. It's dark, but we can smell the fresh earth and farm animal manure as soon as we step out the car. The gardens are beautiful and lush, an array of flowers and bold green leaves that flick us as we walk the path to our house.
It has wonderful bright paintings on every wall and enough bunks and mattresses for all of us. Rooms were divied up into boys/girls/mums. It suits us, although sadly our enormous wooden framed king bed with the leopard skin blanket has the faint smell of vomit attached to it. We settle in and eventually sleep.
It's a slow start for our first morning. Bacon and eggs for breakfast, the kids feed the petting zoo (rabbits!goats!pigs!) carrots and the Mums do all the stuff to ensure some form of cleanliness and order. Eventually we leave for Buley Rockhole which is a little piece of paradise in the form of rocks and water. We jump, splash, swim, then walk, then eat a delightful picnic lunch.
We drag ourselves to Florence Falls and it is worth every hesitation - not many people, cool, clear water and the perfect jumping spot - for those that dare. Six metres up the cliff face that the 8 year old shimmies up in moments (she's been here before) and then leaps daringly into the water. It's gorgeous to watch. I wish I could say I joined in....but unfortunately the fear of slipping off the side of the cliff face and causing injury to myself was too great. I did let my ten year old do it though!
We are fairly exhausted when we get home and enjoy a home made meal of burgers, sausages and salad to finish the day.
The owner of the Butterfly Farm is quite a character and seems harmless enough. I nip out to the car by way of their back yard as the front way is completely dark and appears closed. On my return he and another male staff member cajole me about the beer I'm taking in, joke that we should share it with them. One approaches me from behind and pretends to dance with me. It's creepy and innapropriate and I'm seething as I walk away.
I tell the Mum's as soon as I return and am reassured. Next time I will take a torch and go the dark way, avoid them. I feel a bit better but still wonder how is it some people think it's ok to invade another persons space so easily. I wish I was bold enough to tell him that it made me uncomfortable but settle on possibly submitting a mediocre trip advisor review.
The next day we wonder around the town of Batchelor for a bit. It's pretty small and the museum is closed so we look at the unusual miniature castle and then go shopping at the local store. We spend a small fortune on icecreams and I hire two dvds - Hunt For The Wilderpeople and Ghostbusters. They prove very popular later in the day.
We head back to Florence Falls and this time instead of walking down the 135 steps I follow the Shady Creek Walk that is 1.1kms long. It is majestical. Woodlands turn to Wetlands and all I can hear is water, wind and birds. There are little bridges that run over the creek and it is picture perfect - bright green moss, gentle running water and ancient land surrounding me.
We spend another couple of hours swimming and jumping at Florence. I insist we all walk back along Sandy Creek which is surely a better option than climbing UP 135 steps back to the carpark. It seems so until one of the children discovers a leech on her ankle and just about dislocates her knee trying to shake it off. Then it's like a contagion as child after child finds leeches on themselves. Fortunately they are pretty small and we are a tough crowd, kids are ripping them off and throwing them into bushland without breaking stride. So proud.
We go for dinner that night at the Butterfly farm restaurant. It's quite busy and several local families are eating there - surely a good sign. Sadly the kids $13 fish and chips turns out to be the lesser known cousin of fish - the finger. I eat some delicious barramundi and someone else has the nasi goreng which tastes fantastic. Adult meals are almost $30 a pop which is a bit distressing but worth it. I speak a bit more with Chris the owner and enjoy it - he's a fascinating character and 20 years ago bought an empty block of land and turned it into this wonderful, exciting home. Just don't be grabbing people from behind pal, not cool.
The next morning it's pack up and tidy time. The three days have passed in a flash and I feel relaxed and loved. The kids are happy, the car stinks because water spilt and I didn't clean it up, but I feel regenerated and connected. It's a privilege to spend time with such solid women and their entertaining children. I mean the bottle flipping! Seriously -if you haven't heard the sound of a bottle landing every three seconds for hours on end then you have not lived!

On Writing

About six months ago I went to the library one Sunday afternoon and searched for the book 'On Writing' by Stephen King. I'd heard it was a great book for writers and I was ready to be inspired.

Despite the catalogue insisting there was one copy available, the helpful library person (librarian?) and I could not find it and believe me - we looked. Since then it has sat quietly on my card, a simple request for a book, going nowhere.
Three months later, knee deep in second hand books I'm sorting for the school white elephant stall and it appears in my dirty hand like an offering from the volunteer /writer gods. So I take it home and begin to read, but very slowly, I can't fully absorb myself into it. This is an old dusty book that has a lot of great stories. It sits by my bed and gets picked up maybe once a week and now that I think about it - I haven't read any in over a month.
Then today I'm once again spending some Sunday afternoon time at the library and I enquire about another book I have on order. It's available for me but not at this library, it's at the other one which doesn't open on a Sunday. The librarian looks pleased though and tells me to hang on for a minute because there is something out the back for me. I think she means another copy of the new David Baldacci I'm waiting for and I'm a bit excited waiting for her to return.
She brings me out a brand new edition, clean smelling, paper back copy of 'On Writing'. It looks and feels so full of promise - I can't wait to read it. (Still looking forward to picking up the Baldacci tomorrow though).
Two weeks ago I bought myself a $400 laptop, so I could/would write more. Finding the energy to write out the thoughts that swirl around your mind into something cohesive, that connects, that is genuine...it's intimidating. Yet it's also joyful, liberating.
Yesterday I received some wonderful praise for this blog. It was unexpected and heartfelt and it lifted me up to the clouds. Connection through words on a screen.
I think what I'm feeling might be called inspiration...

Hallelujah

When I was a kid I loved singing. I was in the school choir, I got to sing with Kamahl in 1987(?) and Peter Combe live on stage. Wonderful experiences, the excitement and joy of singing together as a group. I loved it.
Then at some point, probably age 11 or 12 I lost interest. Maybe it became embarrassing, nerdy or maybe it looked like I was trying too hard. So I stopped singing in public and instead shut myself in my room and sang into my hairbrush.
I knew I wasn't a great singer, but occasionally I could pull off some serious Tori Amos or Madonna. But I stopped being able to sing in front of people. I could manage a soft drone, but singing from my belly - I physically couldn't do it.
For years it's been on my bucket list. Learn to sing. I figured if I could sing well I wouldn't be so scared to sing publicly. Unfortunately I was too shy to get singing lessons, so I just continued to sing alone in the car or very softly around people.
A few things happened that changed all that. I started singing to my kids and sometimes, if no other adults were around, I sounded good! I sang those nursery rhymes loud and proud.
I also started going to a monthly Taize session, where for 40 minutes we sing/chant in candlelight. The darkened room helped and if there was someone there who could really sing, well occasionally I could join in with them, lifting my voice and feeling that release. I started to feel connected again.
Finally, I made a friend who whenever we got drunk together would insist upon playing songs we all knew and loved from the 70s and 80s and we would sing. Loudly, drunkenly, passionately. I stopped feeling so shy and just enjoyed it.
So this same friend and I found a choir run by Sing Australia every Thursday evening. The first night we went and they asked whether we were alto or soprano I nearly ran out the door. Thank goodness for Leigh, with her quick wit and dry humour, we stayed. We sang, mostly quietly but there were moments of letting go, joining in. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming and the best part was we weren't the only ones singing out of tune! Nobody worried about that - they were there to sing! Just sing. It didn't matter if you weren't 'good'.
Tonight was our fourth visit. I'm getting louder, braver and singing from my belly. There are moments when my skin tingles all over because together we are singing and it is glorious. Granted there are other moments when I think oh god make it stop this is terrible, but mostly it just feels good to sing. Tonight, at the end, we sang Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen and it was magnificent. I'm pretty sure he might have heard us in heaven.

Revealing Women

Last night I performed in a show for the Fringe Festival called Revealing Women.
We were 6 women, each telling our own stories along the themes of vulnerability, naked, forbidden and strong.
The rehearsals were good, but occasionally arduous and nerve wracking - how would we ever learn our lines in time?
I was excited, but terrified.
My piece was a bit rude, definitely not something I could rehearse around the children at home. I recorded it onto my phone, then rehearsed over and over in my car, walking the dog, on my lunch break.
I was terrified that I would freeze on stage and completely forget or fluff my lines.
All of a sudden it's performance night. I feel okay and I look okay, particularly after one of the girls loans me her amazing red lipstick. I'm nervous but calm.
We walk on stage to introduce ourselves and I spot the front row - 8 of my gorgeous friends beaming up at us. I hear them, laughing, cheering, having a wonderful time. There are about 30 people in the crowd and they are fantastic, so enthusiastic and supportive.
Then it's my turn. I walk out, spotlight is so bright, I can't really see anyone, just lights and blackness.
And I nail it. Every word, every pause. I smile and use expression, I feel confident and funny and comfortable telling this story, my story.
It's the same for each of us. The audience are wonderful, we all feel so proud and grateful.
Afterwards my friends come backstage and my dear friend Leisa hands each performer 2 pink roses. I get so many cuddles and compliments and I am buzzing with joy and adrenaline.
I still am.

What a wonderful thing it is to get out of your comfort zone, to push the boundaries, to collaborate with other people. I'm so delighted. Tonight we do it all again!