CONTENT WARNING! Female Medical Issues, Boys You Are Welcome To Stay, But Don't Say You Weren't Warned.

I was going to do another generic post, with all of the unexciting events which have occurred over the last couple of weeks. But given that even I'm bored with my life at the moment, why would I subject you guys to it as well? I have been tossing around the idea of doing this post for a few days, wasn't sure how it would go, but given the title, if you've elected to read on, then welcome and on your head be it. I promise I won't get too graphic.

I alluded to some medical problems at CBG the other day, and the PMS bat is frequently hauled out in the various Ladies Lounges to bludgeon the poor male Burgers into submission. Now, I don't actually get PMS. But before you ladies start howling in outrage allow me to explain.

A few years ago, (4th of January 2005 to be exact), I woke up in excruciating pain. And SICK! Major gastric attack but with pain that I swear was worse than labour! I phoned my Doctor's surgery, and somehow managed to drive myself over there, where the Doctor took one look at me and called an ambulance. She sent along with me a request for various tests including ultrasound, mainly to check that there were no issues with my appendix (it was removed when I was 13, but apparently the "stump" can get inflamed and cause major problems down the track). Anyway, long story short, much pain relief (morphine FFS), and absolutely no answers later, they sent me home. Okay maybe it was just a particularly nasty virus, take the week off work, see how you go. If pain persists see your Doctor.

And boy did that pain persist! Couple of nights later, Mum had to drag me back to Emergency, where the young Doctor established that I had PERIOD PAIN! For which he prescribed MORPHINE FFS. Now I've never had an easy time of it around that time of the month, and had, since I was about 17, suffered from ovarian cysts. Enough that I was eventually diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, one side effect of which is enormous difficulty achieving pregnancy, well we all know how difficult THAT turned out to be! Later tests discounted that diagnosis, but anyway, the point is having suffered from these sorts of "Women's Issues" for well over 20 years, I wasn't quite convinced that period pain at this time was a particularly accurate diagnosis. And who the hell takes Morphine for period pain anyway?

So, he gave me a referral to the Gynae clinic, and of course being a struggling single Mum, I had no health insurance, so had to wait months to see anyone there. In the meantime my pain persisted, so my Doctor sent me for more tests. I had blood tests on a weekly basis which indicated that I had inflammation somewhere, just no idea where. I had a colonoscopy, an endoscopy, glucose tolerance test, several ultrasounds (including my first internal ultrasound.. fun that...NOT), Pap Smear, even a mammogram (which OF COURSE showed up a suspicious lump which I then had to have biopsied). But the net result of all of these tests was nothing. Zip! Zilch! Nada! Nothing for it but to do the best I could getting through the day. Worked when I could, developed a permanent stoop, because by this time the pain was so constant I couldn't stand straight to save my life. We know there's a problem, we just don't know what it is. There were some indications that the problem was gynaecological in nature, by this time I was bleeding very heavily each month, at times flooding. So nothing for it but to wait for the Gynae appointment at the local hospital.

What luck! I got the head of the department YAY! NOT! She examined the ultrasounds, read the test results and reports, and established that there was definitely a problem. So far so good! She decided that the best way to find out more was to get in a have a look around. Okay, nothing else was working, that's fine. Between her and my GP, it was decided that seeing I was on the table anyway, we may as well do a D & C and insert an IUD at the same time. The IUD, in an effort to at least slow, maybe even stop the heavy bleeding. Okay, another couple of months on the waiting list I can live with that.

Game day arrives, just a day surgery, no big deal, off I go. Wake up after the surgery, Doc comes in to have a chat. Well we found some adhesions from previous surgery, but given that they've been there at least 10 years, they can't possibly be causing you any pain, so we left them alone. Now this SORT of make sense. Cutting the adhesions leads to the obvious risk of more adhesions, but given that they found no other problems maybe they should have rethought that decision? Particularly when my GP received a more thorough report which indicated that the scar tissue was affecting my bowel, and hiding parts of my bowel and other organs, so that they couldn't really see what was going on. Never mind, maybe the IUD will help.

It did and it didn't. No more flooding, just constant bleeding, I mean EVERY day. Along with the usual period pain, just still magnified 10x what I had experienced before this saga started. My GP was not happy, and even though he knew that money was scarce, convinced me to see a private Gynaecologist. His referral made clear that my financial situation was precarious (particularly given that I was still having a large amount of time of work, and had long since run out of sick leave - although I had an amazing manager at the time, she just kept paying me, and I would make up the time, an hour here, an hour there whenever I had a less awful day), so the Gynae cut me a break on the fees. I chose the Doctor who had delivered The Brat, some of you who reside in QLD would probably recognise his name, as in the intervening years he had developed quite a high profile, and lucrative practice.

Well, he too examined the tests and pictures duly presented for his inspection. Start with ANOTHER Pap Smear. First diagnosis, I'm diabetic. 2nd diagnosis I desparately need to replenish my iron stores. Okay that one I'll go along with, but let me tell you, triple the usual dose of iron tablets causes ALL sorts of additional problems, including the necessity to take more drugs to counteract the effects of the iron. The diabetes diagnosis not so much. At best pre-diabetes, but even that's a stretch, and given that a repeat test the following year was normal, perhaps my GP was correct is suggesting that the Gynae was panicking just a little. Next suggestion -  a hysterectomy. Why? The hospital Gynaecologist said my uterus and ovaries were perfectly healthy (what she could see of them anyway). Explain to me how removing perfectly healthy organs will improve my situation. No idea! Best guess, cutting nerves during the procedure will eliminate the pain. Not good enough. I was not yet 40 when all of this was going on, and even though I knew it was highly unlikely I would ever have another child, I didn't want the option taken away completely, especially given that there were no guarantees it would even help.

By now it's August. I have been in constant pain (some days worse than others), for EIGHT months. I have been bleeding steadliy for the last 3 of those months, and no answers still. Desperate times call for desperate measures. GP calls Gastroenterologist (they went to medical school together, along with my cousin, who was also kept apprised of events as they occurred). Given that the keyhole surgery earlier in the year suggested there may be some bowel issues, (it is stuck in places to other organs), lets do another colonoscopy. YAY!

2nd Colonoscopy just as clear as the 1st. But let's try something else. My Gastroenterologist wrote a letter to the hospital where I had continued to front up to emergency (several times by ambulance), and Gynae appointments. He STRONGLY suggested that they take another look inside, only this time have a General Surgeon participate alongside the Gynae, open me up this time, no more keyhole, and have a PROPER bloody look. Ahh the public hospital system! Not gonna happen, but yeah okay we'll have another look. While we're there we might just replace the IUD, because maybe this one's not working as well as it should.
Oh d'ya think? Of course by the time all of this toing and froing was done, it's now DECEMBER. This has gone on for ELEVEN months, and this is elective surgery, so it will have to wait until after Christmas, early February in fact, when the hospital came out of Christmas hibernation.

My body had other ideas. In mid-December, I collapsed outside the door to my Doctor's surgery. They're situated in my local shopping centre and I was on my way to buy groceries. Once again, into an ambulance, this time with a strongly worded suggestion that they FKN DO SOMETHING! My Gynae (the hospital one) attended me in emergency, and agreed to admit me. I went to a medical ward, but as they were closing beds for Christmas, soon got shunted to maternity. Then my Gynaecologist came to inform me that another Doctor would be taking over my case, as her husband had been involved in a car accident. This Doctor had agreed to do the surgery the next morning provided no emergencies occurred to bump me off the list. Fair enough. Off to a surgical ward, where I was treated pretty much as an imposition by most of the nursing staff.

Next morning with no definite word on whether or not I was going to surgery, I suggested that maybe I should prep for it just in case. Just as well, as I was still showering when they came to get me. Back under the anaesthetic, and the knife. Awoke to have the new Doc tell me that no, they hadn't opened me up, still keyhole, but this time they decided to remove the adhesions. He told me very confidently that this would make NO difference to whatever ailed me, as they were so old, they could not POSSIBLY be afecting me. Oh, and he had had a general Surgeon pop along for a quick look, and they could find no problems with my bowel or other organs. Well at least now they could see them I suppose.

Well, I wasn't thrilled, but at least this time they had done something. For the 1st time in my life though I had some minor drama coming out of the anaesthetic, and it was 24 hours before I could get out of bed. After I went for a walk (yes, to the smoking area), one of the nurses who had given me a pretty hard time when I was admiited, came to see me. She apologised for the treatment I had received at the hands of the nursing staff! Appears they had taken their lead from the Doctors, who had indicated I was a hypochondriac, wasting everybody's time. She told me that until they had seen me up and around after the surgery, the nurses hadn't appreciated just how crook I was. My posture had improved, my colour was almost normal (not grey), and the only pain I was experiencing was normal post-surgical tenderness. A Win! Why TF they hadn't done this 6 months earlier though was (and still is) a source of anger.

Anywho, that was 5 years ago. For about the next 3 years, I still experienced bleeding every day of my life. Very light bleeding, more a nuisance than anything else, but heavier at times approximating an actual cycle. Stll pain most days, but nothing like that horrendous year, manageable with OTC drugs, then eventually I would go days, then even weeks without any bleeding. I remember one of my sisters complaining once that she was on about the 12th day of her period. She shut up fast when I reminded her that I was on approximately the 545th day of mine.

Then 2 years ago, things got gradually worse, still not to the extent of 2005, but getting close on some days. I chose another private Gynaecologist, and went to see him, armed once again with all of the information from that year, as well as more recent tests, including blood tests, which again showed a spike indicating that the inflammation, which had remained present at low levels, was getting worse. This time the diagnosis was a lot easier. Apart from the likelihood of new adhesions, I had a large ovarian cyst. This is a puzzle, because these things are formed during ovulation, and the IUD is supposed to stop me ovulating. Anyway, arrangements were made to remove this as it had apparently persisted long after most of the buggers burst, but a pre-surgery ultrasound, indicated that while there was still a little rubbish there, the cyst had finally burst. Yay!

Still, since then, slowly things are returning to the way they were in 2005. The pain is increasing, but still manageable with Panadol and Nurofen, most days maximum dosages of both. No need at this stage to look at more potent meds, particularly as I don't like them, and have anyway developed an allergy to the Morphine derived drug they sent me home with at one stage. This could indicate an allergy to Morphine, and anyway, I don't believe in taking heavy drugs for what is essentially a part of any woman's life. I put up with it in the main, though I am aware that I'm again developing ovarian cysts (the pain changes), and at those times it is very tempting to just curl up in bed for a couple of days.

I rarely complain any more about the pain. There's no point, it's there and I have to live with it, at least until it gets completely crippling. I have warned my GP that things are slowly getting worse, so we will hopefully both be prepared for it when or if I get back to rock bottom. Sadly the next treatment is 99% likely to be a hysterectomy. Of course that's still surgery, and the potential for more adhesions remains.

It does affect me, my attitudes, my mobility, my moods, and the way I take care of myself. I make an effort to not let the pain rule my life, but some days it just does. I am tired all of the time, but still try to just get on with it. But yeah, I just don't always do the right thing by my body, because I don't have the energy, mental or physical. Ironically, I would almost assuredly feel better in myself, and improve my overall health, as well as these particular issues, if I made more effort to look after my diet and get some exercise. So this sis my commitment to myself, not to anyone else, just to me... I'm going to start looking after myself physically. I've already started working on my attitude, I am trying to avoid a repeat of that year, and if I don't then I won't have as much to beat myself up about!

Post Deleted!

Self indulgent crap, looking for validation for my own bad behaviour. Will try again tomorrow nite.

There but for the Grace of God............

 The following is a story. It is not autobiographical, but it is a story I can identify with.

She's lonely! He reminds her of just how lonely she is.... by a look, an "accidental" touch, a sotto voce double entendre.


She's been alone for seven years, well, not really alone, she has her adorable child. The child keeps her busy, frantic, overwhelmed sometimes, until now she's never felt truly achingly alone. Sure it would be nice to have a man in the house, to share the load, to cuddle, to commiserate with, to celebrate with. It hits her in times of extreme highs or lows, but it hasn't, until now, been a yearning, a constant need.


He's on a mission. He reminds her with his touch, his words, that she hasn't been intimate with a man in nearly eight years. Her mind, her heart, say NO! This is wrong, people will get hurt. His wife, her child, his child. Her stubborn, traitorous body rejects the consensus. She's HORNY dammit! She had forgotten this side of her nature, wishes now that it had stayed buried. She tries to avoid him at gatherings, his wife notices and wonders why. She's honest with her, the wife laughs it off, he's just an incorrigible flirt. Tell him you're uncomfortable, he'll back off. She does, a mistake. Now he knows. He's winning the battle! Her body is on his side, her heart and mind will capitulate.


He steps up his campaign. Calling her on one pretext or another when he is alone, telling her what he is doing to himself as he talks to her. She stops answering her mobile, but can't ignore the landline, what if it's an emergency, the child or her parents? She hangs up on him. But then he's there, at her front door, late, when her child is asleep, telling her he's sorry. He doesn't mean to hurt her, he loves his wife, but he's drawn to her. He will stop. He doesn't, he won't. He kisses her. Her mouth says NO! Her brain screams NO! Her body overrules with an emphatic YES! God YES! I have missed this! I love this!


It doesn't end well for her.

Twitter and other things........... ' cos I can't think of a better title.

Well there's nothing to bitch about this week, except the heat. Those of you who live in SEQ already know it's been craptacularly hot, those of you who don't, have listened to those of us who do, bitch about it ad infinitum. So that's it! It's hot!

The Brat had his Oz day BBQ yesterday, and it went off really well. No problems, no gatecrashers, sadly it appears we did have one bogan in the house, kept wanting to move the party to SouthBank, but we kept him on a leash, so that was okay too. The Brat bought a large kids pool, and proved once and for all, that around water on a hot day, we're all still kids. The carpet got soaked, but one of the young girls who attended the party stuck around today to clean up with my brother's help, while The Brat and I were at work.

Tried the Roo, didn't care for it, but at least now I can say I've tried it. Don't you hate it though when kids turn around and use your own words against you? I was forever telling The Brat off for saying he didn't like a particular food when he hadn't tried it. So of course when I was unsure about eating Skippy, it was "how do you know you don't like it if you haven't tried it?" Brat! So I've tried it and I STILL don't like it, so there! The best bit? I didn't have to do a thing. No prep, no cooking, no cleaning. I did pick up a bag of ice when I went out for a couple of things I needed, but just in case, not because I'd been asked to. I even managed to escape a lot of the noise by barricading myself in my brother's air conditioned flat, and reading a Joy Fielding novel.

I finally succumbed to the twitterverse this past week or so. Anyone who has read my very first post may remember the warning from "Handsome Nautilus" to stay away from the evil of twitter. Turns out he just didn't want to share. I'm getting into it slowly, but if anyone can point me towards a twitter tutorial I'd be grateful. It's a whole new language - TweetDeck, Echofon, Twitpic - all greek to me, but if I don't learn to use it properly, I'll probably give up. I'd like to be able to keep in touch a bit while I'm away next month, and won't have access to a computer. I think I can use twitter on my phone, but not sure how. Any tips would be welcome.

Which brings me to pretty much the only other news I have this week. Heading back to Melbourne for 8 days at the end of February. Fireman Sam will pick me up, so Catty, here's your chance to break out the cheerleader outfit, if you can get it back from Rhino in one piece. Have tentative plans to catch up with some of the Melbourne Burgers while I'm there, hopefully that will happen. The ball's in your court fellas. Also, if anyone knows of a job down there for an Admin Guru, let me know!

So that's it! Maybe my life will be more exciting next week! Tune in just in case.

FELAFELABULOUS!

Sooo glad I went last night to the BAT for the closing night of "He Died With a Felafel In His Hand".

Last night's excursion was my first exposure to John Birmingham's novel, or any of his novels for that matter, and the experience was AWESOME! Obviously, without having read the book, I can't be 100% certain, but I'm pretty sure that the screenplay wasn't entirely true to the original. The jury is still out on Flinthart as manager of a strip club, but references to current politicians, events, technical advancements, and certain people who manifest frequently in JB's blogosphere, sort of gave the game away. Of course, that was a big part of the charm and a certain amount of the humour.

The best thing for me though, was the feeling that even had I not been familiar with the Burger "in jokes", I would still have had a fabulous time. The cast were amazing, the script was hilarious, the energy was electric. I'm not a writer (by any stretch of the imagination), nor am I a regular film or theatre-goer. I'm certainly not a critic. I just know what I enjoy, and I really enjoyed this.  My one regret was that I didn't realise that The Brat would have the night off when I booked my ticket. He would really have loved it, having inherited my weird sense of humour.

Thank you so much to all concerned, and I will definitely be fronting up for the sequel. To the Fabulous Girl Clumsy, if you thank me for coming one more time, I will have to bitch slap you. Of course not being 16, I'm not entirely sure how to bitch slap, but meh you get that. You were amazing, and it's you, the entire cast and crew, and of course the author and playwright who deserve thanks, and you have mine.

It Just Pisses Me Off Is All............

Can someone explain to me why tradesmen (in particular - though the phenomenon is probably not limited to them), feel that it is absolutely necessary to demonise and bully the apprentices under their control?

Please don't tell me that it's just the way it is, that it "builds character" and allows young people to learn confict resolution skills. 'Cos that's just bullshit! It shouldn't be, it doesn't and it absolutely doesn't. All it does is drive young people out of trades, and perpetuates a cycle of bullying that should not be allowed to continue.

When I started as an apprentice chef (back in the dark ages), I was bullied mercilessly by the 4th year I was hired to ultimately replace (once he qualified and became unaffordable). His rationale (and he was quite open about it), was that he had been treated like shit, now he had the power, and he was going to make me every bit as miserable as he had been. WTF? First I took up smoking to relieve the stress (yes I was young and stupid - as apprentices are wont to be), then left altogether, never completing my apprenticeship. There were additional reasons for my chucking it in, but the culture of bullying was the predominant one. 30 years down the track, not only is this still going on, but it appears to be considered perfectly acceptable.

Admittedly my first hand knowledge is centred on hospitality and in particular chefs. I don't doubt that there is a similar problem in other trades and industries, just as I don't doubt that there are qualified tradies whose aim is to actually get the best from their apprentices without these ridiculous tactics. Sadly, I think that most chefs will employ these hard-arsed tactics. It's unnecessary and given the already difficult nature of the industry (unsociable hours, crap pay, etc,), completely unacceptable.

Only what the hell do you do about it? Apprentices don't have a union. The private apprenticeship mob who looks after The Brat (yeah in case you hadn't guessed , this is about The Brat), will always take the side of the employer - because without the employer they don't make any money. As a parent, I feel infuriated and helpless. How do I deal with this? How do I cope with my kid being miserable in a job, when he really likes the actual work and is potentially good enough to reach the top of his field.

I have employed the usual platitudes - "Don't let it get to you", "It's wrong, but that's the way this industry is and you have to learn to live by their screwed up rules", " You'll be qualified in 15 months, keep your head down, don't give them an excuse, you'll get through it". It's all crap! He shouldn't have to put up with it. I have brought him up to stand up for himself against bullies, and now as he becomes a young man, I tell him to throw his upbringing out the window, and just shut up and take it! Again WTF?

The Brat is a good kid. He's clever, he's funny, he has impeccable manners (when the situation warrants it), and he will do anything for anyone. He's also quick tempered, a bit (okay a lot) of a smartarse, sometimes drinks too much, and sometimes gets aggressive, (not related to drinking too much, and he is not prone to violence against other people - only walls and windows and the like). When a chef tells him that he wants to punch him in the face, he responds with "so fuckin do it fuckhead". This leads to a written warning for unprofessionalism and lack of respect for senior staff. WTF? Do you respect anyone who threatens to punch you in the face? Why does the chef who makes the threat (and make no mistake this is a threat) have no consequences. What do any of them hope to achieve? It's not going to make him a better Chef, it won't improve his cooking skills, or teach him how to handle staff, or how to order and maintain stock, or any of the myriad other skills he will need to become a professional in his chosen field. So what's the fucking point?

More importantly..... how do we deal with it? The Brat is 18, a year ago I had the power to intervene because he was a minor (I didn't until the situation became dangerous, by the way!). Now unless specifically invited by one or more of the parties involved, I have to keep my nose out of it. I don't want to fight The Brats battles for him anyway, as I said I have brought him up to stand up for himself (without violence). Kinda makes me think it's my fault really, if I hadn't, he might be more inclined to just take the crap that's dished out, which by the way wouldn't reduce  the bullying, but might lessen the consequences of "answering back". FFS he's not a 5 year old being told to clean his room and giving Mum a mouthful of cheek. He's a young adult, trying to learn a trade and make an honest living, and learn how to get on in the world. A world full of contradictions and confusion.

Here's a scenario:

The Brat works 10 am to 10 pm (ish). He gets a 2 - 3 hour break if he's lucky. During that time he goes to the pub, and has a couple of drinks. Later that day he injures himself badly with a knife. Emergency room staff stitching him up smell alcohol, and report it, thus voiding any possible workcover claim, and losing him his job. He's fucked! But he doesn't understand why, because on his first day in the job, Chef took him to the pub and bought him drinks! And that's not the only time either. How do you convince this young man that this is how it's going to play out. Surely if that was the case, Chef would never have taken him to the pub, thus implying that it was okay to have a few drinks during the working day, then go back to work and play with knives and fire and potentially explodey things. Guess what? Chef will deny all, point to the line on The Brat's contract that forbids alcohol consumption, and escape any consequences. The Brat is Fucked.

Chefs and other tradies/bosses or anyone responsible for teaching a young person, need to take responsibility. Chef, this is my kids life you are screwing with. YOU spend more time with him than I do. Treating him like shit is not going to build his character. It's going to make him angry, and resentful. A handy coping mechanism will be alcohol (mine was nicotine), I already see it.... after a particularly shitty day, he feels like he needs to drink to drown it out. That's fucking scary folks! It's also NOT a behaviour he learned in the home, just in case you believe those government sponsored advertisements that would have you believe that your drinking habits are the reason your child/ren will be problem drinkers. (If that theory held water, The Brat would be a smoker, and would have a drink maybe once or twice a year on special occasions).

Help me out here folks, I'd be particularly interested in hearing the other side of the story if anyone's keen.

It's not all about YOU!

Yes, I am pissed off that he didn't talk to me about what's going on, and I let him know it.


I'm pissed off that he DID tell his sister some of what he's feeling, which she duly passed on to me, which he knew she would. Apparently, despite initiating a discussion about which of us is going to move so we can be together, (last time I was in Melbourne), when the subject came up in conversation again once I was home, he freaked out. "She's talking about moving down here" he wailed to his sister. Sounds like cold feet to me.


Look, I have known this guy most of my life, and have had strong feelings for him since day 1. There have been times when he has treated me not terribly well, and I have basically just walked away. This time is different somehow. Maybe it's because I'm getting older, and lonely, but I think that there is obviously SOMETHING (an evil sprite perhaps) that keeps pulling us together time after time.


My decision to move back to Melbourne is definitely in a large part because of him. BUT it's not ALL about him. (As his sister told him none too gently). I lived in Melbourne throughout my adolescence. I moved to Brisbane with my family when I was 21, and hated it, so moved back. Once I fell pregnant with The Brat, I came home for family support, but as a single Mum, who has seen first hand the traps that many single Mums fall into, I pretty much put The Brat ahead of everything else for 18 years, including my own interests and friendships. I concentrated on working, studying and trying to be the best Mum I could be, so that my son didn't end up a statistic (you know the one.... in trouble with the Police, well he's from a sole parent family, what do you expect). I have a couple of very good friends, but my social circle has mainly consisted of Basketball parents. Now that The Brat rarely plays (due to work) or if he does play, parents are now no longer necessary, (for transport, support etc.), my social life (if you could ever have called it that), is much diminished.


In Melbourne, I have 2 of my sisters, one sister-in-law, and a niece and nephew. I also have a large group of school and work friends. Now yes, we have all moved on with our lives, there are partners and kids and careers, so it's not like I expect that I can just slot back in to the same sort of social scene we had as kids. BUT, it seems there is more chance of me having some sort of life down there than here. I will miss The Brat enormously, but let's face it, he wants and needs to cut the apron strings. As he should! I love my parents, but the idea that my social life revolves around them scares the hell out of me. I DO worry, that Mum will have some difficulty when I leave, because of Dad's multiple health problems, but as I pointed out to one of my sisters, I shouldn't have to be responsible for them, not entirely and certainly not alone. My parents had 5 children, one has just informed the family by mail, that she is changing her name by deed poll, changing her contact details, and appointing an intermediary in case we need to contact her. My brother is bipolar. He is very supportive, if Dad's in hospital he cooks for Mum, looks after the house and dog while they are away, and has taken over virtually all of the house and yard maintenance (which, by the way they pay him for). Unfortunately his illness can and does cause problems. My other 2 sisters as you know are in Melbourne, and removed from the daily drama that has always been a part of our family life. That's the way they like it. That leaves me! I've just spent the last nearly 20 years being responsible for someone else, I'm not prepared to spend the next 20 being responsible for my parents and brother (as his illness will inevitably require). If my sisters are worried, then they should move back here and share the load. If that's selfish, so be it.

I am also unhappy in my job. When I started here it was awesome. I was learning new things, had the opportunity to study, and got along very well with my boss and his wife. Earlier this year that changed. I made a few mistakes, which I owned and learned from. I had been six months in the job, and was expected to be perfect. The boss has been 25 years in this industry and stuffs up, but I'm not allowed to. That annoys me more than a little. Sure, if something major goes wrong, it's his licence and business on the line, but if that happens it's just as likely to be his screw up as mine. Apart from that I just can't handle spending so much time alone. I am looking for another job. Financially it's likely that I will need to wait until later in the year to move, but I don't want to miss the perfect opportunity because it comes up a couple of months before I anticipate the move. If it happens sooner than planned, then I will cope. I usually do.

So, the above ramblings are some of the reasons I want to move back to Melbourne. I am not kidding myself, I know that the largest part of this is to do with my man. However, I don't plan to move down there and move in with him, or take over his life, or be joined at the hip with him 24/7. I DO want to find out if we have a chance at a proper relationship. I'm NOT going to be his booty call for the next 25 years. I don't think we can have any sort of relationship when we are so far apart. So I will go to Melbourne again in March, and we will have a discussion (unless he makes it up here before then, which he says he is trying to do). I can't do this over the phone. I think we need to sit down and have a proper discussion. I have asked his sisters not to get too involved in this. They are both reeaaallly pissed off with him over the Christmas fiasco, and both of us have talked to them about what's going on, but we need to do this ourselves, not via his sisters, (even though they are both on my side and will certainly slap him upside the head if I give them the word).

The main thing is I suppose, that I need to be happy. I deserve to have a life that is my own. I don't want to be lonely and bitter and twisted, and blame everybody else in my life for the fact that I'm unhappy. It won't be my son's fault, or my sisters' or my parents, or even this man's. My happiness and fulfilment are MY responsibility, and I will TAKE responsibility. If I don't do what I think will make me happy, then I don't deserve to be happy.

So yes gentle reader, the discussions will happen. If they don't go the way I would like, well that's just another area of my life I will need to spring clean. If he runs a mile in the opposite direction, well, that won't stop me moving to Melbourne. It's where I want to be, and where I think I can be happy, with or without him.