No Photo Necessary. But here's one anyway...
Not quite sure where to start with this blog. I had considered that it might be best just to leave it as a Title, but what would be the fun in that hey?! Instead I have decided to bravely enter the world of nought privacy and confess all, in the hope of encouraging someone else to step back from the ledge, so they can point and laugh at my miserable life, and muse "at least I don't have a broken bum crack". 
I will however spare you from any visual aids that may enhance the horror you are already experiencing, and to create the illusion of calm, I have taken the liberty of colouring in my lettering for you (the unforeseen victim in all of this), with a physchologically proven colour of tranquil-ness; pink. Just send me your invoices for the therapy that will be required after you read this blog if you require compensation. Alternatively...look away NOW!
OK, here we go....
So Mum is back inside the locked ward that's inside the locked ward at Tweed Valley Clinic - lets just call it Alcatraz for short. Mum has been trying hard this year, she's had several different jobs for varying lengths of time (which isn't bad going for a 51 year old woman with no formal training living on the Gold Coast who is entitled to the sickness benefit anyway but prefers to work - makes all those slackers out there ripping off the tax-payer look like complete wankers that's for certain), and she's lived at several different addresses also; half way homes mostly for heavily medicated individuals trying to reintroduce themselves into society at a more affordable price.
But no matter about all that now, because in the blink of an eye it's all gone and mum's giving the nursing staff a good run for their money again. I was very nearly convinced last week that mum was feeling better and might even be getting out in the next couple of days, but every phone call since then has been a slippery slide down even deeper into Mania-ville. I have tried to call her everyday as moral support, but due to the global time differences, my long working hours, and mum's essential smoking breaks, I haven't always been able to get through. Of course she's unsettled because I am "so far away" and Daniel is also "so far away" (while he is off contiki touring the top end of Australia for the first time in his life), and Matthew is "not talking to me at the moment" (according to the fastest-word-salad-speaking-mother-of-the-year-2011). We are all just 'doin our thang' and learning to love life, but mum's rational brain has been hijacked and chemically challenged over the last month, and so have all of ours.
None of this is new for me mind you. In fact it's quite normal really and totally boring after 34 years. Think of the movie Ground Hog Day and then insert Donna here. Only minor details like the date and the year ever change but otherwise it's the same 'ol skip in the record. But it's not like you can have a garage sale and palm it off to some poor sod for a buck, all you can do is pick it up, dust it off, put the cover back on it and hold on to it for the sentimental reasons.
Now I am not too pleased to confess that I am going to have to re-sit and repeat Pharmacology for the thriciest of times (the third time, for those who don't speak fluent cherry) and quite possibly the last-est of opportunities to maintain registration as a Midwife in NZ. What is wrong with this country - don't they know who the F. I. is (well..no..not Nikki Minaj as such, but someone else who is also good at her job which may or may not involve dry-humping motorcycles in leopard skin tight suits with a super bass BACKSIDE). How did we get onto this and How did I let this happen I sense you thinking? - well...I can't be too sure, but a lack of concentration, enthusiasm and commitment to study does seem to leap out at me. I beg you not to judge me for this ridiculous lapse in educational motivation and in my defence I would like to point out several weak excuses for the above mentioned flunking...
Pharmacology Take 1. I originally enrolled in Otago Poly Technic college and then decided that my wedding was going to take priority and that Otago Poly Technic college sucked at writing pharmacology papers so in protest I pulled out after a month forfeiting the criminally expensive course fees which had to be paid up front...
Take 2. Then I got serious about studying as my time was running out to complete the required conditions on my issued registration (I currently only have an Interim status) so I side stepped O.P.T.C and decided to go with the opposition: Auckland University of Technology. It would appear that they also can not write decent online correspondance programs that will nurture and teach me about drugs. What have you got to do to get educated in this shite hole? So now I am ringing to tell AUT that I am no closer to answering the riddles at the end of their modules than I was when I began the course...
Take 3. I have been semi-granted an extension on my uselessness and given an opportunity to remain in employment so long as I am re-enrolled, payed in full (for a third flippin time) and then actually show that I am 'applying myself'. I kind of thought I had been applying myself for the last 18 months but it turns out I actually haven't at all and so now I have to do three courses at the same time because I hadn't realised that there were other required courses that are now compulsory as well - cultural safety x2 and Pharmacology. This is just for overseas midwives, NZ trained midwives apparently do all this in their undergraduate degree...."BULLSHIT*COUGH".
So I will be out of pocket another $2000 by the end of next week, give or take a few hundred and then I will be 'APPLYING MYSELF' with every nucleus within my cells.
Now for the leading story you've all been waiting for.
I'll keep this brief with as little descriptive text as possible...and hopefully in the form of a Haiku.
Ode to my arsehole
Medication
Constipation
Game of Boulder Dash
Broken pipes ripped to shreds
Horray for Anal Fissures
OK so it didn't rhyme but at least it was less traumatic than the real thing, so just count yourself lucky I have spared you the facts.
A new arsehole is on the Christmas wish list for this year. Proctologist vouchers will also be graciously welcomed.
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