I still get teary eyed a year on, she was such an inspiration in so many ways on so many levels and it’s still sad that she has gone.
That’s why I’ve dedicated the three Porn Stars Brothers books to her. She inspired me, and them, so they are for her.
I hope I live up to the same standard.
media, and took her advice when it came to writing. Hell, I want to be her when
it comes to my writing, and her rollicking ballsy attitude was a breath of
fresh air. I even wished I owned her house, it was awesome! But all of a sudden
this year, back in May, I had the urge to start collecting her books. Some
weird deep down, desperate need of Jackie because I still miss
her. And that quickly turned into an addiction.
It started mainly on May 25th, the day mum went in for her
endoscope for her ulcers and I hit the op shops and second hand book stores. I
scored 25 books that would have cost me a fortune to buy online. However that’s
what I’ve spent, a small fortune, that ended up with doubles from online
sellers not selling or sending the correct versions. I got my money back on
most, but I’m out a few bucks.
started buying from, helped me get older versions that you can’t find any more.
And the more current versions were easy. Of course I googled
the covers and had to decide on which versions to get, as there are
so many reprints. I’ve ended with with 3-10 editions of each book,
depending on how many have been released.
main goal was the hard covers in both the UK and US editions. A hard find
for many. And I’m still collecting, not sure if it will ever be complete, but
just like with my Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Dana Girls and Trixie Belden
collections, it will (hopefully, fingers crossed), be completed one day.
definitely growing. I even had to boot Nancy off two shelves
to accommodate JC.
(some weren’t the correct
covers and one was a freebie. They refunded but it got sent anyway! I’ve also
had to update Lovers and Players because I don’t like the name being worn off.)
(two are replacements as I wanted
the larger ones to make them all even when standing on the shelf. I hate having
a series of books all different sizes. I like them even, which is why two more
will need replacing. How’s the old Sunday Simmons and pink Lady Boss covers?)
So far it’s about 165 books or so, some free from refunds, and around $1600 give or take since May, so about $10 a book. Not bad considering some were more expensive than others and some were just a few cents depending on where I bought them from, like the op shop.
Some books are hard to get, so the first 10 or so hardcovers are very rare, in fact, I haven’t even seen most of them in my searches, just the paperback versions of which there are many. The search will continue but it will probably only be a couple a month now as I finish up paperback collections. I’ll also be getting her self-published versions this month as they’re easy to get, and will continue to update you all on my purchases.
things that have been available for years, all because of a death or incident?
in the hospital from May 25th until June 27 so I’ll start at the beginning.
whether the ulcers they had discovered back in February had died. They hadn’t. And
unfortunately, the calamities started early. First, the doctor whose rotation
she was on wasn’t even there. She was on holiday. Second, they couldn’t find
the paperwork in her file of her recent Feb/March visits even though both times
were a weeklong stay. Third, she ended up staying in because they needed to put
a tube down her nose into her stomach to suck all of the shit out. Infection,
food that wasn’t digested, and just general stomach garbage.
brought home 24 Jackie Collins books. I spent $66, but still, I’m currently on
a JC book binge. It was cold and pouring rain. The good part of the day, I had
gotten a free meal from a fast food outlet called Red Rooster because my
birthday was a few days before hand.
that garbage out. She wasn’t given solid food and was only allowed ice chips. When
I went to visit her on the following Thursday (one week in) she was being taken
off for a cat scan to see why her temperature had spiked. She was then admitted
to ICU because of a pick line infection and they had to change her IV needles. She
stayed there overnight and was back on the ward by Saturday, but when I rang
ICU they said they’d never heard of her (*snort* I reminded them she had been
rolled in from Ward 2b two days before). Anyway I had to go back to the switchboard
and found her back in ward 2b where she’s been since.
actually sure, on the Friday, but that had to be cancelled due to the high temp
her abdomen cut open and her stomach sliced so they could get the scarring
caused by the ulcers. The ulcers had created the scarring around the tube that
exits the stomach so it was preventing food from being digested which is why
she was bringing it back up. She had been vomiting since January.
removed and she was allowed soft food. On Monday the 20th of June she had been
told by a nurse, who came in from another hospital to work, that she would be
going home the following day and she told me when I called. So Tuesday I called
and the regular nurse told me she wasn’t going home and I said that mum had
told me she was.
everyone had told her something different and confused her. This is how much
our hospital system sucks. The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is
doing and everyone thinks they know what’s going on and have the authority to
do so. Which they don’t.
sorted it out. Sort of. She told me that everyone wanted to see mum before she
left, occupational health, the physio etc. Problem was, they had also put her
on a blood thinner called warfarin, and her wound split and spurted everywhere.
The ward nurse told me to call Wednesday morning to see whether mum was coming
home and she said not until Saturday.
everything up for the home rang and said mum was not coming home until Monday. I
told her we’d been told Saturday and it was getting ridiculous with all of the
stomach split we have nurses coming every day to clean and change the bandage. That’s
fine, but she couldn’t get blood out of mum on Tuesday, so what did we have to
do? I had to get mum dressed, get her into the car, back down to the hospital to
the pathology department for the blood test so we would know how much warfarin
to give mum that night. We also had to park in the shopping centre car park across the road because there was not enough car parks outside the lab. I had to push her over in her walker. For those that know about these things, mum was having
Clexane injections until her INR levels were correct and the warfarin would be
sustained. I got her home and everything was okay, thankfully.
hard again, as mum went black and blue with the amount of blood they
continually got from her. Back in Feb, her right arm was black from her wrist
to her shoulder. Anyway, her INR levels were 2.1 so no injections Wednesday
night, Thursday or Friday at this stage. She needed two injections, twice a
day. Not a good thing for someone so battered and bruised.
service for people who have had surgery and don’t want to go into a rehab
clinic. We already had a few things for her and she now has a bed rail to help
get in and out of bed, along with a physio to help get her leg strength back.
she lost 25 kilos (1 kilo is 2.2 pound, 1 stone is 14 pound) then gained back
19. So overall she has only lost 6 kilos (1 stone) but still needs to lose
more, so it will be diet city for both of us for the next 6 months.
said and it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I’d thought
those things for twenty years and they finally got said. What happens now I
have no bloody idea. My brother still owes her money after a year and we haven’t
heard from him since Feb, or seen them since xmas. No one wants to help, no one
gives a shit, and I still have no idea whether I’m going to get to have a life.
My physical health has been suffering a bit with sitting so much, but what else
is new, and we’re meandering along this path called life.
break which I’ll concentrate on getting out, I’ve published a couple of
paperbacks, I’ll write more kids stories in a couple of weeks on my next writing
break while my novellas are edited. And I’m considering publishing the lyrics
to over 700 songs that I used to write. Poems are big business in publishing
apparently but I am wondering if I should just write poetry. Just one more
thing to think of writing about…along with all the other ideas I want to get
out of my brain. Like two more novels, and maybe another book or two about the
characters in my novellas. Ah, so many stories, not enough energy, or hands to write with, to spit them
other people to write. James Patterson, anyone!
to the grind stone.
it has my name written all over it. Now while my mother and I have had
some fights these last few weeks over the issues with me being her carer and
her needing to go into a facility, which she doesn’t want to do, it’s going to
come down to one thing, either she goes, or I go. And it’s going to be less of
a hassle if she goes, because if I do, it means possibly staying
with her for years while getting a Housing Trust apartment.
We have been living in this commission home since 1994. It could
be transferred over to my name and I would continue to live
here, behind our local shopping centre, with everything I need within walking
distance. But, if I wanted to leave, it could take years for me to
get a place in this area, which means staying here with her, it also
means going broke buying a vehicle and some furniture plus first month’s rent
if I left. But she could go into the place down the road, still in our area,
but with 24/7 help that she needs.
And she needs it because I’m exhausted. And I’m too exhausted to put
any energy into my business of making jewellery and writing books. In fact, I’m
nearly five months behind writing the novella series I’d planned for
a September release. I’m too exhausted and have my own back problems
so now we have a cleaner coming in once a month to help with the heavy work
that requires the bending and lifting I cannot do.
Now the above story I’m talking about is about empathy, and believe me, my compassion fucked
off years ago. There’s only so much you can take before not caring about others
and their problems when you have so many of your own. You become exhausted from
your own issues and you really don’t need to deal with anyone else’s.
Have you guys become emotionally exhausted from other
I cannot believe that my Easter post didn’t go through last week and is still in draft mode.
I was all set to wish you all a happy Easter and to eat buns and rabbits until you were sick.
Now I’m sick!
But not because of all the Easter buns and chocolates. No siree Bob, its just the crappy migraines from being stressed over not getting my new books started, trying to run a business, a household and my mother as she’s been sick and vomiting again. Hasn’t gone back to hospital yet, and hopefully the vomiting is over, but that damn ulcer of hers needs to go and needs to go now. On top of that, her crippled back means she cannot move fast enough so a trip to the toilet always ends in a change of clothes. Sadly, she’s now in adult diapers which they give gastro patients in hospitals, otherwise I’d be doing a hell of a lot of washing.
Nope, I’ve never gotten migraines from food as many do, mine is from having a crooked back which makes my neck crooked so that puts pressure on my head which in turn becomes very susceptible to loud noise, bright lights and oppressive heat, all three of which wreak havoc on my brain. Right now, I have one across the back of my head and thankfully I’m seeing the chiro this arvo as I’m writing this on Thursday afternoon my time.
So, do you guys get migraines and do you know what causes yours or is it just one of those things?
I am so god damned depressed.
I am forty fucking two in May.
I still live with my fucking mother because in my early 20s I became her carer.
I am forty fucking two in May.
That’s twenty or so fucking years my life has not been my own.
I didn’t get the chance to have a life, a family, kids, partners, friends, a business, a job, a career.
All I have is my little business making and producing books and jewellery which is a hard slog in itself and which I have never had the full strength nor energy to build up due to being a carer. I have my blogs, my social media (although that’s boring me shitless) and the few precious times she’s been in hospital over the last three months to have some peace and quiet.
I so desperately need to get the fuck out of here. This crap shit suburb, in this crap shit state. I desperately want to live on the Gold Coast in Queensland.
I desperately want to have a life and a partner and kids. I desperately want to be able to just sit and write all day every day in air conditioned comfort (we have not had any in the nearly 22 years we’ve been in this house) and not worry about jumping up every time she moans and groans that she’s in pain. I cannot stop her pain, nor change it nor make it better.
I desperately want to stop myself from becoming a cripple and I reckon by the time I’m 45, 50 at most, I will be.
Did you know carers becomes crippled and in need of care themselves?
All the lifting, turning, bending stuffs up our backs. I’ve been going to a chiro for six years this year, and while she has fixed a lot of issues there is one she cannot fix.
My lower back and sciatica.
Many holistic experts and authors like Louise Hay, believe that because we hold our emotions inside they take root in certain places in our body.
The lower back is where anger and stress is held.
Well, of course I’m fucking angry. I’m 42 in May and still live with my mother as her fucking carer.
We had a conversation a week or so ago, and I mentioned how I didn’t live in my sister’s world (we were having a convo in December about mum being in hospital and I said how I’d spent three hours scrubbing and cleaning up the mess mum had left, my sister said, ‘welcome to my world’) and she doesn’t even come close to living in mine. None of my siblings do.
My sister has an engineer husband who buys her houses, the most expensive iPones and jewellery. She has a couple of part time jobs that require one day a week at each, she looks after their dog, has no kids, doesn’t pay for most of the bills and only needs to clean up after herself most of the time since he’s away a lot. Plus his business paid for them to move over to Dubai several years ago for two years and she had maids. MAIDS!
And of course she’s nowhere near living in my world.
I blog here once a week, write books most days which needs time and peace and quiet without interruptions, look after mum which has been a really big burden since December, try to run the household but most of the stuff gets left undone, I run around every Thursday to doctors and chiro appointments for both of us and buy the food, pay the bills, and everything else she or I needs.
I also try to clear up the clutter but mum’s a stubborn old bitch who won’t chuck stuff in case she needs it. UGH! Even the ambos have told her to get rid of all the mats in the house because she tripped over them twice and needed the ambos to pick her up.
None of my siblings do that. In fact, none of them could give a flying fuck about their mother. They are not here getting meds, giving her meds, helping her in the toilet, the shower, to get dressed, get her three meals and snacks a day, to run her to the hospital to have tests done. No, they don’t even bother calling up to ask what needs doing this month and coming and doing it.
I don’t need respite, I need a life. And I’m really getting sick and tired of people plugging lifelines for depression. I get it, there’s the one in a million chance that making one phone call to these people may stop you taking your life.
They do nothing to help you fix or change your life, and that’s the problem I face. There is no one to help change it. I have no physical, emotional, or financial support in any way shape or form, so, that means never getting to the Gold Coast unless I can get mum to agree to move up there and then go into a nice care assisted retirement home where she will be looked after 24/7 as they have on duty nurses, hairdressers, once a week doctors, help with showers and toilets, meds on hand in case you get sick etc.
My life will not change unless I can win money or a house. Or someone offers to pay for us to move up there and supplies what we need.
Am I too reliant on waiting for other people for help? Fuck no, as I do everything already and receive no help what-so-ever. But it would be nice if someone said, ‘let me help you sort your life out’ and then actually helped me sort my life out the best way possible.
But, there is just no one to do that.
As I said, I don’t need respite, I need a life and a few months before I turn forty fucking two, there looks like there’s only one way out of this garbage life I have, and that is if one of us dies. How bad does that sound, but what else is there?