Forgetfulness

This week I thought I'd write about -  forgetfulness.



I did something very stupid this week, or maybe I was just forgetful.  It could have happened to anyone... I think ?!


I have a friend I'll call Karen because that is not her name.  We've been friends for 17 years  since we met at Parent's Group with our first-born babies.  When we both  joined the Parent's group her boy Karl was 11 weeks old and my baby Bella was 4 weeks old.

Parent's group initially helped us as new mothers with things like settling crying babies, introducing solids and also it gave the four mothers in our group general support for the huge changes in our lives that motherhood brought.

Beyond these early years  as the friendships with the other mothers in our parent group gradually  fell away Karen and I  remained good friends.  In all these years we've watched each other's  children grow up and our own lives change.  We still meet regularly for coffee and cheesecake and a nice chat - and I think we always will.

Well, it was Karl's birthday last Friday.  He turned 17.  Karen and I have made it a tradition over the years  to buy presents for each other's children at every birthday and christmas.  This year I bought Karl a lovely silver pen which I had engraved with his name.   My husband David has told me that a 17 year old boy wouldn't find an engraved pen  lovely.   Although I think - what would he know?  I'm sure Karl will love his new pen!  I also gave Karl the obligatory present of money.  Ho-hum. 

Anyway, I was meeting Karen for dinner with our husbands last Saturday - a week before Karl's birthday.  I had Karl's present wrapped, his card written and  it was all sitting neatly in a blue gift bag on my bed ready for me to pick up as David and I left for the restaurant to meet our friends.  My friend Karen could then give Karl his birthday present during the week.

 However, I forgot the present. When I arrived at the restaurant I realised that I'd left Karl's gift at home... on my bed.
"Oh dear, another 'senior's moment'," I apologised to Karen.  "Don't worry," I said,  "I'll post the present to Karl this week and he'll still have it for his birthday on Friday".

Karen lives an hours drive from my house so to drive the present to her son would take two hours as a round trip.  Not an option I'd choose.

As promised  I diligently went to the post office last Wednesday and  bought an Express Post bag to ensure that Karl's gift would arrive for Friday.  I congratulated myself on how very organised and reliable I am as the Express Post bag disappeared over the counter.  I smiled as I walked home and I reminded myself that I really do remember things well;  the last Saturday had been only a brief lapse in my concentration and completely our of character for reliable me.

Friday came and my daughter Bella and I both went out to check our mail box at home.  I'd heard our postman's motorbike arrive and stop at my house so I knew I'd have some mail.  The usual boring bills and advertising I thought.  However as I opened the mail box I was pleasantly surprised to see  an Express Post bag was stuffed tightly into the small metal compartment.  I wondered who might be the recipient of the  parcel.  Excitedly I pulled the yellow and white plastic bag from the tight chamber.  I turned it over to see to whom it was addressed.  Confusion hit me.  It was addressed to me however the handwriting was very familiar.  Too familiar.  It was my handwriting!  I turned the parcel over and there also in my handwriting was the name Karl -, my friend Karen's son -  and her address.

I was confused.  This was his present; but how did it get returned to me?  I was sure that Karen hadn't moved house.  Then why was his present not sent to him?  Today was his birthday and he wouldn't get his present, I thought.  Darn it!

Gradually the realisation dawned on me as my teenage daughter stood next to me laughing having already worked out what I'd done.  I'd addressed Karl's present to myself and put his name and address in the sender section on the Express post package.

I had posted the present for Karl to myself!

A senior's moment.  Actually, a second 'senior's moment' in  one week - with the same present!  My daughter was still laughing and shaking her head  as she walked back into the house.  I sheepishly followed.

However dear reader  I did re-post the present last Friday.  The new Express Post bag is almost certainly on its way to Karl right now.  I'm pretty sure that  I probably addressed it correctly this time.


Later on Friday when David got home from work I told him about what I'd done - as  eventually I could see a slightly funny side to the events.

David, like my teenage daughter,  laughed ... a lot ... in fact a little too long I thought.

So I took the opportunity to remind David of the time when he was a teenager at university he drove his car to  uni but  then caught the bus home later that day.  He'd forgotten that he'd taken the car on that day. Then to make matters worse when he couldn't find his car the next morning he thought it had been stolen.

That little story I learned from his University of Tasmania year book in 'funny stories about students'.  For some reason David didn't think it worthwhile telling me that story?! I was left to find out by reading it in a Uni year book I found by accident one day - hidden somewhere.

David stopped laughing quickly, suddenly remembering that he had something to do somewhere else in the house with something or other... so I couldn't discuss the car incident at uni with him further. 


I will admit here that my episode of forgetfulness  this week was not an isolated event.  I do forget things regularly, repeatedly and it often costs me a lot of money.

For example I realised a couple of weeks ago that I have now lost all three of my new expensive SPF 50, 95% bamboo fibre, Cancer Council cardigans which  I bought a few months ago - costing $100 each.

How do I lose so many cardigans when I go out?  I suppose I'd have more explaining to do if I was losing skirts or dresses or underwear when I go out !?!  But it's expensive replacing these things.  And I won't even begin to discuss how many pairs of sunglasses I lose.


So when I realised how often I forget things I thought I'd write a blog about forgetfulness this week and I have written a short story involving a forgetful incident with potentially fatal results - inspired again by my work in medicine over the years.




Firstly to discuss the topic of - forgetfulness.

The Oxford dictionary defines forgetfulness (noun) as being apt to forget, absent-minded, to not remember.

Wikipedia defines forgetting as the apparent loss of information already encoded and stored in an individual's long term memory(LTM).


Psychologists have found that short term memory (STM) is very distractible.  Your brain knows that you are unlikely to need to remember a menial task - so it erases the memory to make room for more important things.  The brain needs to decide if things are worth remembering.  If it is - the memory is stored in the LTM; if not the memory is deleted.  So some trivial events are not ever stored in your LTM and are hence they are forgotten.

Memory 'performance' is usually related to the active functioning of three stages:  encoding, storage and retrieval.

It is a fairly common event that a person can walk into a room, say the kitchen, and forget what they came in there to do.  The reason that this happens is that memories are stored as separate files and when walking into another room, the doorway serves as an 'event boundary' in the mind.
Starting a new memory when  walking into another room - means that the memory of why you went there is in the previous memory file stored before you walked through the door; this memory must therefore be retrieved and that is not always easy to do.

Scientific studies have found that perfectly healthy people can have up to 30 mental lapses per week.  It is normal to experience things such as:

- forget why you walked into the kitchen
- take a number of minutes to recall where you parked the car
- forget to call a friend back when you're busy at home
- put things down and can't find them soon after
- forget something trivial that a friend mentioned the day before
- forget the name of someone you just met
- briefly forget the word for something (i.e. a 'what's it's name')



Some things that can increase forgetfulness include: lack of sleep, hypothyroidism, anxiety/stress, depression, alcohol and some medications.

More serious forgetfulness, due to things like dementia and severe depression, include things like forgetting  the names of close relatives,  problems negotiating familiar places, changes in personality etc.  These types of memory problems should prompt a visit to the local GP for further assessment.


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My short story (fiction) for this week:




                                                          Changes


Jodi walked into the kitchen.  Another school day and the same breakfast routine.  She got her bowl and her favourite cereal from the cupboard.  She poured the cereal, got some juice and sat down in her usual spot at the kitchen table.  It was then that she realised something wasn't right.

Jodi, 12 years old and an only child living in a  middle class family; mother - Mary, father - David, nice beach side suburb, nice bungalow house and nice predictable routine to their lives. The same routine day after day and week after week.  Just the way Jodi liked it.  However today felt different.  Maybe, she thought, it was because her parents were standing across from her at the table silently staring at her.

Finally her mother, after looking to her father seemingly for support, broke the silence.

"We have some news for you Jodi."

Silence again.

Gee whiz, Jodi thought.  What kids had to put up with from overly dramatic parents.  What news could they possibly have that is so important?  A new toaster?  A new breakfast cereal we're going to try?  No, maybe something different for dinner tonight from the usual  Monday night casserole.
Jodi waited - bored and impatient.

"You're going to be a sister," her mother seemed somewhat nervous and excited at the same time; her voice was a higher pitched than usual  and her smile seemed weak and awkward. "We're having another baby!"

Both parents were staring intently at her now smiling...and waiting as if for her to say something.

Jodi choked on her mouthful of cereal.  Milk spluttered from her mouth and nose simultaneously over the table and her lap. Struggling she managed to swallow what still remained  of her cereal  in her mouth.  Her mind was spinning.

What the...?  Was this a joke, she wondered.  Are they kidding me?  She looked closely into her parents faces for of any sign of teasing or smirking.  Surely not!  They were surely not serious!

"We hope you're pleased, Jodes" her father said.  He was smiling at her and using that annoying nickname that she had told him repeatedly not to use any more.

Jodi sat there.  Silent.  Motionless.  Finally she got up from the table, shoving her chair backwards so violently that it hit the wall behind her; she stomped across the room, grabbed her school bag from where it sat near the back door, threw the door open and  made sure that she slammed it behind her as she left the house.

"You better be joking!" she called out as she stormed off.

No! she thought.  I'm not pleased.  I don't want a vomiting, screaming, pooping, stinky baby in my house.  I like things as they are and just as they've always been. Only three of us! And no stupid babies!


The months dragged by, the seasons changed and more and more the conversation centred around babies to Jodi's dismay.  She thought she'd go mad with it all.  Her house and her life had been so predictable and so organised until now.  She alone had been the centre of everyone's attention.  Now it had all changed and Jodi didn't like that at all.  She felt that her importance in the family was disappearing down the toilet.

Finally the day came when baby Michael was born.  It was all just as bad as Jodi imagined it would be.  Screaming and crying throughout the house; although Jodi had to admit that the screaming and crying was mostly from her and not Michael.  Actually the baby was pretty good.  But the nappies and the mess and the goos and the gaas  and all the cute baby stuff were enough to drive her insane.  She tried to stay away from the annoying pest called Michael as much as she could.

Before long Michael could crawl and babble.  He would  often crawl about after  Jodi and sometimes he would put his wet dummy in her lap; she thought that he wanted to share it with her.  But Yuck!  His wet old dummy!

OK.  She had to admit that  he was a bit cute.  However she still thought that  things were better before he came along and it would have been better if the family had gotten a cat rather than a baby.


The noise in the house increased dramatically the morning  of the  Australia Day bar-b-que.  Jodi's parents were exceptionally busy preparing the house for the many friends and relatives coming over.  Food was still being prepared in the kitchen and a hundred other last minute jobs still needed to be finished.

Jodi wandered outside to get some peace and have a quiet read somewhere away from the chaos in the house.

Walking into the garden she noticed a strange old sack floating in the pool.  She wondered what it was and how it  got there.  Her gaze then drifted over to the  gate of the pool-fence. It was open. Someone had forgotten to shut the gate - which was unusual as her parents were usually so careful. It was probably because they were so busy today she thought.

As she continued to stand there a terrible realisation came to her.  The pool gate was open, a 'sack' was floating in the pool and she hadn't seen baby Michael in a while.  The horror of the situation hit her.  This was no sack!  It was Michael and he was floating face down in the pool!

Jodi dropped her book and she ran through the open gate to the pool.  She scooped up the lifeless bundle from the water, rolled him over and lay him on the warm cement in front of her as she knelt beside him.  She rolled his cold body onto the side and scooped out any vomit that may be in his mouth.  It was empty.  She was remembering everything she'd learned in Scouts.  She held her ear to his mouth.  No breath.  She filled her lungs with air and blew into his little mouth as she pinched his nose shut with her left hand.  She could feel her own heart pounding.  Her head was screaming out "Don't be dead, Michael".  But she had to concentrate.  Concentrate!  She felt for a pulse in his neck.  None.  Oh, my God, she thought.  OK.  OK.  I put the heel of my hand over his lower sternum.  The instructors words were all she could think of.  The most important words in the world to her right now.  Fifteen compressions.  She  felt again for any breath.  None.  Two more breaths.

Jodi was about to scream for help when she felt water on her cheek as Michael spluttered and choked.  She rolled him on his side to help drain out any water from his mouth.  His eyes were now open and he was looking at her.  A beautiful pink colour was returning to his blue face.  He was now smiling;  his arms stretched up to her.

"Oh Michael!"  Jodi held the little boy tightly to her chest.  Tears filled her eyes.  "Oh Michael.  Don't ever do that again! "  She held his cold, wet body to herself to warm him and she pulled her woollen cardigan about his little frame.
"I do love you Michael.  You're my beautiful little brother and I love you so much".

Jodi looked up to see her shocked parents standing next to them - looking down bewildered at the two children holding each other.

As Jodi brought her warm cheek down to her brother's cold little face while she still held him tight she said quietly to her parents, "I'll explain in a minute, guys.  I have to hug my little brother a bit longer.  My darling little brother I love so much".





                                                           The End





The inspiration for this story was a very sad medical case I was involved  in - twenty four years ago during my first resident year in a major teaching hospital.  It was such a sad case that I will never forget it.  I was so sad for the child who drowned but also very sad  for the mother who blamed herself for the child's death.


The year was 1990 and I  was a first year resident medical officer (RMO) working in Paediatrics in a major teaching hospital in Adelaide, South Australia.

I was in the A&E department, Casualty as we used to call it, when an  ambulance officer radioed in  to give an ETA (expected time of arrival) for a priority one, or code blue, case - an emergency.  The ETA was five minutes.

The Trauma team call was activated and specialty consultants and registrars from  many different departments in the hospital rushed to  A&E.  They now waited in the treatment room:  paediatric physicians, surgeons, Intensive care specialists and the A&E staff.

The case: a two year old girl, near drowning in a bath.  The child was not breathing and she had no pulse.  The ambulance officers were performing CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) en route.

The ambulance arrived.  The small child lay flaccid on the trolley as staff moved at lightening speed all around me.  I was a very junior doctor and so I stood out of the way of the senior doctors, at the back of room.  I was ready to do any menial tasks asked of me.  Requests such as rush blood samples to a lab - which meant to run with the pathology specimens to the labs which were a distance from A&E, put labels on the  pathology samples handed to me, call the radiologists and write the request forms and so forth.

I caught a glimpse of the  distraught mother when the ambulance officers arrived.  As ambulance crew ran up the A&E corridor to the treatment room with this critically ill child she had run along beside them.

She was a medium build, she had dark hair  pulled up into a messy bun and her face was streaked with tears.  Her eyes were swollen and red from crying.  She looked terrified, dishevelled, grief stricken and so guilty of the crime she had committed. She had left her child unattended in the bath for a few minutes when she left to answer the phone.  She had stayed talking on the phone for five minutes she told hospital staff.  She had forgotten to return immediately to the bathroom as her two year old daughter and her four year old daughter had been left to  play together in the bath.

The child's mother was quickly taken away by other medical staff soon after she had arrived.  She was taken to a quiet room  away from her child  so that the doctors could work on her child without any distractions and so she would not have to witness her child in this awful room; doctors working frantically and doing  whatever it took to try to save her child.

I stood watching and waiting to help.  I watched as the medical experts around me sprung into action.  They worked like a single amazing machine - together as a team, professional , skilled and so very experienced and fast.  They were desperate to try to save this young life.

I can still see the child now.  She was such a pretty little girl.  She looked like she was just sleeping - peaceful.  Her hair was still wet from the bath when she arrived.  It fell down over her shoulders and upper back  in wet, blond  ringlets.  I imagined that only half an hour earlier this little girl was happy and healthy and playing and laughing ... and now... this.

The doctors managed to get the child's pulse back.  She was put on a ventilator and then sent off to the ICU (intensive care department).  However, the doctors knew what would happen next.  Drownings almost always result in only one of two things: death or complete recovery.  There is rarely an in-between recovery from drownings.  The doctors knew which outcome this would be.  Their sad faces watched quietly as the little girl was wheeled from the treatment room.

When we quietly returned to our own paediatric ward the senior registrar told us what would happen from here.  The child was thought to be brain dead, he said, and she would be put on a ventilator until the next day as is the policy.  She would then be tested again fully by the ICU specialist doctors and if as expected it was confirmed that she was brain dead - which means the cortical or thinking part of the brain has been deprived of oxygen for too long and it  is functionally dead and only some vegetative functions are left such as functions to maintain a pulse - then this would  be explained to the parents.  The parents would then  see that everything that could be done to try to save their child had been done and the ventilator would be turned off.

Waiting the 24 hours would allow the parents to more fully  understand that no-one stopped trying to save their little girl too soon.


As my colleagues and I  sat having coffee  later that day still feeling so very sad about the drowned child I found it especially sad to think that had the mother known CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) then she would have been able to perform it on the  lifeless child she had  pulled from the bath that day.  It was possible that CPR performed during the 10 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive may have saved this child.  As it was she had sat helpless in those crucial early minutes while she waited for the ambulance.

I have never forgotten that case, that beautiful little child, her poor mother and that sad day.




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My final words for this week would be - learn CPR - ASAP.  Learn as quickly as you can because life is unpredictable and as I tell my patients:


It is best to hope for the best ... but plan for the worst.


CPR is a skill that may save someone's life.  It is a skill you need to learn before you need it.



Also it is worth mentioning that drownings of children are almost always silent.


People might think that they would know if a child was drowning as they would hear a lot of splashing and screaming.  However that is almost never the case.

I recall a 'near drowning' case when I was working in the A&E where a mother had found her three year old child floating face down in the pool.  She managed to rescue the child quickly and he was absolutely fine afterwards.  However she had brought him to hospital as a precaution which was the correct thing to do.


She told me that she had been hanging out washing in her backyard and her three year old child was playing near to her.  She soon became aware that she hadn't seen him for a few minutes and she remembered that a ladder had been left standing against the above-ground pool as her husband had been cleaning the pool that morning .

She instinctively walked over to check her three year old hadn't climbed in.  There she found him silently floating face down in the water.

She was amazed, she told me, that the pool had been not more than 10 meters from where she stood hanging out the washing and yet while her son had lay drowning so close to her  there had been no sound.  Not a splash or a cry.  Nothing.  Silence.

We kept her son overnight in the hospital as a precaution.  But typical of 'near drowning' survivors he had no neurological sequelae and he was perfectly fine.  I hoped that a lesson about fences and ladders near pools had been learned there.



Another warning:  if an accident like a near drowning occurs or other accidents for that matter - fix whatever needs fixing now - today - so that it doesn't happen again. Mend the fence, put a lock on the gate or whatever is needed to ensure the accident doesn't happen again.


In a very sad case I saw once  a young child survived a near drowning in the neighbour's pool.  She was fine until the next week  when she again got into the neighbours pool, no precautions or changes were made after the previous 'near miss', and she drowned.



I have been a doctor for over 25 years.  My advice:  See accidents  as things that will often happen again if no changes are made.  A foreshadowing you might say.

Heed their warning.



Have a lovely and safe week everyone.   I'll write something happier next week.    Promise.

PS: 

If you liked this blog or found it helpful - please let others know - as it may be helpful to them or just a nice read.

Dreams

This week I thought that I'd write about dreams.



I had an insightful dream a few days ago which helped me to understand something in my life of concern at that time.  Once I  had reviewed the dream and worked out what I thought it's message was, I felt much better and less upset.  The dream was simple and it comprised only images and a couple of brief thoughts but no-one spoke.

I found that the dream contained much meaning for me and previously hidden truths.  It was such a helpful experience I thought  I'd discuss dreams this week, tell readers about my dream and what I learned, and also tell readers about another really interesting and helpful dream I had many years ago - which taught me about a worry I had which I wasn't consciously aware of.  

Lastly  I've written a short story of fiction about an important dream.



Firstly to briefly discuss dreams.


Everyone dreams.  Some people may not remember their dreams but we all dream.

Dreams are a succession of images, ideas, emotions and sensations that occur involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep - mostly the REM (rapid eye movement) stage.  REM is a stage of sleep
when brain activity is high and resembles that of being awake.  You are more likely to recall dreams if you wake during the REM phase.  People have, on average, three to five dreams per night.  They range in duration from a few seconds to 20 - 30 minutes.

The content and purpose of dreams are not definitely understood, though they have been the subject of a lot of study.  Dreams are thought to be a connection to the subconscious mind. They are thought to be often symbolic and you need to interpret the symbols to understand the meaning of dreams. Dreams tend to need interpretation as they tend to be more visual than verbal, although they're not necessarily complex.  The pictures need to be interpreted into ideas.  Some researchers think that dream symbolism is very personal and the dreamer may be best to decipher the dream.

Carl Jung thought dreams related to a dreamer's unconscious desires, as did Freud,  however beyond this Jung also thought that dreams were messages to the dreamer.  Jung thought dreamers should pay attention to dreams as they could contain helpful information for them - revelations which could uncover and help resolve emotional problems and fears.

Jung wrote that a recurring dream suggests that the dreamer is neglecting an issue related to the dream.  He thought many of the symbols and images return each dream and every person in the dream may represent an aspect of the dreamer.  Furthermore, he thought that memories formed
during the day play a role in dreaming; the unconscious mind re-enacts those glimpses in a dream.  He called this 'day residue'.

In ancient times and also today some people believe dreams can direct messages from people who have died or even predict the future.




Now to my dream this week...but first some back story to the dream.

Anyone reading my blog,  although so far I fear that it has been mostly only me reading it, will know that I started to write my blog about 2 weeks ago.  I am a medical doctor working four days per week and I have four children ranging in age from four years old to sixteen years old; so most of my life is work. Heavy sigh and cue violins.  I enjoy my work and I love my kids, and I also love my dear husband I'd better quickly add, in case he reads this and notices he is conspicuously absent from my list of loves.

But about 18 months ago, in the few hours of spare time I get each week, I began studying creative writing - which is a delicious pleasure just for me.  I will add here that I think everyone has the right to do something just for themselves everyday.  Everyday.

Anyway, back to my backstory.  I was so excited when I  started writing my blog and I anticipated a flood of readers hungry for my next inspiring edition of ideas and prose.

Also, another exciting thing relate to writing that happened in the last two weeks was that  I wrote a letter of support to a well known national media identity.  He wrote in the newspaper about being the victim of bullying in his workplace.  I e-mailed a letter of support and encouragement to his newspaper e-mail address, listed in the newspaper, and I never expected to hear anything more about it.

I sent my e-mail after work - by which I mean paid work and then all the mum duties work - help with the kid's homework, dinner, kid's to bed etc.  So I didn't get to send the e-mail until about 8.30pm.  To my amazement the national celebrity wrote back to me personally via e-mail, at about 11pm that same night, to thank me for my support.  He told me that  my letter was inspirational.   I was so excited that something I wrote had been read and it had helped someone that I admire so much as a writer and as a person.  I imagined that he may have read my 3 page letter before he went to sleep that night and he may have felt some comfort from my words to help him sleep.

Well, after 18 months of very slow part-time creative writing study - I'd started a blog and written a long letter which had helped a well known writer!  I was so excited.  I imagined my writing life had begun.  Lots of readers.  Applause.  Admiration.
However, the reality was...nothing.  No-one reading my blog - except me.  Although I will admit it was still fun to write it.

Nothing had happened beyond the heady excitement of starting to actually write something and a few words of thanks from a real writer.  I felt deflated and sad for a few days.  Then I had my dream.



In my dream a young man dressed in the clothes of a middle-ages peasant walks into a mysterious dark and expansive cave-like world, similar to a fantasy genre movie such as The Hobbit.  Large dark willow type branches hang down from above, swaying in the still air.  The young man on entering this place picks up a gilded mirror and spends some moments admiring himself.  He then seeks out  trophies and framed certificate tributes to himself on the cave walls.  Soon after this opening scene I become an old man, large and looking down on this interloper.  I have been in this world for many decades and I have done amazing things; I have conquered giants and performed many heroic feats however I have learned that I did these things because they were the right thing to do and it was what I needed to do.  I did not look for recognition or reward like this vain, foolish young man who had been in this world for mere moments and looked for praise and recognition already.

At this point in the dream I woke up.


My dream was still vivid in my mind and I lay in bed, my eyes still closed, considering the strangeness of it.  At first I didn't think it related to me - as the characters were male.  However, as I let  my thoughts drift back through the dream I realised that it actually did relate to me and some worries I had during the previous week.
I had felt disappointed that the excitement of starting to write had resulted in a deafening silence.  Nothing!  Zilch!  'Other foreign words' meaning 'nothing'!   I felt let down and disappointed.


However, the dream helped me see that I was behaving like that young man in my dream - entering this new world of writing and fiction, represented by the fantasy  setting for the dream.  In a world of writing I have only just got one toe wet.  I had been expecting recognition and applause when I had  paid absolutely no dues.

I think that the old man in my dream represents a writer who has been writing for many years.  That writer has worked very hard and has done many things in the writing world - yet he writes for the love of it, he expects nothing from his craft except the love of it and the pride he gets from it and the hope that it might entertain and/or help other people who read it.  He is humble and  content.

I came to appreciate how silly and vain I had been.  I then felt really  happy and content.  I developed perspective of where I was on a writing journey.  I have just begun.  I have just walked into this world of writing  and taken less than a single step on a journey of one thousand miles.   I deserve nothing.  Maybe one day.  Maybe.  However, if I never get any recognition or rewards I will write because I feel I need to and because it makes me happy in and of itself.


What a good dream that was.  I learned something from, possibly, my higher self.  How much more wisdom do we hold in our subconscious minds  that dreams can teach us.




Another recurring dream, which I will tell you now, is one that  I had many years ago, when I was about 28 years old and I was working as a registrar in a major teaching hospital, studying to be a Paediatrician.

My entire life then was work and study.  As a senior registrar I worked 60 - 70 hours each week in the hospital  and then I would drag myself home only to do many more hours work in the form  of study for the specialty exams.  All in all I would work and study for around 100 hours each week.  I never rested or had time for fun in my 20's looking back.  As one of the other registrars said at the time - we would watch the seasons go by through the window.  We were virtually never free to be outdoors unless we were walking to and from our cars to get to and from work.  We would arrive in the hospital at about 8am and leave no sooner than 6pm, but regularly not until11pm or even not until the next morning. We worked at least 6 day per week,  but often even 7 days in the week.


It was also at about this time that I started to think it would be nice to have children of my own.  I looked after other people's children as a paediatric doctor - but, although I'd been married for about four years,  I was delaying starting a family of my own until after I'd passed my specialty exams.


It was around this time that my recurring dreams started.


There were a couple of variations on my dream - but the theme was the same and I came to realise that the message my subconscious was trying to give me was the same for both versions of the dream.


In one version I was a young woman standing on a river bank and I was throwing apples into a river.  Another woman, of a similar age and appearance to me, would approach me and I would try to run from her.  She would chase me and I would try to push her down a deep ravine.  She then would grab my foot as she was falling and she would call to me, as she dangled over the endlessly deep void, "If I go ... you go too!"

At this point I would wake with a start.


In the second variation on the recurring dream, I would find myself at a lovely sunny holiday resort.  There was a beautiful swimming pool with a multi story apartment building.  Holiday makers were enjoying themselves all about me, and I was having fun and feeling relaxed as well.  People were playing games, beach balls were begin thrown around and there was a real carefree feeling around me,  similar to when I was a child and not yet an exhausted doctor.  I would then see another woman, with an appearance again similar to me walk into my holiday place.  She would carry a pile of text books,  she wore glasses and appeared both studious and serious.  I would follow her in the dream and try to inject her with poison to kill her.

Once again I would wake at this point in the dream - thinking that I was a murderer and feeling upset.



The two dreams recurred regularly over many months.  One day I told my husband about the strange dreams in which I am always trying to kill another woman who looks like me.
My doctor husband is interested in psychology and he had read quite a lot about the symbolic meaning of dreams.

He explained to me that when you dream about another same sex person, similar in age to yourself - it is your shadow figure, which means another aspect of yourself that you may or may not be aware of.

He said that fruit often symbolises off spring - children and babies of your own;  and a river of represents time and life passing by.


With this understanding I could see that the other woman that I tried to kill in both dreams I was in fact me.  It was the two opposite aspects of myself - shadow figures.

In the first dream where I was throwing apples into a river.  This could represent that at 28 years years of age I now wanted to be a mother - but I was delaying motherhood to focus on my academic career.  I was throwing the idea of children, symbolised by apples in the dream, into the river, a symbol for  the passage of time and my life drifting by.  The other woman didn't want me to do this and she would chase me.  She was my shadow self; my more maternal side.  Meanwhile in the dream  I wanted to get rid of her and continue what I was doing - delaying motherhood to focus on my career.
She would then say in the dream,  "if I go ... so do you" - which  could mean that she was a part of me which I could never get rid of.


In the second dream I was carefree and having fun.  The studious, boring, hard working woman who entered this scene was the academic me - shunning any fun and relaxation in order to endlessly study and work.  The less academic, more fun loving me wanted to get rid of her - via killing her off as well.


I would wake after always finding that I was unable to kill the other woman - which I now realised was the other side to myself - both sides had been represented in the two versions of my dream where I was feeling torn between my academic, career ambitions and my maternal desires and sadness at missing fun in my youth due to working constantly.

Once I understood my dream and I made a deal with myself that whether I passed my specialty exams or not I would allow myself  to try to have a baby by the age of 30 years old.  With this compromise both side of myself were satisfied and the recurring dreams stopped.


Interestingly, the fun-loving maternal side of myself eventually won and that is who I found I am mostly now.

I did pass all of my specialty paediatric exams by the age of 30 and  I had my first baby at 30 as well.  However, I found being a mother while trying to finish advanced specialty training was too hard.  I had no extended family to help and after four years of trying to be both an academic career woman and a mother - I finally had to choose one or the other.  I either needed to get a nanny or I need to find another job that allowed me to be with my children more - especially when they were sick and couldn't attend child care.

Like my alternating dreams from a few  years earlier - I had to choose which side to myself would dominate my life - career academic or mother - one or the other.  I found that I couldn't be both.  I know some women can do both, probably in different circumstances to me  and maybe harder working or moe organised than me - but I had to choose one or the other.

After much contemplation I left paediatrics and focused primarily on being a mother.

It was a hard decision in that I was qualified for no other job, I had a large mortgage to pay  and I had put so many years, all of my 20's, into passing the exams and doing the very long hours of training as a registrar. I left and I found a job with the flexibility and reduce hours I needed to cope with being a mother without a nanny or any extended family.

No answer here was necessarily the right one.  Other women would have made a different choice to me, that is continue work as a specialist doctor, hire a nanny and still be a wonderful mother.

We are all different and we all have to make hard choices in our lives.  We just all try and do what we can and what is right for our lives.






Finally, a short story involving my theme for this weeks blog - dreams:






The Dream



Sandra knocked on the old wooden door.  Fine splinters in the aged timber grazed her knuckles and she noticed the door's faded red paint was peeling.  Her gaze drifted around the bungalow's portico as she waited; the place she had spent so many happy hours playing hide and seek and hop scotch and many other childhood  games. Lush green foliage surrounded this little nook near the front door, so thick that  the street beyond it could not be seen.  Fragrances from jasmine and roses and even lemon hung heavy in the still cool air and Sandra drew them into her lungs in a long deep breath.  This was the place where she felt happy and safe.  Safe from all the worries in the world and especially in her own life lately.

Footsteps on the wooden floor beyond the door grew louder and heralded the arrival of her grandmother, Hilda Mellors.  The door opened.

"Sandra', the slim elderly woman with silver hair and laughing eyes looked up at her grand daughter,    " I'm so glad you're here.  You're a bit early today but I've just boiled the kettle.  Come in darling".

"Hello gran', Sandra replied, following the older woman through the house into the  kitchen.  She had noticed lately that her grandmother's gait was slower  and she seemed more feeble than usual.  She had taken to using a walking stick  and Sandra realised with disappointment and a degree of surprise that her grandmother was now quite elderly.  She worked through some numbers in her head and decided that she must be around 81 years old.

The kitchen was  typical of the 1920's bungalow style.  Unlike renovated houses in the suburb with young families increasingly moving into the area, this kitchen was almost as it would have been 90 year earlier. The cupboards were off white, wooden with battered silver handles.  An old sink sat up one end of the kitchen adjacent to a  small window which looked out onto a large metal clothes-line in the back garden.  An ancient oven sat against another wall next to few more cupboards, and a large battered white fridge stood in a corner.   No modern conveniences made their way into this kitchen.  There was no dishwasher or microwave oven or mobile phone.  Hilda liked things the way she had always known them to be; familiar and comfortable.

Sandra sat down in her usual seat at the large kitchen table.  The same seat that she would sit in on all of her weekly visits here.

"How have you been Gran?"
"Fine dear".
"Did you have a nice time in the volunteer shop at the hospital yesterday or were you taking the book trolley around the wards?"
"I didn't go this week", the elderly woman placed two coffee mugs on the table and went back to get the biscuit tin from one of the kitchen cupboards.
"Why not ?" Sandra's voice was high pitched and she felt a slight panic in her chest.  "Were you sick?  You should call me if you're not well..."
"I was just a bit tired dear"

Hilda shuffled back across to the tabled and sat down holding onto the chair and her stick for support.  Sandra's anxious eyes studied her.  This didn't look good.  She wondered if her grandmother might need some extra care.  She had offered to move in and look after her but Hilda wouldn't hear of it. "You need to look after Ethan, and you are more comfortable in your own house", she had said.  It annoyed Sandra that her grandmother was so independent.  Although, Sandra knew that she always had been.  She was a strong and independent woman - even now.

Sandra knew that her grandfather, John, had died as a young man in WWII.  He'd been a navigator in the Australian airforce, but he'd died  soon after her own father was born.  Hilda had never remarried.  She had said that her husband, John, was her soul mate and he was the only man for her.  She always said that she was happy alone.

"How have you been, dear?"Hilda smiled across the table at her grand daughter.
"Fine gran".
Sandra took another sip of her coffee and took a Nice biscuit from the tin.  She couldn't tell her grandmother the truth.  Things were not good in her own life.  Studying medicine was hard - especially this year - her fifth year.  She had only one last year of study after this year and then it would be her intern year and then she would be a doctor.  The big problem was that she had begun to think medicine was not for her.  She had been thinking of deferring and travelling overseas.  Her brother Ethan was 18  now and able to take care of himself.

Their parents had been killed in a car accident three years earlier, when she was 19.  Sandra's parents  had left Sandra and her brother well provided for financially.  However,  she and Ethan had been still quite young, so soon after the accident her grandmother, Hilda,  had moved in with them.  She had stayed  for 2 years and then she'd moved back  into her own home, a 10 minute drive away.

For Sandra, deciding what to do about her future and her career was hard.  Was she suited to be a doctor?  She had started to doubt it.

The afternoon wore on and Sandra eventually  realised that two hours had passed.  She got up from the table, hugged her grandmother, kissed her cheek and picked up her bag and keys to leave.

"I love you gran," she said as she walked out the front door.  "I'll see you same time next week.  Do you need any help with anything? Would you like me to come by tomorrow?"
"No darling.  I'm fine.  You take care and give a kiss to your brother from me."
Sandra laughed.  She knew her grandmother was teasing her.  She would not kiss her brother for her gran or anyone else.  They weren't 'kissy' type siblings.  But she would send gran's regards to her brother as she always did.

The following morning Sandra woke with a start. She's had just had  the most vivid dream of her life.

In the dream she had been sitting in a  beautiful garden with the scent of jasmine, roses and a hint of lemon filling  the air.  She sat on a white marble bench and a across a small lawn a young woman had waved to her.  The woman was wearing a white dress - in a 1940's style.  Her hair was made up also in a style of that era.  She didn't speak but she sent love somehow;  Sandra could feel it.  She also felt pressure around her arms like someone was hugging her, although she could see no arms around her body, and she felt a kiss on her cheek, although again no-one was there to kiss her.
Across the lawn Sandra then saw a young man in an air force uniform walk toward the woman.  She ran to him when she saw him and Sandra heard the word, John.  The couple hugged each other for a long time.  They both then turned again to Sandra and waved again  before they walked away

However as they left the young woman turned and threw a photo to Sandra.  The piece of paper wafted through the air, like a slowly gliding paper plane, and then it fell softly into her hands.  Sandra caught the picture and looked down at it.  It was a picture of herself.  She was wearing a doctor's white coat and a stethoscope hung around her neck.  She was smiling in the picture and another young male doctor had his arm around her waist.  Two young children stood next to the couple in the photo - children aged around four and two years of age Sandra thought.  A small number was in the corner of the picture.  It read 2024.  It was a date.  It was 10 years from now.  Sandra looked up and the young couple were gone.  She felt happy and content.  She heard a young woman's voice then speak  gently to her.  "Goodbye Sandra.  I love you and I'll be with you always.  You'll find happiness.  Things will work out.  Your grandfather and your parents are here and they all send their love to you as well.  We'll always be with you."

Sandra woke and sat up in bed.  The dream was so clear and unlike most dreams it stayed with her after she woke.  She looked at the clock.  It was only 5am.  It was still dark.
She wondered if what she had experienced was some sort of premonition.  She decided to stay in bed.  She knew if she got up now she would only be tired all day. Soon after she woke again to the phone ringing.  She looked at the time.  It was now seven o'clock.  She wondered who would ring her at that  time of the morning.  Slightly annoyed she picked up her phone from her bedside table.

"Hello," the voice on the end of the phone was that of a woman. It was no-one that sandra recognised .
"Hello, Sandra Mellors here", Sandra responded, wondering what this could be about.
"I'm Doctor Gray at the Royal Adelaide Hospital.  I'm afraid I have some bad new", the woman continued.  "Your grandmother Hilda Mellors was admitted to hospital last night.  She had phoned for an ambulance herself.  Chest pain.  She has listed you as her next of kin.  I'm afraid she had a massive heart attack in the early hours of this morning.  There was nothing we could do.  I'm sorry to have to tell you that she died at 5 o'clock this morning.  I am very sorry."

Sandra felt cold.  The phone fell from her grasp.  She remembered her dream.  It was her gran...  She had sent a message.  A last message.

The tears flowed down Sandra's cheeks but she couldn't feel too very sad now.  Not now that she'd seen how happy her grandmother was in her dream.  Her dear gran was with her beloved husband, John, finally after all these years;  and also Sandra's own her parents.  She knew it would be selfish of her to wish her gran was still here with her -  no longer independent and in her own house.  Sandra knew that her grandmother  would never have been happy in a  nursing home  as an invalid.  She was just glad that she got too see her on her last day and then again they got to see each other in her dream.

Sandra also knew what she would do. Her gran had given her a glimpse of her future.  She would become a doctor.



                                                               The End



PS:
Part of my inspiration for this story was from an incident that happened to me as a resident medical officer (RMO) in a large tertiary hospital in the early 1990's.
It was around 4am and I had just certified an elderly patient on a medical ward, who was very ill and 'not for resuscitation,' dead.

I was sitting at the nurse's station writing in the deceased patient's notes the usual medical records for such an event and the 'time of death', when the phone next to me rang.  The nurses were busy so I told them that I would answer the phone.  At four o'clock in the morning the only people to usually ring the ward would be medical or nursing staff from somewhere else within the hospital.  Visitors and relatives never call at that time.

I picked up the phone and was very surprised to find that it was the deceased woman's daughter.  Her mother had died only within the last 20 minutes!  I was still writing in her notes!
I was speechless for a few moments as I was not expecting a call from the daughter at that time of the night.  The daughter told me that she needed to know how her mother was doing.

I was shocked by the fact the daughter of the woman who had just died 20 minutes earlier, at four in the morning, had needed to ring the hospital ward to ask  how her mother was.  How did she know to call then? I wondered.  Her mother had been ill for months - so why did she ring within minutes of her death?  Also, did something happen in her sleep, maybe in a dream, to wake her up?

As I put the phone receiver down I said to the nurses next to me writing in their notes, "Guess who that was?"
"A relative of the woman" they answered.
When I confirmed that they were right the two nurses smiled and told me that that happens often. Relatives ring within minutes of a patient dying to enquire about them even in the middle of the night, even when to patient has been ill for a many weeks or months, and even when the death was unexpected.

How? I wondered.

There are many things we don't understand.

PS: 

If you liked this blog or found it helpful - please let others know - as it may be helpful to them or just a nice read.

Bullies

My second blog...and what to talk about?  What about bullies.


I think most of us have experienced bullying at some level and at some time in our lives:  in school, at work, out in the community or even at home.

Bullies typically act in groups, rather than as individuals, they 'gang up' on someone; there is usually a ring leader and they attack people who can't or don't defend themselves, for whatever reason.

Bullies tend to get worse if no-one stands up to them.  Appeasing a  bully gives them power and their abuse often gets worse.
Bullies  tend to lack empathy - that ability to feel the pain and hurt of other people that they attack.  So appealing to their conscience and trying to explain to them how upsetting and hurtful their behaviour is to you will rarely work.
Also, contrary to some reports we hear that bullies have low self esteem -  studies have shown that they do not have low self esteem; they actually feel superior to the people they bully.


Bullying can be an insidiously destructive thing.  Even for people who are generally confident and strong and initially might fight back.  It can eventually erode their confidence, lead them to doubt themselves and eventually it can cause some people to become depressed and want to give up.  Give up on their jobs, give up on their relationships, give up on their hobbies and interests and sometimes even give up wanting to live.
Chronic bullying can sometimes even lead some people to commit suicide.  People are more likely to kill themselves when they think that they are in a corner with no alternative; no way out of their situation.
Please note  that there is ALWAYS an alternative.  There is always a way out.  Don't be rigid in your thinking and think things should stay as they are.  Be creative in looking for ways out and creating a new healthier positive situation for yourself.  If worse came to worse you could even change schools, quit that job, move house, get out of the relationship and leave, go to the police and do whatever it takes to get away from a bully.
It is worth remembering that you cannot change other people.  You can't change a bully - they will possibly never change and could even get worse.  Changing them is not your job.  You can change yourself and your situations - always.


There is a saying that 'sometimes bad things happen when good people do nothing'.  Sometimes others will see that someone is being bullied - but they don't want to get involved as they may think they might become the next target for bullying.  They may think that they don't want the hassle and the inconvenience getting involved would  cause them.
However, I think that we must all get behind and support someone who is bullied.  No matter how inconvenient and difficult that makes our lives for a while. Yes it may be a scary thing to do.  But it is the right thing to do.  We should do something to help - before it is too late, possibly, and the opportunity to help is gone.

Being scared at times is a part of life.  Being scared does not make someone a coward.  To be scared but to stand up for what you think is right in spite of being scared is to have courage.  If bullies are to be overcome - then the victims of the bullies need others to stand in their corner and fight back with them and openly support them.

I think as people we should help each other.  It is how humans have been able to survive over many millennia of incredibly difficult times.  We support each other and remember that life is hard and we can get through if we are there for each other - through the good times and the bad times as well.   It makes us brave.  It makes us true friends to other people.  It means that we have integrity.  It is one of the lessons we are here on earth to learn - helping others.  Not 'helping others' only if it is easy and convenient and you happen to feel like it and it won't in any way put you out.

If someone were bullying you - would you want someone else supporting you and helping you?  How would you feel if no-one did?  Exploring this question gives you the empathy needed to help someone else in a similar situation.  What goes around does often come around.

Helping may not always mean directly getting involved in the situation.  It might mean going with the person being bullied to the appropriate person or place to complain and seek help: the police, the school principle, the media, the complaints department at work or a more senior figure at work, or a complaints department outside of the workplace, to name a few.

Bullies are actually cowards.  They pick on people who are weaker than them and/or outnumbered by them.  To ask any victim to endlessly fight a group of bullies alone - is usually asking too much.  This may work for a while in the short term.  But fighting a daily or regular battle against a stronger opponent - due to being outnumbered or the fact that the bully is bigger than you or in a position of  authority relative to you can make it an impossible fight if you are doing it alone.  Other people need to help and, I would advise anyone being bullied, if no-one volunteers to come to your aid - go seek help out and demand help for yourself and/or get yourself out of the situation altogether.  Even if that means in some cases quitting a job, leaving a place of residence or changing schools.

It has been estimated that 2% of men and 0.5% of women are psychopaths.  Psychopaths lack empathy and often enjoy hurting people and being destructive in other people's lives.  It has been found that a relatively high number of managers and people in positions of authority in the workplace are psychopaths.  There have been books and documentaries made about psychopaths in the workplace - you could google that to learn more.
Obviously, these people are also in schools and out in the community as well.  It is the advice of psychologists that if you have a psychopath for a boss and you are being bullied and the boss won't leave or can't be shifted away from you - the best and only thing for you to do is to get out and find another job.  If a psychopath boss stays - then you need to leave.


I chose the topic of bullying  as I supported someone this week who was being bullied by others in his workplace.  He said my support helped him - and I'm glad I could help.  I think sometimes we think people are 'picking' on us but we haven't yet worked out that it is 'bullying' per se.  Even this realisation and knowing that we are supported by others and encouraged to stand up for ourselves and our rights helps.  It helps us to decide to do something about it and the support gives us more courage to do this.


If you are being bullied - you don't have to put up with it!  Ask for help from others.  They may just not realise that you need help or may not have thought of helping until you suggest it.  It may also be useful to be specific in what help you would like.  You may need to tell people how they can help you: stand with you against the bullies - a group of you, go with you to the school principle or to a higher manager or person in higher authority at work, go to the police with you or take you in to their home if you need to get away from an abusive living situation.
If the first person isn't helpful - ask someone else and keep doing that until you get the help you need.

Don't give up.

It is the squeaky wheel that gets the grease.  Be squeaky!!!

Everyone deserves to be treated with love, respect and  dignity and everyone deserves to feel safe and to be safe.

As the poem Desiderata  says:  'You are a child of he universe and you deserve to be here'.

You are as deserving as anyone else on the planet and no-one has the right to abuse you or bully you.  No-one.  Fight for your rights and find help.  Bullies are easier to fight when yo have help.  You don't need to go it alone.   Help is out there, although you may need to go to more than one person to find the help you need.

Don't give up.  Everyone deserves to be safe and respected. Especially you.


                                     *                               *                              *




A short story (fiction):



The Last Day


The alarm clock blasted into 14 year old Kate's dream.  It was the dream she often had lately.  The one where she sat in a beautiful garden and felt happy and at peace.

She pulled her lids open and found that she needed to squint against the harsh sunlight which flooded her bedroom.  Her gaze scanned the room.  It was a mess.   As usual.  Her clothes and junk littered the floor and covered her study desk which sat in the corner of the room; the desk which she hadn't used for weeks.  As she pulled herself out of bed she remembered what day it was.  It was Friday.  Finally, she thought, it's the last day.

"Kate", her mothers voice sang out from the kitchen down stairs.  "It's almost 8 o'clock.  Hurry up!  Your bus leaves in 15 minutes".

"OK", she called back.

She found her crumpled uniform under a few magazines and put it on. She pulled her long dark hair up into a ponytail and found her school bag amongst the rubbish.  It was empty.  She wondered if she should bring any books today.  It was the last day.  She found a text book - torn and stuck back together with sticky tape and threw it in her bag.  That would do, she thought, and she slowly traipsed down the stairs.

As she walked into the kitchen she consciously took in the scene and hoped that she would be able to remember things as they were at that moment forever.
Her mother, medium height and build, dark brown hair and  in her early 40's was busy putting bread into the toaster.  Her younger brother, Rowan, four years old with light brown curly hair, dimples and wearing the car t-shirt with motorbike shorts that he loved, was playing with his transformer toys at the kitchen table.
The kitchen itself was  a simple construction: wooden cupboards painted antique white  situated around the edges of the room, an old white fridge in a corner and a large window looking out onto the small area of grass out the back.  It was the room that the three of them had spent much of their time since they  had moved into the small rental house 6 months earlier, after her parent's divorce.

Kate sat down.  Her mother had left buttered toast and a glass of juice for her at her place on the table.  She took a small sip of the juice.  She didn't feel much like eating today.  Actually, she hadn't much felt like eating  any time in these last few weeks and she had noticed that her clothes now hung very loose off her thin frame.

She sat quietly at the table for a short while, then lifting her bag off the floor she gave a last hug to Rowan.  His little arms wrapped round her waist and she held onto him for a bit longer than she usually would.  She would miss him.  She loved him so much.  She kissed his cheek and they looked at each other, foreheads touching and he smiled up at her with his big brown eyes.  "Bye Katey.  Have fun at school."
Kate ruffled his soft silky hair with her hand.  " Bye Kitten" she said.  It was her pet name for him as he loved cats.

Kate hugged her mother and held on a bit longer again.
"Bye darling," her mother kissed her on the head. "Have a nice day.  I'm cooking your favourite tonight,  spaghetti and meatballs".
Kate smiled at her mother.  She knew that cooking dinner was a big deal for her mother as she  hated cooking.  Mostly food was out of a packet,  reheated in the oven or the microwave, and mostly her mother used the smoke detector instead of an oven timer to tell when it was cooked.
"Thanks mum.  That'll be great".  What a shame, she thought, as she walked out the front door for the last time, that she wouldn't be here for her mother's spaghetti.


Arriving in her classroom, Kate made her way to her usual desk near the front of the room and she sat down.  The small wooden tables all faced the front of the room to where the teachers larger wooden desk stood.  The room was filling with students and Kate sat holding on to the one text book she had brought to school.  It's battered cover and torn pages she held tightly to her chest; a type of security blanket like the one she clutched when she was little and scared.
The students settled into the 1950s style room: large windows faced out into the school yard, white walls, grey linoleum floor.  The teacher began talking.  The words didn't matter anymore to Kate.
She sat quietly in her chair staring at the whiteboard at the front of the room.
The teachers voice droned on and  students around her shuffled papers and scribbled notes.  Her thoughts drifted back to six months earlier; to when she had first started at this school  after they'd moved house. Kate had always done well at school.  She'd been top or near top of her class through out school forever... until now.
She used to love school and she used to be happy with lots of friends.  Warm tears welled under her lids and rolled down both cheeks.  She didn't bother to wipe them away. These days her thoughts were so dark and there seemed no future that she cared about anymore.
A soft ball of paper hit her hair, then another and another.  Kate didn't look around as she knew where they were coming from.  She also knew that this was only the beginning of the bullying she would endure today, like every other day in the last five months.  She would be punched and kicked and spat at and her homework ripped up and put in the bin and her books torn out of her arms and ripped up and then handed back to her in pieces and  whatever else the four bullies who sat at the back of the room decided would be her fate for the day.  Although, Kate reminded herself with a slight smile, this would be the last day.  She thought about the lovely dream she had often had recently.  A beautiful garden where she felt safe and happy and at peace.  Soon, she thought.

Gretel, Sally, Sara and Joe were known in the school as the bullies.  The other students had known the rules: always hand over lunch money if requested to do so, hand over any homework at any time and generally do what those four girls told them to do, or else.  The other students had learned years earlier, before Kate arrived at the school,  to try to avoid the four bullies as much as possible and to always do what they were told to by the four girls. Don't ever answer the four bullies back and don't try to reason with them - or your life at the school would not be worth living.   The other students had tried to teach Kate the rules early on.  Finally Kate did learn - but by then it was too late for her.

The recess bell rang out, the lesson came to an end and Kate trudged out to her usual seat alone in the school yard.  A group of the nicer girls in her class had tried to befriend Kate and initially she had really enjoyed their company.  However, recently she had avoided everyone as she felt that she was no longer good company for anyone.  She had come to realise that she was a bore and a waste of space  and other people were better off without her.  An icy wind cut through her cotton uniform and she looked out over the bleak school grounds.

"Kate", a woman's voice broke into her black thoughts.  It was the school principle, Mrs Lynton.  "Kate, come with me dear, to my office". Mrs Lynton, a tall woman in her mid fifties,  smiled down at Kate and held out an arm  to guide her across the grounds.  Kate got up and followed.

When the principle opened her office door Kate was taken aback by the large number of people waiting there.  There were six or seven adults, including Kate's own mother, but also a couple of policemen and a number of the nice girls from Kate's class who had been her friends earlier, and the four bullies - Gretel, Sally, Sara and Joe, who sat glaring at her.

On seeing the four girl's furious faces Kate's heart began to race, she gasped and took a step backward.  Mrs Lynton gently but firmly took her arm and helped her to a seat between herself and Kate's mother.

"I've called you all here today," the principle began, " as this group of girls", she motioned a hand towards Kate's old friends who sat smiling warmly toward her, " have brought to my attention a very serious case of bullying by this group of girls" she gestured  to the four bullies looking innocent and shocked at the front of the room.  I have seen extensive film taken on mobile phones of terrible bullying toward Kate over the last couple of weeks.  And apparently the bullying has been happening for a lot longer than that".
Kate's mother's jaw dropped.  She clutched Kate's hand, and with a look of anguish she turned to Kate. "Why didn't you tell me Kate?  Why didn't you tell me what was happening ?"
"I thought you had enough worries with the divorce and your job..." Kate looked up at her mother who hugged her tightly.
"I never have too many worries , darling.  Never.  " She pulled away and looked into Kate's face. "Always tell me.  Always tell me Kate, if you have any worries".
Kate felt tears run down her cheeks.  She felt safe for the first time in so long.  Her mother hugged her again.

The principle continued, "You four" she pointed at the bullies," are expelled from this school from this moment.  Also, we have involved the police as some of what I have seen on the films constitutes  assault and criminal offences towards Kate; the police have seen the tapes and they agree".

The two policemen indicated to the four girls sitting at the front of the room to get up and follow them.  The girls slowly stood up,  speechless and with eyes wide and fearful they looked about the room at the angry faces watching them.  Their heads down  the girls followed the policemen from the room, their parents leaving after them.

"Kate," the principle put a hand on Kate's shoulder.  "You went through a lot and it was an awful thing that you suffered all that time alone.  Bullies love to isolate people, it gives them more power, and that is what happened to you.  We will arranged for counselling for you and your mother and we hope that you will stay with us at this school.  You are a valued member of this school and  a real asset for us.
Kate smiled back, "Yes, I'd love to stay".  She smiled at her old friends who were walking over to gather around her.


Three years passed and Kate graduated top of the school. She had many great friendships and wonderful times over those years  and eventually she left school with many happy memories.


On that Friday, three years earlier, Kate had planned for it to be the last day.  The last day of her life.  She had planned to kill herself after school that day.  She had it all arranged.  She needed to find peace, safety and happiness again - like in her recurring dream.

She had thought the only way out, away from the endless bullying, was death.  However, she came to realise, with counselling, that she had been wrong.  Death was not the way out.   Fighting for herself and asking for help from others was the answer.  She learned that no-one had the right to take away her happiness and make her feel unsafe and bullied.  Ever.

Kate went on to study social work and help other people as she had been helped.  She heard, through the grapevine, that the four bullies had been expelled from every school they had gone to subsequently, and two of them had been later sent to prison.  Kate decided that those girls  were no longer her problem.


Looking back it had been the last day, in a way.  It had been  the last day that she was ever bullied.



                                                              The End


I hope everyone has a lovely week.  Be kind to yourselves and I hope that you get to do at least one fun and/or enjoyable thing just for yourself each day - a sit in the sunshine, a lovely espresso coffee, a good laugh at something funny.

I'll write next week - so until then goodbye.


PS:  My grandmother used to say that the word 'goodbye' was a lovely word.  She said it derived from the phrase "God be with you"  (whatever God is for everyone - it is still a nice sentiment).

PS: 

If you liked this blog or found it helpful - please let others know - as it may be helpful to them or just a nice read.

Love?!

 

Post one



This is my first blog entry... ever.

I am currently therefore a 'work experience', 'P-plate driving' blogger - so please forgive my many mistakes as social media ignorance.  I hope that I can  improve from here.


PLEASE NOTE:  My original blog title was 'How to find love' - I explain below in my original blog why I chose this title.

However  I subsequently found that so many sites on the internet started with this title - I felt my blog would get lost in all the 'noise' - so I realised that as I love people's stories about their lives - I have heard so many in my life - especially from my patients over the last 25 years and in my own life over almost 50 years - I would write blog exploring the stories we all have - unique and shared in our lives.


So my new blog title "Our multi-story lives" does not relate to the text below.  However  I thought it was nice to discuss issues of the original title - Love - and keep my original blog beginning.

The original blog I wrote therefore continues below:



I have named my blog site 'How to find love...' as now in my late forties - after 27 years with my lovely husband David,  25 years as a medical doctor, 16 years as a mother - now with four beautiful children, and a life filled with many mistakes and many difficult times and many beautiful and wonderful and funny times as well ... I think that I have finally found some wisdom about life and people and most importantly  love.  And I hope that through my blog I can share with other people some of the things I have learned and experienced in my life which may inspire and help them to better understand and find love in their lives.

One of the things that I have learned with maturity is that I think the meaning of life - is love.

Over the last 25 years as a medical doctor,  treating and supporting patients through some of their most difficult and tragic  times as well as some of their most wonderful times ... I have found that love is the thing that matters most to people when crises occur.

How much money people have, how big their car and house is or how much status they have achieved in their lives seems to evaporates into insignificance as people look to loved ones for support and help and comfort, or to share their joy with.  It is also at these  times  people can sometimes realise with regret  the words of love that they never got to express or the love that had waited patiently for them for so long - but they had been too busy to see it or to appreciate how important it was.


So ... I chose my blog topic to be about 'love' and how to find it as I think love is the most important thing in our lives.


When I say love - I do mean love in all of it's forms.
The love of a partner - a husband,wife, girlfriend or boyfriend is often what people first think of when we talk about love.  And I agree that this form of love is wonderful and beautiful.  However love comes in many other forms that are equally  important and wonderful.
The love for our children or even children in general, for our patients, customers, clients, colleagues, neighbours and friends are also important.  Soul mates can be found not only a life partner - but also in our friends and other people in our lives.  The love we can have for our pets is also valuable and beautiful.

We can also enjoy love in the beautiful things we find in the world - a beautiful sunset, a glorious view, a lovely rose, art, music, food, coffee, a good book, a glass of wine and so many other things we find joy in.  These things help us to love our lives and have fun and find joy.

Finally and I think most importantly there is love ... for ourselves.  Unconditional, forgiving and  kind love for ourselves and for  our mistakes and for the goals we couldn't achieve and for the things that we regret and for our imperfections.  We are all imperfect but we all deserve to be loved - especially by ourselves.
 I have read that our souls are all like a perfect diamond - all beautiful and precious at their core - but all of us in our lives are polishing that diamond soul through the lessons we learn.  Lessons we learn through the hard times we all endure and through the mistakes we make.

Lessons learned are about love, but also about forgiveness - including forgiving ourselves, compassion for others, patience - including patience that we will find love - in the time that we are meant to - which is not necessarily right now, tolerance of other people and ourselves, helping ourselves but also helping others in their life journeys and also allowing others to love and help us.  Accepting help from others can be, for some people, difficult as can be allowing others to love us.


Earlier this week when I decided to start to write a blog - I  was wondering what to call it.  I was googling for fun between patients at work, a habit I have to pass the time - an alternative to playing the computer card game Solitaire, and by chance  I happened to google 'Topics most often googled'.
What I found fascinating and prompted the name for my blog site was that the most frequently googled topic for the USA was not topics related to finance and wealth or material possessions or even, as for other countries, how to draw or how to make a cake.  The most frequently googled topic for the USA was 'How to find love'.  I was initially surprised that so many people would be looking for love to make it the most googled topic.  I found the idea that love was so sought after both lovely - that in all the things to desire and google - people in the US most wanted to find love.  But it was also possibly  a bit sad.  Do these people feel lonely and lacking in love?  Also can they see all the people around them who probably already love them - if not as a life partner but as a valuable and beautiful soul and friend.  Furthermore what about loving themselves?  Do they?


So here is my first blog ... about love, in its many forms, and finding it.

I hope that with my stories - both true and creative , and through inspirational things I experience and I have experienced that I can share with my readers, I might help them to find love in their lives from others and also love and forgiveness and acceptance for themselves.


For my first blog I have a short true story about my own life:




The First Time I Realised That I Loved My Husband.


It all sounds ridiculous now. Now that I'm older and I've realised how superficial and unimportant appearances are.  However back then in the 1980's I was acutely aware of the old saying "Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses".  So for most of the first four years of my university life I refused to wear my glasses outside of the lecture rooms.  Unfortunately I couldn't wear contact lenses as my eyes were dry and the lenses hurt like brocken glass when I tried to wear them.

I was legally blind which means I couldn't even read the top letter on those reading charts - 1 in 60 vision - without my glasses.  Objects further from me than about one metre were a blur of colour and light with no distinct form.

I managed to get around the university campus by mostly ignoring people if they called out to me.  I'd been embarrassed too many times by waving and responding to people who didn't know me and who had been waving at someone else that I had  decided  it was safer to ignore everyone and look at the ground feigning deafness or deep thought or both.  

At a pinch I worked out that if I memorised what people were wearing - the colours of their clothes - when I was close enough to see who they were, along with remembering the sound of their voices and their general body shape and height - I could mostly work out who people were and where they were when they were further away from me and once again only a blur of colour.

It wasn't all vanity.  My self esteem had taken a pummelling during my childhood and youth in my abusive family.  I was sure that I was ugly enough even without the dreaded glasses.  The words of my abusive father were still loud and clear in my mind then.

My father frequently told me what a 'nothing' I was, how stupid I was and of course how ugly I was.  My father would comment how pretty other girls in my high school classes were.  The girls who would occasionally call at my house so that I could help them with their homework.  The fact that I did well at school - in fact I was top of the entire highschool of more than 2000 students - meant nothing to my father.  He would tell me every day how much he hated me.  At other times he would kick me across the room, chase me up the street to hit me or punch me and bash my head into a wall.  I would tell friends at school that I had another accident with a cupboard door when they saw my cut lip or bruises.


My clever ploys used to avoid wearing glasses fell apart within three days of starting my fifth year of medicine.  I was 21 years of age and that was the year that I started work as a student doctor on the hospital wards.  It was also the time I met David who was to become my first and only boyfriend and later my dear husband.  David was then the  intern on the ward.  He was 24 years old, tall, dark, handsome, smart, funny and, as I was soon to find out, really kind.

My first hospital rotation was on a surgical unit at a large tertiary hospital in Adelaide, South Australia.  The hated spectacles had been shoved deep into my new white coat's pocket and I wandered the wards in a hazy blur for the first two days - squinting at bed charts and trying to work out who was who from the different  voices and clothes and body shapes of the staff on the wards.

Day three came and it was my first day assisting in the operating theatres.  The student doctors all changed into our green surgical scrubs with white papery hats to cover our hair and white papery boots for our feet.  The operating theatres were a large white labyrinth of corridors with a multitude of operating theatres stemming off them.  It was all a confusing maze even for people with good vision.  However with my poor sight it was a shiny blur of dazzling white with green blobs of colour scurrying here and there  and I quickly realised that I was hopelessly lost... and blind.  My usual system of working out who people were by their clothes and hair colour no longer worked at all  as everyone was wearing surgical scrubs and hats to cover their hair.  One white corridor looked like the next.  I looked at my watch.  The time was 8.55am. I was due in theatre with my surgical registrar, Brendon, and my fellow student doctor, Carolyn, at 9am.

My heart was racing, perspiration was dripping down  the back of my neck and my forehead under my white hat.  A tight band squeezed in around my skull and my mind screamed at me, My God!  I'm lost and I'm going to be sacked and I'll fail and never become a doctor. I ran down corridors.   This is my first day,  the thoughts raced through my mind,  and they've probably started operating already.

Somehow I found the doctor's tea room - another white space through a door filled with green blobs around the periphery of the room drinking coffee.  Racing into the room, breathless, eyes wild I stopped in front of the first two green blobs sitting nearest to the door and in a shrieking voice that I hardly recognised as my own  I cried, " I'm a fifth year med student and I've lost my registrar and the other  student - Brendon and Carolyn.  Have you seen Brendon and Carolyn?"

I stood there staring at the two figures sitting two meters in front of me.  Panic all over my face.  Limbs tense and anxious to rush away and get to where I was meant to be five minutes ago.

However the figures just sat there in silence watching me.  I  wondered why they didn't answer and whether  they had understood my question.  Finally the larger of the two figures responded in a deep masculine voice he said, "We  are  Brendon and Carolyn".

A stunned silence followed this and then the laughter began.  All the green figures in the room were laughing at me. Fortunately my mind has blanked out whatever happened next.  I'm sure it was all pretty awful and humiliating and I did go and  retrieve my glasses and from that day forward I accepted defeat and became the girl who wore glasses.

I also became the girl who stood two meters in front of her new registrar and fellow student and asked them in a state of panic if they knew where they were.  I was worse than Mr Magoo - the blind cartoon character from my childhood.  I was lucky I hadn't stopped to have a chat with a hat stand on the way through the door.


I realised that day that I would prefer to appear ugly with glasses than to look stupid without them.


The story of my 'blind stupidity' spread throughout the  hospital community and to all of my fellow medical students.  Over the next few months the story became almost a legend in stupidity.  I got used to hearing the story told and retold and the laughter and pointing that followed.

However a few weeks after that embarrassing event  I was examining a patient late one night on the wards with the curtain pulled around the patient's bed.  The ward was silent and then I heard two voices only meters away at the nurses station.  It was my fellow student doctor, Carolyn,  and my new friend, David.

Carolyn was telling David the hilarious story of blind Robyn in the operating theatre's tea room a few weeks earlier.  When the story  ended and Carolyn began to laugh I noticed only silence from David.  I sat listening only meters from them as they were both still oblivious to my presence in the room.
Finally David responded.  "I don't think that's funny", he said.  "Robyn just needed her glasses. That could have happened to anyone".  Carolyn stopped laughing and David continued to say many kind supportive words about me.


Almost thirty years have followed since that night.  David and I have now been married for over 24 years and we have been life partners from soon after that conversation.
I think that was the first time I realised that I loved my new dear friend, David.  He demonstrated  integrity, kindness and loyalty  as I sat listening behind the curtain that night to his lovely words.


I realise now that I learned a few lessons  from my humiliating and stupid mistake in that surgical tea room back in 1987.

I learned that men do make passes at girls who wear glasses.  Glasses can be really cool.
Obviously it is better to wear glasses than to look like an idiot pretending that you don't need them.
Actually it eventuated that my handsome new boyfriend was more myopic than me.  He also wore glasses but when I first met him he had worn contact lenses.

I also  learned  how kind and loving people can be - in this case my dear husband David.  Defying other people who laughed at me and being my champion.

Finally I learned that my father was wrong about me.  I was not ugly or stupid and I did deserve to be loved ... even though he didn't and still doesn't care for me.  I know that  all people deserve to be loved and respected.



We all have bodies - but we also have souls.  I think rather than us being bodies with souls - we are souls with bodies and a  kind soul is where true beauty lies.





Last thing before I go - some words of wisdom:


'Adversity introduces a man to himself.'
Albert Einstein





I hope everyone has a lovely week.

PS: 

If you liked this blog or found it helpful - please let others know - as it may be helpful to them or just a nice read.