Andrea Edwards

I was driving along with Steve the other day and said there are people I just don’t know well enough asking me what operation I had. I mean if it was something to do with my girly bits, what do I say? Or perhaps I had a colonoscopy – do I tell them ‘I had a camera shoved up my arse?’   The problem is, I know I do it myself. You can’t help but ask. I don’t believe it’s essentially a nosy thing, I think we’re all just looking to understand the seriousness of what has happened to someone so we can offer the appropriate level of reassurance to their situation. Or maybe I’m over-complicating things? Maybe we are nosy? Maybe nothing is sacred anymore?   When people tell me they’ve had an operation, I often find the words spilling out of my mouth “what happened? What did you get done?” But I always, always stop and say: “I am so sorry! Of course you don’t need to answer that question. You might have gone through something incredibly private or you just don’t want to tell me. I’m sorry for asking.”   When that happens, people have an opportunity to respond to the initial question if they want to, or they can say thanks for giving me a get out clause.   It’s not dissimilar to the question: “when’s the baby due?” Always a question you regret asking, especially when the person says: “I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.” Doh! Don’t ask that question ever, ever again, unless you’re 100 percent sure the person IS pregnant OK? That is my rule.   I often find it interesting that there are just a few, small, situations, where a perfectly normal person – who typically engages their mind and heart before they open their mouth – finds that whatever mechanism is in place to stop them asking the inappropriate questions, seems to get bypassed. What operation have you had is one of those questions.   But getting back to my conversation with Steve. He came up with a perfect response:    “It’s simple, you tell them you had your left labia sculpted into the shape of a rose” and then you leave them with that.   Perfect no?     Can anyone top Steve’s response?   Go on, give me a laugh. It’s been a tough couple of weeks.   Yours, without the bollocks Andrea   BTW I’m on Twitter here, Google+ here, Instagram here, and Facebook too, if you’re interested in the other stuff I share. Feel free to share my blog if you think anyone you know will be interested or entertained. I sure do appreciate it when you do xxxxx

Friday night (early Saturday morning) excruciating agony kicks in. The same thing happened five days before, and six months before that, but nowhere near as bad. It was time to take it seriously, and based on the genetic history of my family, stones were a likely candidate. I was right, it was stones. Shit that stuff hurts!!   Unlike the last incidents (when I decided to get through the pain, because sometimes that’s less scary than facing hospital) I knew I had to act, so I asked Steve to take me to the hospital at 2am. Sorry love. But he knew it as well – no more messing around. He felt like I was a ticking time bomb now.   My mini loves were anxious for their mumma. I was just happy when they let me wash my hair! Four days later and I finally get out of the hospital. There was talk of me staying in another night, even though the surgeon said I could go home, but the specialist had “concerns.” There was a risk something else could happen – a stone travelling into my liver, which wouldn’t be a good thing. She let me go in the end. You never want to stay in hospital a minute longer than you have to right? Besides, of course nothingelse would happen. I’m lucky. Fingers crossed it won’t.   But during this little soiree, two extremely weird things happened. The first when Steve was saying goodbye as I was being rolled off to surgery. I knew he wouldn’t be there when I got out, because I insisted he went home to be there for the boys when they woke up. I didn’t want them spun out hearing their mum was in hospital. Thankfully he listened. But it got me all emotional.   He bid me adieu through his own tears, but I couldn’t stop crying. I’m on the chopping block and they’re trying to calm me down – I’m trying to calm me down – but I just kept getting more and more hysterical… Let’s just say I’m not a fan of crying in front of strangers – definitely not my thing. Thankfully the drugs kicked in and I was gone.   Next thing I was viciously woken up and took two gulping breaths with no air coming in. Not being able to breath certainly wakes you up quickly right! But then I was hit by a wall of pain. Excruciating. I had people all around me, but all with their backs to me, and they were ignoring me. I was moaning, crying out in pain, pleading “please can you help me?” Occasionally a voice would come close to my ear, just a minute, we’ll give you more pain medicine when we get you back to your room.   But I don’t want it when I get back to my room. I want it now. It hurts so much. Help. Help. Please can someone help me. No one helped. At least I don’t think they did. It was awful. Back in my room, the pain continued. The pain started at 12am and finished at 1.30am. I knew the time better than anything else in that moment, because hospitals have clocks everywhere. I was in the usual befuddled state one gets into when coming out of anesthetics, but I knew the bloody time.   My view for four days I also knew something wasn’t right. I’ve woken up from operations before and pain is the last thing you feel. Did someone miss something? Why am I hurting? Help. Please help. I’m in my room, people were there sometimes. Mostly I was alone. I got an injection in the arm. An hour and a half later it stopped hurting, the room was empty. They left the lights on. The nurse call button wasn’t anywhere I could reach. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything. The light was hurting my eyes.   I was befuddled, confused, and eventually, not in pain, but shit, what was that all about? I kept asking the doctors and nurses the next day, but no one wanted to talk about it. I get that, but I wish someone said there was a mistake, or you didn’t take to the pain killer we gave you, or, or, or, but of course, that would never happen would it? I might sue the fucking hospital.   I’ve never sued anyone in my life and I’m not about to start now. An explanation would have been nice though.   It’s done now, but Steve and I have certainly agreed that if there are future operations, the other will be there afterwards. It was definitely nice when Steve was in the hospital making things happen for me. Although I have to say, I’m glad he didn’t see me going through that. It would’ve been awful for him to watch!   I survived, one less organ in my body which I’m bummed about, but I’m doing a whole lot better than most people in this life. I’m just happy to be home – tender, tired and with a bloody HEADACHE (coffee withdrawal? Too many drugs whirling through my system?) – but home with my loves. The only thing that matters.   Anyone else wake up from an operation in agony?   Yours, without the bollocks Andrea   BTW I’m on Twitter here, Google+ here, Instagram here, and Facebook too, if you’re interested in the other stuff I share. Feel free to share my blog if you think anyone you know will be interested or entertained. I sure do appreciate it when you do xxxxx

When Steve first leaves on one of his extended business trips, there’s a lot of love going back and forth on Whats App. We’ve always been an over-communicating-kind-of-couple, keeping each other connected in our day-to-day lives when we’re apart… well it actually happens when we’re in the same city too. Steve drives that. For him it’s about respecting each other and being interested in each other’s lives. It’s one of his many lovely qualities that makes us stronger as a couple. But as the weeks roll on (we’re finishing three weeks of travel right now) and you’re living the same chaotic life, just in different countries, the energy and enthusiasm in the communication department starts to wane. You just get to the point where you’ve had enough and want it over. Early trip communication has lots of loving messages and then the day-to-day rolls in: Early into trip – “I’m up, the boys are off to school counting down the sleeps ‘til you get home, I’m getting ready for work now, hope you have an amazing time tonight. Promise me you’ll enjoy yourself xxxx” Middle of trip – “Chaos done for the morning, I’m getting ready for work, love you xxx” End of trip – “Boys gone, me soon x” Night time progression is along these lines “Sleep well my love. Hope it’s been an amazing day for you. Can’t wait to speak tomorrow to hear all about your day xxxxxxxx” “Good night sweetheart xxxx” “Bed time x” It starts to become a challenge of creativity. The longer Steve is away, the more mundane our messages become, because how many ways can you say the same thing? You work hard on trying to be unique in what you say, because it’s important to stay connected, but it does start to become a chore. It becomes tedious. It’s hard when it reaches that point, because you don’t want it to be tedious. It’s too important. While this international travel might seem exotic and exciting to those who don’t have the opportunity to do it, it really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It just makes life that little bit harder for the whole family. And I’m not even speaking of the mundane Steve faces on his adventures – packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking, city to city, town to town, airport to airport, time zone to time zone. In the meantime, Steve is having his final sleep in the US while I finish another weekend without him and that includes dealing with the boy’s emotions of missing their beloved dad. I don’t like it when he’s away for a long time, but the boys really reallydon’t like it. Jax in particular seems affected this time. I know it’s good for him. Good for us. But right now, all I want to say to him is: can you just bloody come home now Steve? Hurry hurry. We would miss it if we couldn’t do it though. We both know that. Anyone relate? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea 

I was having a rather hilarious discussion with a couple of great birds at a networking night recently. All around the same age bracket, one was telling us she could still do the splits, because she was a pretty serious ballerina in her younger days. We couldn’t get a live demo unfortunately, because jeans are not suitable attire for the splits, but I’m on a promise for a demo in future. I did ballet for a while when little and could do the splits then, but it’s a talent long behind me today – although maybe I should try… The other lady, a tall, gorgeous woman, could never do the splits EVER. Ballet was just not in her past at all. Apparently tall girls didn’t do ballet. But it got me thinking about the things you didn’t learn as a kid that you wished you could do now. And for me there are only two clear misses. The first is playing pool. I never learnt it from a young age. Sure I can smack balls around a pool table at furious speed, and sometimes I have a good night and actually look like I know what I’m doing. But it’s like playing darts. The great nights are rare and I usually look like a dick when I play. Being good at pool, developing the skill and subtly required to play it well, comes from years of wasting hours in pubs as soon as they accept your fake ID. I obviously didn’t use that time to the best advantage. It’s a shame though, because a talented woman on a pool table is one of the most sensuous and powerful sights I know. I was too busy with my euphonium to appreciate that. But the biggest miss for me is the Wolf Whistle. Ahhh man talk about powerful and sexy! I’ve just never mastered it. I tried, I really did, but I didn’t try hard enough. We were obviously missing another key ingredient back then – the wikiHOW – with a 10 step instruction on how to do it WITH PICTURES. Maybe I’ll have another go and see if I can learn it with the boys!! They’re definitely on the trying to whistle journey right now. And check this out. I found The Art of Manliness – love it. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting people along the journey of life who could wolf whistle spectacularly – many really surprising. Don’t you think it’s awesome when you do a double take, because you didn’t expect that lovely lady to be able to do THAT? Always makes me laugh from deep in my belly, because it’s nothing short of brilliant! It feels so Hollywood when trying to get a taxi in NYC and your pal rips one out. Or trying to get someone’s attention and they’re just too far away, only to have a friend let a pearler go. It’s amazing how many heads turn around on a whistle. It penetrates the entire community within hearing range. Great skill. Shame I missed out on that one. So now it is over to you for some light Sunday banter. What didn’t you learn that you SO BLOODY wished you did – from the depths of your soul? Should be fun. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea BTW I’m on Twitter here, Google+ here, Instagram here, and Facebook too, if you’re interested in the other stuff I share. Feel free to share my blog if you think anyone you know will be interested or entertained. I sure do appreciate it when you do xxxxx

Lex snored since he was born. It wasn’t until he was nearly four that an ear, nose and throat specialist (ENT) asked me the question – does he snore? Why yes I said, since he was born. His response was simple. No child should snore. I’ve thought about that moment so many times in the five years since the accidental appointment. I made the appointment on a hunch, as I often have with Lex. But if only I’d known kids shouldn’t snore earlier, how different things would have been. If only one doctor had asked me the question earlier. But they didn’t and they didn’t notice the narrowing of Lex’s ear canals either – the sign his adenoids and tonsils were exploding in size. This meant how he heard the world was often painful, especially in a room full of screaming, high pitched kids. We’ve had so much misinformation since that time. So many tests and guesses. The problem has always been that no one has really known what the hell was going on, because no one really understands the developmental impact on a child with hearing challenges, or how very unique every child is when it comes to developing language. To really know, they need to be inside the brain of a baby or a toddler, and of course, they can’t – not yet. It’s been a hideously long and expensive road for us since, and we’ve thrown money at every possible solution. We’ve done two things that made the biggest impact. First Excelerate, where they helped Lex deal with his frustration at not understanding the world, and at not being understood. And the second, more recently, when I read The Woman Who Changed Her Brain. After I read this, we registered Lex in a brain training program – one used by NASA to train astronauts on focusing, and the results have been staggering. Click this link for lots of videos on NASA brain training. My lesson with both. If you’re child has an issue with shrinking ear canals and is starting to act up, address his behavioural issues first. Expressing frustration is a good thing because they’re giving you a sign something is wrong – many kids go completely silent. It might turn out to be something else, but it also might be just that – frustration. Helping them to calm themselves is a gift to give your child. Excelerate had both speech and behavioural therapists working together, and that was a huge bonus for Lex. Second look at cognitive brain development. Most countries/cities seem to have some form of cognitive therapy centers, and Barbara Arrowsmith-Young, who wrote ‘The Woman Who Changed Her Brain’ has centers in Canada and Australia. Maybe more places now. Once again, with cognitive therapy, I was just using my gut. However it made sense to me that if Lex missed out on some fundamental development skills as a baby and toddler because of his hearing, it occurred to me there was a very real chance some of the necessary cognitive wiring in his brain was impacted. It’s been awesome for him, perhaps it’s an opportunity for you. My next initiative is to get him into some sort of acting/drama classes. He’s had speech therapy for years and has an impressive array of language (and slang) today, but now I think it’s time he learnt how to use and project his voice properly. As I said, we’ve done a lot of guess work, but I’ve learnt to trust myself when it comes to Lex. But this issue has come up again, this time for Jax Jax hasn’t been doing as well at school this year as he did in the past, and that has been a big concern. He’s a bright kid and we’ve been scratching our heads trying to work it out. Do you know where we found the solution – the dentist! Dr Trev Halcome is a wonderful kids’ dentist and he recently handed me this PowerPoint deck – What Happens to a Childs’ Brain When They Snore . An ENT in Queensland created this information and when I read it, I thought bingo for both of my boys. What I am loving about today is some medical professionals are finally starting to look at the bigger picture. There’s a lot of kids being misdiagnosed – something I’m absolutely against. Fine if the diagnosis is right, but if there are other things happening, we must be open to every possibility, rather than just accepting a couple of options – ADHD or Autism. That diagnosis might be right, but they might be wrong too, and if they are wrong, the child will never be able to grow into the person they are meant to be. That is something I could never accept with my boys. Shove your labels up your arse and let’s focus on dealing with the issues! Diet also needs to be integrated into this of course. The amount of additives and preservatives young kids are exposed to today is horrifying, but that’s another issue. Anyhoo, Jax’s teeth are all bunched up, so of course we’re thinking braces. No, it’s not braces, his pallet isn’t growing fast enough for his age, which means he is not breathing properly when he sleeps, which means he’s always tired and that’s why he’s not doing so well at school. Jax will be booked into the chop shop next. Maybe just his adenoids, maybe his tonsils too, but he’ll also need a bunch of skin scraped off his pallet. Ugh! Not looking forward to that. So that’s why I’m writing this blog. Before puberty no child should snore. When they sleep, they shouldn’t breathe through their mouth either, as Jax is doing right now. That is what I’ve been told by doctors I’ve come to trust, and I know it’s true in our case. I’m not a doctor. I’m a mother who’s been through a lot of shit, and if I can help one parent not

One for the ladies today (and maybe a few curious fellas) but do you remember the moment when fragranced sanitary napkins entered our lives? Early 80s in Australia right? In my memory it occurred at the same time “womanhood” commenced (for those in my age group you’ll know when that was), and this was before we were old enough to embrace other alternatives – in my Catholic community at least…  In fact, some gals at my school never got permission to move beyond the pad. Thankfully my mum was quite liberal in that regard. Anyhoo, last night I walked into our lift lobby and there was the strongest smell of fragrant pad. I said: ‘shit Steve that brings me back to being 12 years old when fragrant pads hit the shelves of the supermarkets. We all ran out to try this new thing, but very quickly stopped, because if there is one thing for sure – you never wanted to tell the world you were on the blob. And that smell is completely unique. Like the hairspray your grandma used to use!’ For me, that smell is a siren over any woman’s head that she is on the blob, and as far as I know, the majority of women really don’t want everyone else knowing that the painters are in. That’s women’s business. That’s private business. Well for me anyway. But these pads still do exist – last night was proof. So who wears it? Who doesn’t get that EVERYONE around them knows they’ve got their rags? And for me there’s an added thing – it’s such a strong, sickly, sweet smell, it also makes me feel quite nauseous. It probably comes from the fact that fragrance pads are not a happy memory smell. It’s a memory of pain. It’s a memory of horror…. I mean at 12 you’re facing a good 30-plus years of this shite, and that is where the horror comes in. Maybe you didn’t feel this way, because some girls actually loved this growing-up-chain-of-events in their lives. I just thought they were weird and wished I was a boy. So the only conclusion I can draw is this. Women who wear fragranced pads have absolutely no sense of smell. If they did, they’d run as far and as hard away from these sweet little stinkers as they possibly could. Alternatively, they like the smell, and if so, their olfactory senses are not aligned with mine. I mean seriously, who thought that perfuming pads was ever a good idea? AND why the hell do they still exist? Anyone else have a memory of the fragranced pad? Or catch a whiff on public transport today? That’s always a good place for it. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

I woke up yesterday morning to a view of the back of Steve’s head, watching the first game of the Rugby World Cup – Fiji Versus England. Thankfully England won, ‘which means I’ve got a happy hubby. They’ll be playing Australia soon and that will be an interesting match to watch together. However, at that moment the photo was taken, I realized this is my view for the next six weeks. Since then, four more matches have been watched. Only one upset so far – but I can’t tell you who, because it will be a spoiler for those who haven’t had a chance to watch it yet. I appreciate my husband’s need to stay off Facebook right now. I could easily be a moaning, demanding bitch of course, because this stuff is going to consume our lives for the coming weeks, but I won’t, and the reasons: Steve is pretty un-demanding on the sports needs front. He has his sporting passions, but he’s very considerate and often watches games after we all go to bed, so it doesn’t impact family time. He’s a thoughtful guy – in many ways I don’t mind watching a bit of rugby myself. As far as the male form goes, rugby players have the type of body I find desirable, and even though I won’t watch every game, I am happy to view the scrum bums and thighs when I wander past the TV. It’s always been a spunk fest for me The haka – say no more. Love it! Ultimate in sex appeal So I am happy to give Steve as much time as he needs – day or night – to watch his beloved rugby. My challenge now is resisting giving him a hard time about staying up late at night to watch games. He’s a grown boy and can do whatever the hell he wants. Although a moaning, tired husband is not a joy. On another note, we took the boys to the Singapore Grand Prix Friday night – I know lucky kids. But the real news happened the next day. We got them home and in bed around 10pm, AND they didn’t come out of their room until 11am the next morning. That’s right, 11am! In the nine years since becoming a mother, that has never happened. Never ever ever. We couldn’t believe it, but weirdly, both Steve and I were up at 9am. That doesn’t happen on weekends either. Have we hit that cross-over point where parents are awake before the kids? I think I want that, but boy they’ll be pains in the arse to wake up when the school holiday are over in two weeks…. We’ll deal with that when it comes. Getting back to the rugby, did you see the end of the South Africa Vs Japan game? Mate, I was in tears. So exciting. And with that, all I can say is Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi! Go Wallabies. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

We had Lex’s parent teacher interview today. These sessions used to fill Steve and me with dread. Not because we didn’t believe in our little guy, but because we never seemed to be able to get the answers to the questions we always had, like: “how can we help him?” Always our least favorite, because it’s only ever been met with “we seriously just don’t know.” With some rickshaw uncles in Vietnam That’s what happens when your kid doesn’t fit into a specific learning gap or specific need. It also appears to be what happens when no one really understands what the hell is going on with a speech delayed child – for reasons other than autism. But Lex knew. He just wanted the world to give him love AND time to catch up. Not being able to hear properly from the first year of your life – with no one being able to diagnose the issue until you are close to four – well who knows what he missed? We don’t know. We’ve never known. The specialists haven’t known either. The only thing we have known is Lex is smart, a bloody hard worker, insanely curious, he’s got a massive heart, and he’s full of ambition. But he doesn’t like to look silly, and he certainly never likes to be embarrassed. That’s been a big part of helping him how heneeds to be helped, because it’s critical we respect and understand who he is. It’s been a long road and today we went into the session to hear that his lowest score was 82% – for reading fluency. The other scores were 93% for spelling and 91% for maths. Incredible right? I don’t recall the rest of the scores, because all I could think about was at the same time last year, they couldn’t guarantee he’d actually move up a year. He was struggling too much. But they did move him up, and we only found that out during the school concert, at which point Steve and I both burst into tears – bless! Ain’t no mountain high enough I found that really hard. He started school behind, but being in the same year as his younger brother is something I’m happy to live with. He missed out on a lot from a young age, so if staying down a year is the worst that comes from it in the long run, so be it. But being in a year below his younger brother? I struggled with that idea, mainly because of the potential impact on his self-esteem in the later years of school. Alas we didn’t face that and here we were today hearing the most wonderful news. We also have to accept that he’ll probably need to be at that school for another year. While that’s not our preference (nor his, because there are no girls in his class and he’s desperate to kiss the pretty girls) we can do another year. We’ve come this far and it’s good for him right now. The only thing that’s ever mattered is Lex coming out the other side awesome – as we always knew he would. I admire both of my boys so much, but Lex took the cake this week. He’s a rock star today, and I’m just so bloody proud of my little guy. My word he’s earned it. To other parents out there with speech delayed kids, keep the faith in your munchkins. They’ll eventually come good (with a lot of love and patience) and in their own unique way, show the world you were right. It’s not an easy journey, but on days like today, it all feels worthwhile. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea