Placeholder Content Image

How an inspired moment led to a creative new path after retirement

<p>Seventy-year-old Bruce Blomfield is an inspirational character who decided to pursue his passion for yoga when he retired. Here 54-year-old yoga instructor, Tracy Adshead, interviews Bruce about his story and why he thinks that yoga offers something for everyone.</p> <p><strong>Tracy:</strong> How did it all start?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> When I decided to retire in 2014, I joined a yoga group on a trip to Nepal, where we assisted with resource development in a remote village and also practiced yoga with the spectacular Himalayas as a backdrop. Our yoga teacher on the trip was very enthusiastic about the success she was having with her chair yoga classes for seniors in her Australian hometown. This got me thinking – maybe this was something I could work toward as a retirement pursuit and offer as a service to other seniors in my community.</p> <p><strong>Tracy: </strong>As someone over 60 were there any particular challenges to completing the teacher training?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> I had a ‘mid-life crisis’ about 20 years ago and changed career direction, this entailed quite a bit of academic study which I thrived on. However, when I launched into the academic content of the yoga teacher training, along with the physical and emotional challenges, the brain took some ‘serious encouragement’ to take up the challenge; bit of a wake-up call. My brain believed it had been pensioned off!</p> <p>Anything worthwhile requires effort and the teacher-training programme certainly endorsed this! Squatting on the floor for long periods with my old bones was interesting and it quickly forced my brain and body out of retirement mode. Physical, mental/academic and emotional challenges meant I had to dig deep but the rewards have been enriching in every way – new friendships, a renewed personal commitment and confidence.</p> <p>What I experienced was an ongoing ‘tension’ between challenging myself with new mental, emotional and physical tasks whilst at the same time needing to offer myself, and my body forgiveness, along with a lot of self-love, when some parts were out of reach!</p> <p><strong>Tracy: </strong>Have your experiences of teaching or practicing yoga changed your view of ageing at all?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> I took up yoga about 14 years ago largely due to injuries from a 30+ year farming career – including a hip replacement. As I age and my yoga journey progresses, I gain great confidence and solace from the physical and mental benefits that yoga provides me with. Yoga offers something for everyone – there is no need to vegetate due to restricted mobility, or some form of physical incapacitation. I believe now that ageing does require you to maintain a certain non-judgemental demeanour about yourself as you stumble through.</p> <p><strong>Tracy:</strong> What advice would you offer anyone approaching retirement about pursuing a new venture?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> Probably for the first time in your life you can really ‘go with the flow’ – if you have a passion for something - give it a shot. Whether it works or not the experience is a huge growth curve – you learn so much about yourself. Maintain self-love it will bring you contentment, as I mentioned - anything worthwhile requires effort! Take a deep breath and give it a go.</p> <p><strong>Tracy:</strong> What are you up to when you're not teaching yoga?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> My wife and I have three children and six grandchildren who are a big part of our lives. We like to travel each year and spend time with friends. I also read, swim and have a gym routine which I practice on a regular basis. And of course now I’m very involved in my community teaching Chair Yoga at our local retirement village. I’m not sure who motivates who – but we have a blast during these classes!</p> <p><em>Images: Getty</em></p>

Retirement Life

Placeholder Content Image

Why my trip back home unexpectedly filled me with pain and confusion

<p><strong><em>Ray Thomas left his family farm in South Australia when he was in his 20s and moved to New Zealand. He has always loved writing short stories and watching sport. He married an amazing woman 16 years ago and they both retired three years ago. They love family life, travelling, spending time in their large garden and fostering young children.</em></strong></p> <p>It all began innocently and without warning. On a recent trip to my home state of South Australia, I had visited a niece and her family, and then my older sister, in the same day. Surrounded by the once familiar countryside, now almost drought-like after months of virtually no rain, pain and confusion slowly began to build within me. Initially, it felt like a small fire that I thought would soon burn itself out.</p> <p>After spending time with family, I began to realise the importance of being around family members. It started simply by talking about family members and loved ones, both past and present, which were reinforced when looking at old photos. Memories of family members I had not thought about for decades suddenly became very real, and for some reason, extremely important to me.</p> <p>Why now? Why after leaving the country of my birth more than 45 years ago? I didn’t have the answers, and to this day I still haven’t, but I knew the confusion to be real, the pain had not yet set in.</p> <p>Little did I know that during the remainder of the trip, the fire would not extinguish. Rather, it was like a wind had caught it and began to totally consume me. Staying with very dear and close friends, and spending time around my beautiful home city of Adelaide, did nothing to quell the fire. In fact it only inflamed it even further.</p> <p>A short time later, we were staying at my brother’s house at Port Elliot, and spent many happy days there, and nearby Victor Harbour, both places I knew really well and enjoyed. It was here that the pain began. The pain of possibly never again spending time in that part of the state with its magnificent scenery and memories was very real.</p> <p>Then we visited my parent’s graves at Mundalla and a chance to “talk” to them and former friends/neighbour who are resting nearby. Suddenly, an absolute realisation I was home and the pain and confusion really began which I could not understand but knew to be genuine and real. Now, I knew and accepted that the bushfire which had been burning strongly within me was totally real which while being frightening at times, also contained a sense of inner peace. Several precious days with my elderly, frail brother, his amazing wife and several members of their family, capped off an amazing trip.</p> <p>Upon returning to New Zealand, I have accepted the trip had a profound effect on me, left me feeling confused, with a very strong sense of being called home. The pain of wanting to return home is palpable, as is the confusion of knowing what to do next.</p> <p>Do I allow time to take its course, with the possibility that the strong feelings will disappear? I sense not, but this is a remote possibility.</p> <p>What I would like to do, is not rational, and totally unfair on my amazing wife. I could visualise us buying a house in Victor Harbour close to, or with views of the beach. A house with a large garden, because we both love gardening, would be ideal for us. We would obtain a cute, little dog which we would take for daily walks, along the many beautiful, picturesque walkways.</p> <p>However, realistically at our age to suddenly move to another country with all the associated issues involved with shifting, and adjusting to the scorching summer heat would be difficult, but problems we could overcome. The biggest issue for my wife would be moving away from her very close family, friends which would not be fair on her. As much as I would love to return to live, realistically I have to acknowledge that it is highly unlikely to happen.</p> <p>So what options do I have? There are several, but none that totally resolve the problem. Until this has happened, with me being an Aussie but now married and happily living in NZ has never been an issue, but now it is. I love everything about New Zealand. Over the years, it has been very good to me, including marrying my amazing wife. I love the magnificent scenery the snow-capped mountains during the winter time, the lakes and the comparative short distances between towns and cities.</p> <p>Driving across the South Island is approximately the same as driving from Adelaide-Bordertown. To drive from one end of the island to the other takes approximately the same amount of time of driving from Melbourne-Sydney. There is nothing NOT to love about this beautiful country, but it is NOT home. I usually describe Australia, in a general sense, as being “too flat, too dry, too boring, you travel great distances, to get anywhere”, but it is ultimately home.</p> <p>Many years ago, I purchased a plot at the local cemetery, near to where my wife will lay next to her first husband… the “love of her life” and the father of their two incredible children. The thought of resting reasonably close together has always been comforting for both of us. Now, however the pain and confusion becomes very real, not only to me, but my amazing wife.</p> <p>Do I forsake that or consider the option of having my ashes returned home to be close to loved family members? The thought of not being with my wife pains me a great deal, as does the thought of not returning home and being close to family.</p> <p>I have discussed my pain and confusion with her, and although she has not said a great deal, and doesn’t want to influence my decision, I sense she understands my desire to return home but saddened that after countless years of happy marriage, our final resting places may be separated by a great distance, rather than the close proximity we had always envisaged.</p> <p>With time, hopefully I will obtain total clarity and know what to do. Thereby my pain and confusion will cease, and allow my fantastic wife and I to live our (hopefully) long and precious lives together.</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><u>A few weeks later</u></p> <p>Time is not necessarily a great healer, but it does allow a chance to reflect. At the time, my pain and confusion was very real, to the point that it was affecting me mentally, and physically.</p> <p>I have looked at possible alternatives regarding my burial, but have decided to not pursue that, at least for now, because it is too painful to think about and where there seems to be no perfect solution.</p> <p>It has become obvious, that returning to South Australia to live is no longer a viable alternative. The time has come, not to entirely forget about the pain and confusion, but not allow it to totally consume me, like it did for several painful weeks.</p> <p>I have needed a distraction, something else to focus my life on, and with the help of my amazing wife, we are about to do just that. We are both excited about what the future holds for us.</p>

Mind

Placeholder Content Image

Getting older: The moment I found out I had hearing loss

<p><strong><em>Ray Thomas left his family farm in South Australia when he was in his 20s and moved to New Zealand. He has always loved writing short stories and watching sport. He married an amazing woman 16 years ago and they both retired three years ago. They love family life, travelling, spending time in their large garden and fostering young children.</em></strong></p> <p>It all began so innocently and without warning. What seemed so minor and insignificant at the time would six months later cause us so much distress, and financial worries.</p> <p>We had been fostering children. There was nothing unusual about that, as we had done so many times before.  Our most recent children were about to leave and return to members of their family. As was usual, we were sad to see them leave, hoping they would remember the good times we had shared together.</p> <p>A few days prior to their departure the authorities phoned us, well aware of our situation and asked: “Would you consider being foster parents to a much younger child than we had previously?”</p> <p>My wife and I discussed the situation. At our age, were we prepared to take on a very young child, when previously we had decided against it? We decided to accept and went about preparing the house and ourselves, for the numerous challenges we knew this younger child would present.</p> <p>Our cute little girl duly arrived, and as usual we were excited about what lay ahead, confident in our abilities to overcome any possible problems. There was what we thought at the time, to be a minor problem. Six months later, it turned out to be anything BUT minor.</p> <p>This delightful, energetic pocket rocket arrived with a cough. It steadily worsened, which soon required a trip to our doctor, and medication. Both my wife and I had been in excellent health for some time, but we were fearful, of also contracting the cough. And so it turned out to be so. Within a few days, my wife had all the typical flu like symptoms, and was quite miserable for a number of days. I thought “touch wood, so far I’m fine” but unfortunately that was not to last, and soon I was feeling sick and as usual with some men, felt certain I was far worse than my wife!</p> <p>Suddenly and without warning, my condition severely worsened. Virtually overnight, I sensed a slight hearing loss in my right ear. It was nothing major, like having cotton wool in my ear. A short time later I became aware of the same thing happening (but slightly worse) in my left ear. This concerned me a great deal. I hoped that somehow miraculously my hearing would return to normal, which unfortunately did not eventuate.</p> <p>I resented the thought of having to pay $45 for a visit to my GP, but eventually was concerned enough to concede I had no other alternative.</p> <p>“Probably a sinus issue,” he said as he gave me his bill, and a prescription for some nasal drops.</p> <p>“They will do the trick,” he said smiling, as I left, feeling confident that would be the end of the matter. Being the excellent, diligent patient, I did exactly as was prescribed.</p> <p>One week later, there was no change. Two weeks later and still there was no improvement. I was becoming concerned, but resented the thought of paying another $45.00 for a doctor’s visit.</p> <p>The next time we were in town, I went into the pharmacy where I had picked up my prescription, and explained my problem to the pharmacist. He looked up on the computer what I had been prescribed, and suggested I try a similar alternative informing me, with a smile on his face “this will work quickly…within a few days”. Happily, and confident, I walked out… but $30 poorer.</p> <p>Several days later, there was still no change. If anything I was getting worse. I was having bouts (fortunately not at all the same time) of really bad sore throats, ear ache, bleeding noses and dreadful headaches, which were my biggest concern.</p> <p>Reluctantly, another appointment (and another $45) was made with my doctor. After another examination, he told me, “I don’t think it is a sinus problem, but it could be some kind of viral complaint.” He appeared to be very vague and I sensed, not very optimistic of a correct diagnosis.</p> <p>This opinion was re-enforced when he did not suggest any alternative medication.</p> <p>So what was my reaction? I had paid $90 for two GP visits, plus $5 for a prescription, and another $30 from the pharmacy, which for a pensioner like myself, represented a large amount of money. However, nothing seemed to be making any difference. I was more than slightly annoyed and frustrated. As I was about to leave my GP he casually mentioned, “You might like to get your hearing checked”.</p> <p>A short time later, while walking in town, I saw a sign for “Free Hearing Check”. I thought that will do, wrote the number down, and immediately phoned after arriving home. An appointment was made. Little did I know at the time, but six months later, visits to the audiologist were to become numerous and common, because of on-going hearing concerns I was to experience.       </p> <p>After a lengthy and extensive hearing test, I was informed of the result, for which I was totally un-prepared: “Moderate to severe hearing loss in BOTH ears, slightly worse in the left ear, which MAY NOT worsen, but will certainly NOT improve”. She went on to say, “eventually you will require hearing aids”.</p> <p>(Unfortunately, and for reasons still unknown, my hearing has slowly continued to deteriorate.)</p> <p>I was deeply shocked as I drove home to inform my wife. We did not know a great deal about hearing aids, apart from the fact they can be reasonably expensive, which was also a concern. Before leaving my audiologist, she informed me, “I will send a copy of my report to your GP.”</p> <p>A few weeks later, an appointment at the ENT Department in the local hospital was made.</p> <p>“Yes, there is a severe hearing loss,” I was told, before being further informed “grommets will help, but not solve the problem”.</p> <p>Upon arriving home, I did something crazy which I later regretted. I googled grommets, in an attempt to find out what they were, and how the procedure was done, all of which was a HUGE mistake. I realised I was in for considerable pain and discomfort.</p> <p>The procedure was duly performed, and unfortunately was as painful as I predicted. Without going into details, several injections were inserted behind the ears, and as most people are aware, there is little surplus fat, in that part of the human body. What made it worse was the fact that after one ear was completed I still had to endure the discomfort of having the other ear done. About 90 minutes later the painful ordeal was over, and I promised myself, NEVER to be repeated. Before leaving, I was informed, “for the first three to four weeks, expect SOME slight improvement, but nothing after that”.</p> <p>At about that stage, I did something which at the time, did not think had anything to do with my hearing, but as of today, I’m uncertain.</p> <p>A large retail store specialising in eye wear was advertising “Free Vision Check”. Because a few years ago I had a major problem with my left eye, I thought this would be a great chance to make sure my eye was OK, and I was free of glaucoma or any other possible eye problems.</p> <p>I was happy and confident, when the examination began. Oh yes, a couple of times while driving on the country road, VERY RARELY I noticed a VERY SLIGHT blurriness, but thought it was nothing, just old age beginning to catch up with me, and nothing to worry about. Besides, (I felt) my driving was still as good as it had always been.</p> <p>However, part way through the examination, I just knew I was in trouble. The optician suddenly stopped and asked, “Do you drive a vehicle”? To which I proudly and confidently replied “Yes” thinking, “what man does NOT drive?”</p> <p>She quickly replied, “You should not be driving, certainly without glasses,” before adding “if you were in an accident you would not be covered by insurance”.</p> <p>That did not make sense to me, but for once I made no reply. I was totally speechless. Me, a retired man who had driven for over 55 years, and suddenly being told I should NOT be driving! The mere thought was simply outrageous. It is like handing over the T.V. remote to your wife… it simply DOES NOT happen!</p> <p>During the course of the next few weeks and after several visits, selecting frames from the huge range available, and getting the correct lenses, I picked up my flash new glasses, and yes, I am probably now a safer driver, but it pains me to admit it. Numbers and small writing on the TV and when reading, are now much clearer, so maybe my vision was not as “great” as I thought.</p> <p>Friends and family really enjoy my “new look” and make positive comments about them.</p> <p>Now back to my hearing problem. Exactly four weeks of the grommets trauma I was back to my audiologist. My right ear hearing had improved slightly, but, unfortunately, as I had sensed, not my left ear.</p> <p>We then discussed various hearing aid options, such as battery or re-chargeable, inner ear or ones that sit on top of the ear, connected to an ear piece. With her help and advice a re-chargeable, and 30mm outer ear hearing aids were chosen, which best suited my needs. They were barely visible, when in place and I was delighted to pick them up, a short time later. There was a wide variety of prices, but for something as important as the ability to hear, we felt it essential to be sensible about our choice.</p> <p>My wife is VERY relieved, as she no longer has to talk loudly to me, and I can now have the sound on the TV reduced to a level that does not disturb the neighbours several hundred metres away.</p> <p>It is still early days, and I am experiencing some normal initial problems. I have been told this is to be expected. However, with the on-going help and support from my amazing, friendly, supportive, professional audiologist, I am slowly getting used to them.</p> <p>Six months later after I became aware of a problem, it has largely been resolved, and as a result of improved vision and hearing my quality of life has certainly improved.</p> <p>I still have two major unresolved issues…</p> <ol> <li>Is there a connection between a perceived weakness in my left ear and left eye?</li> <li>Why is the hearing in my left ear slowly continuing to worsen?</li> </ol> <p>Six months later, from now, hopefully we will have the answers to those (for now) unanswered questions.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p>

Body

Placeholder Content Image

How my past shapes who I am today

<p><em><strong>Margaret Cunningham, 61, is “semi-retired” from her role in digital communications. She is a hobby writer who particularly enjoys writing articles with a reflective viewpoint. A lifelong passion of health and fitness means she is known in her community as “that lady who runs”.</strong></em></p> <p>When I first started In Hindsight I never considered the unravelling effect the series would have on my own life. The first eight chapters are glimpses of my life as an adult – moments of hindsight discovered through my adult experiences. To delve back any further seemed rather pointless. It never occurred to me I would need to fossick back into “the past”. But our past, even though it is no longer real, does influence who we are today. It cannot be ignored because it most definitely has impact on the present. Our reactions and emotions, our relationships with others and, more importantly, the relationship we have with ourselves are all shaped from the tendrils of our past.</p> <p>Circumstances can sometimes be a determining influence on relationships. They were for me. Sadly, I’ve never been “in love”.  And I do feel poorer because of this. The fizz-pop flutters in the stomach, the sweet murmurs that caress each breath, and when nothing else matters – you love your love, as much as love itself, has eluded me. What a wonderful precursor, albeit brief in the context of love, to herald in loves journey. So just as I was about to write an article on relationships and staying true to yourself things started to unravel, and I invited the past to visit my present.</p> <p>The truth is, I have always struggled with intimate relationships. I find them quite claustrophobic. Panic, discontentment, low self-esteem and guilt have always resided with me in my relationships. This is my norm, so it doesn’t feel abnormal. I have survived 61 years like this. But writing this series has caught me out. Is ‘surviving’ being true to myself?  And so, the unravelling began.</p> <p>Understanding the past and dwelling on the past are not the same. Understanding is liberating. Dwelling is debilitating. If you deny or ignore the importance the past has on the present you will always dwell there, especially in the areas of self-esteem, communication and conflict. My parents truly did their best for us. Always a warm bed, three meals a day and they worked hard. What I have ignored though is that there were some significant events that have deeply affected me. It astounds me to think I never considered the influence these events and moments would have on any future relationships.<br /> <br /> Understanding is truly liberating. In understanding there is no blame, no excuses and no regrets. It’s accepting and acknowledging that certain positive or negative events in the past did occur and have contributed to who you are today. Once you connect your past with the present, the intensity or control the past has on your life drops away. It is much easier to change the negative aspects of your behavior when you understand them. <br /> Sometimes you must undo the past to heal the present. In one of my previous articles, <strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/relationships/2016/11/margaret-cunningham-on-what-makes-a-marriage-last/">Love in three minutes</a></span></strong> I wrote of the great paradox between love and commitment and explained that while commitment has everything to do with togetherness, love is about letting one another other go. One a journey of togetherness, the doing part, the other a journey of self, the being part. Thinking my past didn’t matter, or telling myself my past isn’t who I am now, set the scene for decades of ignorance towards my own journey of self. It has affected every relationship I have experienced. Your past does shape who you are and it is an important part of your life story.</p> <p>The shackles of guilt, discontentment, confusion and low self-esteem no longer govern my present and future. But the past is as much my story, as is my story of today. I love my parents, and the events that have shaped me, more than ever. And I am beginning to love me, the journey of self, the being part, of which I think I shall always be a perpetual student. William P Young, author of the bestselling novel, The Shack, says, “…the world has no meaning apart from relationships. Some are messier, some are seasonal, others different, a few are easy, but every one of them are important.”</p> <p>We alone are responsible for having the relationship we want. And I believe the relationship you have with yourself to be the most important.</p> <p>If you are struggling with relationship issues, don’t settle for “that’s just how I am, I can’t do anything about it”, take a trip down memory lane. Dig deep and understand the experiences that have shaped you... the good and bad. Joy and fulfillment can only be experienced in the present – don’t let the past deny you of this.</p> <p><strong><em>Read Margaret’s past articles <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/family-pets/2016/09/margaret-cunningham-on-the-harm-of-parents-fighting-on-children/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>, <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2017/01/margaret-cunningham-on-time-to-do-nothing/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>, and <a href="https://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2016/12/margaret-cunningham-on-fear/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>. </em></strong></p>

Mind

Placeholder Content Image

A humorous poem about ageing

<p><em><strong>Lynn Fowler can’t remember a time she didn’t write. As a Christian minister, much of her writing has been Christian non-fiction and poetry. She’s recently ventured into fiction and released her first general market novel.</strong></em></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Growing old (dis)gracefully</span><br /> <br /> Youth says age<br /> should be discreet<br /> soft and gentle<br /> and ever so sweet<br /> <br /> should dress in a manner<br /> that befits our days<br /> featuring mostly<br /> dark blues and greys<br /> <br /> should potter in garden<br /> or else in the house<br /> and when out in public<br /> be quiet as a mouse<br /> <br /> and never, never<br /> make a fuss<br /> “today” is all about<br /> them, not us.<br /> <br /> Well, I've news for you, Darling,<br /> and none of it's good:<br /> and don't answer back<br /> 'cause I'm not in the mood.<br /> <br /> I intend to keep being<br /> sassy and loud<br /> I don't need to be<br /> approved by the crowd.<br /> <br /> I intend to keep speaking<br /> my mind when I care<br /> I intend to keep fighting<br /> for what's right and fair.<br /> <br /> I intend to keep dancing<br /> to music that's cool:<br /> I couldn't care less<br /> who thinks me a fool.<br /> <br /> I plan to keep talking<br /> to strangers on trains<br /> and jumping in puddles<br /> whenever it rains<br /> <br /> and to keep running<br /> through grass that is long<br /> and flying a kite<br /> and singing a song;<br /> <br /> swinging on branches<br /> playing in sand<br /> and spending some days<br /> without anything planned.<br /> <br /> I plan to keep traveling<br /> and seeing new places<br /> experiencing life<br /> with all kinds of races.<br /> <br /> I want to ride rapids<br /> and fly a balloon -<br /> give me half a chance<br /> and I'll fly to the moon.<br /> <br /> I want to keep learning,<br /> expanding my mind,<br /> I've experienced much<br /> but there's much more to find.<br /> <br /> I might learn to juggle<br /> or speak Cantonese,<br /> but whatever I do<br /> will be just what I please.<br /> <br /> I'm going to keep wearing<br /> purple and green<br /> I don't care if those colors<br /> should never be seen<br /> <br /> with bright red and yellow<br /> and orange and blue -<br /> I might throw a splash<br /> of magenta in, too.<br /> <br /> I'll make no apology<br /> for what I say:<br /> my “use by date”<br /> is still far, far away.<br /> <br /> So don't let me hear you<br /> “Oh Grandma!”-ing me:<br /> I've waited a lifetime<br /> to become this free.</p> <p><em>Lynn’s short general writing can be found <strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://niume.com/profile/50152#!/posts">here</a></span></strong> and her books <strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://birdcatcherbooks.com/">here</a></span></strong>.</em></p> <p><em>*Picture is a stock image and not of Lynn Fowler. </em></p> <p><strong><em>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/">today</a></span>. </em></strong></p>

Retirement Life

Placeholder Content Image

What I learnt from my late-night emergency visit to hospital

<p><em><strong>Rosie Hersch, 68, is a retired pharmacist, whose hobbies include studying, cooking and theatre. Her biggest passion is travel and like the song says, “I've been everywhere man (well almost).”</strong></em></p> <p>We’ve all had that déjà vu feeling and this was my latest. There I was one early evening in January watching a WWII film, the award-winning <em>The Pianist</em>. The Germans were firing at the resistance fighters in the Warsaw ghetto and the resistance fighters were valiantly holding the fort with weapons that had been smuggled into the ghetto that were really no match for the Nazi fire power. People were being shot at close range, blood was spurting everywhere when suddenly I noticed a trickle down my face. Soon that became a pouring torrent gushing from my nose. I yelled to my husband Peter to get me a cloth with ice, struggling to speak as blood was also pouring down the back of my throat. With the background noise of grenade blasts and machine gun firing coming from the television for a split second I was in another place, a surreal world and a thought flashed through my mind that this was not happening. The blood did not stop streaming from my face and 15 minutes later Peter knew he had to call an ambulance. I have heard many stories of ambulances not coming for hours but my guys arrived within seven minutes. They took one look at this blood soaked woman and said, “Right you are going to Cabrini Hospital,” which is fortunately only two kilometres from home.</p> <p>I have never been in an ambulance so the ride to the hospital felt like a dream. The bleeding had become so much more intense that when we arrived at emergency the ambos demanded I be seen straight away. I never did get to thank these guys. They were so professional, sympathetically reassuring and respectful, not to mention very handsome.</p> <p>A lovely looking young doctor, probably the same age as my youngest son-in-law and with very similar looks, came immediately to my aid. Though I was extremely stressed and anxious I still had the usual “Rosie inquisitive pharmacy trait” to ask 20 questions of the doctor. “Where did you study medicine?” was question number one. Of course my voice was rather muffled as I was holding a blood soaked gauze, squeezing the bridge of my nose as instructed and gagging on the blood sliding down the back of my throat.</p> <p>He told me he studied in Scotland. This intrigued me as he had no Scottish accent. “Just a minute,” I said, “Where is your accent?” “My hometown is in England,” he replied with a smile and a wink.</p> <p>While he was spraying local anaesthetic into my nostrils, using tongs to widen the opening so he could see where to cortarise the burst vessels a nurse tried in vain (pun intended) to get a blood sample from a vein on the top of my right hand. “Oh no,” she said “I have collapsed the vein and have to try somewhere else.” My hand blew up immediately into a bubbly bruise which will take weeks to correct itself.</p> <p>Meanwhile the local anaesthetic hit the back of my throat as if it was not bad enough drowning in blood I now had this acrid foul taste in my mouth. Doc was then coming at me with a silver nitrate stick to burn and fuse the broken capilleries. Meanwhile nurse ratchet was poking the inside of my right elbow as if I was a pin cushion. Doc Drew saw what a mess she was making so when she had drawn only some blood he said, “That will be enough”, to which she replied, “but you wanted for more other samples?” He thankfully said, looking into my eyes, “That will do nurse.” Thank God, I thought.</p> <p>So Dr Drew instilled the silver nitrate stick. Not only did it not stop the bleeding, I had a stinging feeling from my eye tooth right up my cheek and the blood was now all over the white hospital gown and the doctor. This procedure had to be done twice more before the bleeding stopped. I had lost a considerable amount of blood. And if that wasn’t enough the doctor then said I need to insert an IV drip needle into the other inside elbow because if bleeding reoccurs we can quickly connect a drip containing adrenaline to cause vasoconstriction. Gratefully he was not going to leave that procedure to the nurse. As he put the needle in I could feel blood trickling down my arm and felt him wipe it off. So there I now was a little calmer with a few pinholes in my body and having been changed twice out of blood stained hospital gowns.</p> <p>It was now 9.30 pm, and I was told I was being admitted to a ward overnight for observation. At 1.15am I was finally wheeled out of the bright lights of emergency, far away from the woman in the next cubicle who had been vomiting and dry retching all night and a couple of children distressed and crying. Their suffering made me quite upset. We arrived at 1 North to be greeted by this very tall skinny black guy and in the dark the whites of his eyes glowed. Again as he took my obs I queried him on where he had come from. He was well spoken and quite amazing looking and said Sudan.</p> <p>I tried to sleep but of course there were the usual disturbances from other patients in this four bed ward. Then there were the bright lights in the hallway, the distant sounds of patient buzzers going off intermittently, the nurses taking our obs, and of course those wonderfully comfortable hospital beds where one slips and slides on crisp white sheets, and lumpy pillows.</p> <p>The next morning 7am came and the joint was jumping. First off the rank a new set of obs taken, followed by the water ladies bringing fresh jugs and glasses, followed by the cleaners, followed by the lady wheeling in a computer on a stand taking meal orders, followed by someone delivering newspapers, followed by a man making up the beds, followed by the delivery of brekki, then someone else with the coffee made in the corridor on an actual espresso machine that she wheeled along on another stand (it was great coffee by the way). This was followed shortly after by another woman wanting my morning tea order and finally a woman handing out cards for those seeking the wisdom and comfort of a religious person, in my case a visit from a Rabbi or some other learned orthodox person. It was only 8.30am. Then there was the constant stream of physiotherapists, doctors and specialists visiting the ward including my physician and haematologist and later a gorgeous ENT specialist giving me instruction on what to do in the event of another occurrence. No wonder hospitals like Cabrini are the most expensive in this country.</p> <p>While waiting for Peter to pick me up at my discharged time of 2pm I pondered the fact of how lucky I am that I can afford private insurance and the silver service of this hospital. Sure beats a public hospital and I realised two things from this experience, firstly how life can change in a split second and secondly how lucky I am to have such a caring supportive husband and family, the fabric of a most fortunate a life.</p> <p><em><strong>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">today</span></a>. </strong></em></p>

Caring

Placeholder Content Image

If you had 30 minutes, what would you save from your house?

<p><em><strong><img width="120" height="139" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34951/ray-kay-thomas_120x139.jpg" alt="Ray &amp; Kay Thomas" style="float: left;"/>Ray Thomas left his family farm in South Australia when he was in his 20s and moved to New Zealand. He has always loved writing short stories and watching sport. He married an amazing woman 16 years ago and they both retired three years ago. They love family life, travelling, spending time in their large garden and fostering young children.</strong></em> </p> <p>In recent years, for whatever reason, there seems to be an increasing number of natural disasters throughout the world. Disasters such as flooding, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanoes suddenly erupting, to name but a few of the disasters experienced in various overseas countries, particularly North America and Europe.</p> <p>Fortunately, here in New Zealand we rarely have to face the possibility of leaving our homes at short notice, so the full impact of how we would respond to such an emergency has never been seriously thought about or discussed, certainly between my wife and me.</p> <p>Yes, we have had earthquakes, and whilst they have been devastating with loss of life and damage to buildings and the country’s infrastructure, this type of disaster is a little different, as no one knew when they were about to happen and did not have “30 minutes…”</p> <p>Recently our papers and television have been dominated with the unusually high, record temperatures in many towns and cities of our neighbours “across the ditch”. Whilst we sympathised with them and tried to imagine what it must be like trying to survive in temperatures daily between 40-45 degrees, what was to follow, was far worse, namely bushfires.</p> <p>Having spent my younger years in rural Australia, even at a young age, we were taught and instructed about fire safety, so that during the hotter, dryer months of the year, we automatically knew what to do, but more importantly, what not to do.</p> <p>My father was the local rural fire chief, and in my early teenage years I went with him on numerous local fires and helped where I could. The farmland was always flat and almost totally devoid of trees, and caused very little damage apart from fencing and in a few instances some sheep were lost. At no stage were houses or lives threatened so nobody was ever faced with “if they had 30 minutes…” to evacuate.</p> <p>Twice I have returned to Aussie and visited family after devastating bushfires. One was in Victoria and the other where a number of fires took hold in various parts of my home state of South Australia, in the same day.</p> <p>What struck me the most was the absolute and total destruction of everything in the path of the bushfire. The loss of homes, sheds, business properties, all forms of livestock, from domesticated farm animals to native animals that lived in the bush. Beyond that however was the dreadful loss of human life.</p> <p>How those people must have felt and reacted when told by authorities they had 30 minutes to pack their belongings and evacuate?</p> <p>Several years later, when I returned to some of those areas that had been totally devastated, it was like entering a new world. Trees, shrubs, bushes and vegetation in general had regenerated and were lush and green. Some trees still bore the black scaring, as if to remind us what they had experienced but survived. The animals, both big and small had also returned, because not only was the bush home to humans, it was also home to them as well. New homes had been built among the ruins, a new start and a new life for everything and everybody.</p> <p>I really had to look hard to find maybe an old rusty, burnt-out water tank or farm implement that showed signs that a fire had once caused so much death and destruction.</p> <p>Last year, there were fires again in my home state, only these were a little different and much more personal, as they got within 5kms of our family farm I spent my first 17 years on. Many former neighbours and friends still live in the same district, and most of them lost everything, their houses, farms, machinery and livestock.</p> <p>How did they react when told they had 30 minutes to evacuate?</p> <p>A small town, about 10kms where we once shopped, was the centre of the local district, where most of us played various kinds of sport, completely burnt out including the local lawn bowling club, where both of my parents were local and district champions for a number of years, total and absolute devastation.</p> <p>This brings me back to the dreadful fires in eastern Australia.</p> <p>We were shown, the emotional, heart-warming sight of people returning to the burnt-out shells of their former homes. They had returned, but to what and what did the future hold for these people, most of whom were elderly, and how will they cope both emotionally and physically?</p> <p>Recently we had the fires in North Island. Starting to get a little close for comfort now and starting to make us think about what we would do if we had just 30 minutes to leave.</p> <p>Now, we have the bushfires overlooking the city of Christchurch, and burning in some of the most affluent parts of the city, and adjacent parks and beautiful surrounding hilly countryside.</p> <p>We live about 50 minutes away from the city on a rural, lifestyle block, but can clearly see the smoke and haze from our property.</p> <p>Late last night, we were advised that an elderly, family couple had to be evacuated at short notice. They are both very frail and not in good health. They hurriedly packed their bags, and waited for other family members to pick them up and take them to safety. In the short time they had before leaving, what was important to them, and what did they pack?</p> <p>At this stage it is not known if they will have a home to return to.</p> <p>This brings me to the point of this story, which my wife and I discussed last night after hearing about her sister and her husband.</p> <p>We are surrounded by farm land which at this time of year is typically brown and dry, and given the correct conditions would easily carry a fire. Yes, in many instances we have green, irrigated paddocks scattered around the district but would that guarantee us safety, in the event of a disastrous fire?</p> <p>How would we react and what would WE do if emergency authorities informed us we had 30 minutes to pack up and evacuate our home?</p> <p>I would like to think we would try to stay calm and not panic, but I think that would be difficult, due to the situation we were faced with.</p> <p>In this situation, I would imagine those people deeply religious/spiritual would certainly pray and grab Bibles and other objects of religious importance to them, first of all.</p> <p>Knowing my wife, I’m certain she would be praying and then grab her Bible from her bedside cabinet, and then a photo of her late husband which sits on top of that, right beside her. From there, as we discussed, she would grab our passports and all important business papers, before hurriedly gathering as many clothes as possible.</p> <p>What would I do if I had 30 minutes?</p> <p>Trying to remain calm would be extremely difficult for me personally, but firstly I would try to grab my computer, watch and wallet. Then I would go outside and try to rescue our very spoilt cat, before rushing inside and gathering up as many clothes as possible, and then with time and room permitting would attempt to save precious photos and photo albums.</p> <p>Where we would go, I have no idea, as it would depend on the direction of the wind.</p> <p>We have a close support network of both family and friends, so I’m sure we would be ok, certainly in the short term.</p> <p>If our property was destroyed, and we lost everything, I’m not sure how we would cope, but I sense my wife would be able to deal with the situation better than me.</p> <p>Providing we still had each other that would be the most important. Certainly our lives would never be the same, and we would never forget the time when we had 30 minutes.</p> <p>If you had 30 minutes to grab what’s most important to you, what would you save? Share your thoughts in the comments below. </p> <p><em>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>here</strong></span></a>.</em></p>

Insurance

Placeholder Content Image

How not to get published

<p><em><strong>Jenny England lives on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, enjoying a very relaxed lifestyle in retirement with her long-time partner and spoilt cat. Over the years she has worked as a community worker, part-time journalist for a local paper, as well as publishing countless articles in a variety of magazines and a number of sci-fi children’s stories.</strong></em></p> <p>I often wake up with a great idea. One great idea that was to change the course of my life for many years occurred to me one morning in 1986. I was, at the time, a predominantly stay-at-home mum with two young children. Nurturing a passion for woodwork I had been designing and making wooden toys, at first for my own children and then to sell, as a means of making a little extra household cash and to subsidise my hobby.</p> <p>During the preceding few years there had been a substantial resurgence of interest in all things handmade. I was not having much difficulty selling my wooden toys but what I noticed while I was getting it all together, was a general lack of information on marketing and selling handmade products.</p> <p>So, on this particular morning in 1986, my great idea was to write a series of articles, based on my experience, on craft marketing for a new craft magazine. I eagerly contacted the editor and to my surprise he didn’t want the articles – he wanted a book!<br /> “A book,” I exclaimed, “you want a book?” </p> <p>I had never written a book before but he reassured me it would not be difficult. It was no more than writing the articles and putting them all together – in around 40,000 words.<br /> I duly signed a contract and set about writing the book. Not too difficult, the editor had said. Well, it was difficult, particularly with two young children and I wrote, edited and re-edited until I was starting to go a little crazy. However, about six months later, with some illustrations from my aunt, it was done.</p> <p>The day it was published, I was presented with one copy of Craft for Cash and the sobering news that the publishers had gone into liquidation. Heavens above, I thought, what does that mean? I soon found out that all 3,000 copies were at the printers, their bill unpaid. To make matters worse, the craft magazine was sold, along will all the copies of my book to another publisher. The only saving grace was that the copyright immediately reverted back to me but there was to be no royalties. Bummer!</p> <p>Chapter Two of this sad saga began about a year later when I was contacted another publisher interested in re-publishing the book. <br /> “No”, I said emphatically, during the first phone call, “Never again!”</p> <p>After a number of phone calls, I was convinced to have a meeting with them, against my better judgement. The meeting must have been successful because, I left, not just with a contract to re-write my first book, but also with a contract to compile a book of wooden toy plans.</p> <p>So, once again, the work began and in six months or so, the craft marketing book, now called The Art of Selling Craft in Australia, now adorned with my own illustrations, was complete.</p> <p>Everything went smoothly for a year or so and I watched The Art of Selling Craft selling like crazy while I put together my wooden toy book. The photography was planned for the following day, when I got a phone call from the editor telling me that it had been cancelled and that they had gone into liquidation. Not again! I couldn’t believe it: royalties were owed and my wooden toy book, cancelled. I sat for a moment and reflected on all the work I had put in. Never again!</p> <p>Eventually the publishing company was sold and The Art of Selling Craft was back on bookshelves all around the country. I started receiving royalties and PLR and ELR payments which continued for another 20 years. And, in spite of all these setbacks I went on to have a few more great ideas and write for a number of magazines with lots of success.</p> <p><em><strong>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank">here</a>. </strong></em></p>

Books

Placeholder Content Image

Delving into my proud heritage

<p class="Standard"><em><strong>Robyn Lee is in her 70s and lives with two lovable but naughty cats. She has published a book on seniors behaving badly, entitled Old Age and Villainy, and considers herself an expert on the subject. </strong></em> </p> <p class="Standard"><span>My maternal Maori ancestors were a murderous lot; kidnapping and slavery with a fair sprinkling of plunder, pillage and cannibalistic feasts being among the skeletons rattling around in the family closet. In fact, my grandmother used to tell us that the pakeha (white man) was called long pig because he tasted like pork. I asked her once how she knew… and she just laughed. I’ve since had my suspicions about her!</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>On the other hand, my paternal Irish antecedents were law-abiding ship builders from Dublin, rather tame by comparison. Although, with Ireland’s tumultuous past, there are probably some dubious stories to be unearthed, if one decided to do some digging.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>My family can trace our Maori ancestry back to the 16th century, long after the time of the legendary Great Migration (supposedly circa 300 BC), when enormous sea-going canoes containing intrepid warriors and their families left their homeland of Hawaiki and, using the stars and sun as their guides, set forth into the unknown South Pacific. They ended up settling in Raratonga (Cook Islands), Fiji and Aotearoa, Land of the Long White Cloud, comprising the three islands known today as New Zealand (so named by Dutch explorer Abel Tasman).</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>The newcomers didn’t have Aotearoa to themselves though and the original inhabitants, the peace-loving Moriori, were no match for the fearsome Maori who gradually killed them off. The occupants of the canoes settled in different parts of the country and the various tribes took their name from the canoe in which they arrived. My family are descended from Te Arawa (The Shark) canoe. They settled in the geothermal area of Whakarewarewa, just outside of Rotorua, now a flourishing tourist destination due to its rich history, bubbling mud pools and steaming geysers, the most famous of which is Pohutu.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>My ancestry is the result of the 1825 kidnapping of prisoners, including four sisters, during a raid on Nuhaka on the eastern area of the North Island where they lived, by Pomare, a chief from Northland. The four sisters were renowned for their singing and named “The Songbirds” due to their beautiful voices. They were treated well by their kidnappers and allowed to stay together as entertainers. After Pomare died in 1986, there is no record of who their next protector was, however, they were released from bondage, most likely for a price paid by their family. The eldest sister, Riripeti, married a Captain Johnson and moved with him back near to her childhood home where they had three daughters, the youngest of whom was my great-grandmother, Huhana (Susan).</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>Susan was the first registered guide at Whakarewarewa and my grandmother, Hannah, and her sisters also became guides when they were old enough. My great-aunt, Tina, the youngest girl of a large brood of children became rather well known in the 20s as the female lead in a silent movie titled “Rewi’s Last Stand”. Ellen, an older sister became a guide of note at Whakarewarewa.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>My grandmother, Hannah, married a charming Australian photographer/artist/writer, to whom she’d fallen pregnant with my mother at the age of 19, and moved to Auckland with him. Unbeknownst to her, he’d also impregnated another woman at the same time. It was probably fortunate that my grandmother imparted the news of her joyous event first. They eventually had six children, four girls and two boys. My mother, Roma, and her younger brother, Cedrick, are the only survivors. Ironically, my grandfather survived Gallipoli only to be killed in a work accident seven years later. My grandmother never remarried.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>I have lovely memories of Whakarewarewa, staying with Aunty Ellen, playing with the Maori kids from the village and watching the braver ones diving off the Te Hokowhitu a Tu Memorial Bridge (for the Fallen of the Maori Battalion in the various conflicts) for pennies thrown by tourists. I was threatened with dire punishment if I was caught doing the same! However, I wasn’t brave enough.  We’d roam through the tracks around the mud pools and explore the bush, having a great time. Sadly, today, our old playground is off-limits and visitors can only walk along the paths if accompanied by one of the guides. The rest is roped off to prevent anyone falling into the boiling pools and becoming long pig.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>We had a family reunion in 1973 which was held on the marae and it was wonderful to catch up with cousins whom I hadn’t seen for almost 20 years. Unfortunately, Aunty Ellen, had passed on a couple of weeks earlier so the ceremonial welcoming also included a memorial service and lament. After, there was an enormous hangi feast with a lot of catching up with cousins, aunties and uncles. It was a wonderful three days and a great opportunity for my two young daughters to meet more of their Maori whanau (family).</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>I have a large extended family and our Maori heritage has always played a big part in my, and my cousins’, upbringing. We were taught to be proud of our ancestry and we have passed what we know on to our children, for them to pass on to their own children.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>Sadly, age catches up with us all and my mother and my uncle are now the only surviving Elders of their generation. Being 97, my mother doesn’t travel to Rotorua any more but on previous visits she was always accorded the full traditional ceremonial welcome as befitted an honoured Elder.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>We have a very rich history and of necessity, this is just a very brief outline. If I wrote any more, it would be a book!</span></p> <p class="Standard"><strong><em>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>.</em> </strong></p>

Family & Pets

Placeholder Content Image

Why training an assistance puppy is so rewarding

<p><em><strong>Pip Jacobson was born and raised as a dairy farmer’s daughter on the remote King Island, in Bass Strait, and now resides with her husband in Queensland's sunshine. Having had farm and rescue dogs all her life, she fell upon a SmartPup fundraising event and became involved with the non-profit organisation in March 2016.  </strong></em> </p> <p>"Ugh, these better be tossed," I thought as I hoiked up my knickers with the long-handled BBQ tongs, unable to bend with my newly fractured hip screaming blasphemy as I barely lifted my left foot from the floor. "Amazing how ingenious one can become," was my second thought as the tongs did their magic and my dressing progressed. Just three days prior I'd raced through the kitchen yelling at my foster pup to "LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT! " as an aggressive brown snake made its mad mission to corner her in the smallest area of the garden.</p> <p>Christmas 2016 proved to be our quietest one yet. Not that it was planned that way – in fact we were expecting a very special guest called Shine – who was coming with the intention of displaying a few manners to my little foster pup Chilli who was being over-friendly, and needing to learn the etiquette of “meeting other dogs”. Actually, Chilli took on a roll much bigger than was expected of her by caring for my needs instead!!    </p> <p><img width="419" height="559" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34203/tired-baby_419x559.jpg" alt="Tired Baby" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"/>                                                                                        </p> <p>Both Chilli, and Shine are SmartPups – assistance dogs for children. As it turned out Chilli finished her training with an added bonus... learning to keep her feet away from a wheelchair's wheels, and crutches! She graduated with flying colours.</p> <p>Chilli arrived in March 2016 as a wee soft nine-week-old cute Labrador – the kind of canine I'd never owned... not that I would ever own Chilli as a foster. It had taken me 12 months to decide whether I was cut out to help socialise and home-train these special puppies, knowing that there would be a doomsday when she went off to her forever family – her new owner being an autistic child, or one that suffered from diabetes or seizures. Chilli quickly proved her nose 'knows'; such a 'snifter' she focused on getting as much knowledge as she could from her nasal sensory gift, she was destined to become a seizure response assistance dog. I am proud to say that only this week she was placed in her new home as exactly that!</p> <p>My overnight stay in hospital was, at least, enlightening. As I lay in the Observation Ward willing my mind away from left hip howling, a very thoughtful young 'lady' hurling obscenities and abuse in 360 degrees proved to be both scary, and entertaining! Knowing that I couldn't exactly run if I had to, I was relieved to realise that she had six burly security guards around her and her cries of "I don't feel safe! I don't feel safe" resonated very clearly in my ears.</p> <p>"I'm with you, babe!" And I hadn't even sampled ice, I merely had a hip in fragments. This sent an urgent message to my bladder so I hailed a passing nurse (no call bell on my bedframe) and suggested help to get me to the Ladies. "Too busy," she breathlessly panted as she reefed aside my privacy curtain, and flung in a commode chair. Tentatively I eventually managed to board this thing, but failed to realise that the potty had slipped backwards, it too trying to escape tidal waves of shouting. So there I was with a left hip hollering and a right foot reeking of urine with a huge puddle between me and safety. An avalanche of abuse quickly swept me back to my spot, hurty hip ignored and dripping foot dripping while I vainly tried to throw fleeing tissues into the offending pee-pool. Release the next morning didn't come soon enough.</p> <p><img width="381" height="510" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34205/img_0771_381x510.jpg" alt="IMG_0771 (1)" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"/></p> <p>Chilli wasn't home when I arrived back from hospital. She was back at the training centre and I was mortified. Knowing that I only had six weeks left before she was to be placed with her forever family, I pleaded with the trainers, stating that my recovery would be twice as quick if I had this special dog with me. Yes, they agreed and sent her back, along with a wheelchair and the command "WATCH IT". Chilli learned very quickly to keep her toes away from those huge wheels, and not only did she walk sedately beside me, she walked slowly and gently next to me once I mastered the crutches – without ever having been taught. She had her one year birthday two weeks after my fall. She had mastered her seizure detection work plus wheelchair experience!</p> <p>Chilli and I attended the regular Saturday training session in the New Year – me of course, skiting that a dedicated foster parent takes all kinds of spills to accompany the thrills for this SmartPup training! The Foster Families Saturday get togethers had become the highlight of our week – we encouraged our puppies to be calm and not distracted by other dogs, skateboards, balls, prams, motorbikes, runners; anything that may cause an assistant dog tethered to a child to break their focus from their "work".  We'd sit and gossip and the puppies learned to sit and be patient. Then we would have puppy-play time – these amazing dogs earned their play time where we encouraged them to run free and be themselves, playing and sharing toys, bones and water bowls. The joys to see a pack of ten or so dogs tumbling and frolicking after being so well behaved was our laughter-fix for the week.</p> <p><img width="387" height="518" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34206/1_387x518.jpg" alt="1 (165)" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"/></p> <p>My decision to commit to fostering a SmartPup took 12 months, my yo-yo-ing as to whether I could hand back a puppy that I'd seen grow and develop, and of course love to bits. Last Monday I handed her lead to her brilliant trainer – we were at the airport, and my time with Chilli was on its tail end. My tears were pushed to the depths as I knew Chilli would pick up on my feelings. Her trainer took one last loo-stop before boarding and I could see Chilli, sitting next to me, search for her trainers return… I knew then, that this little pocket rocket Labrador had placed her trust in her trainer and I was content knowing that Chilli would board that flight feeling safe and secure. My time with my beautiful puppy/toddler/newly graduated Assistance Dog was done.</p> <p>There is a beautiful child suffering seizures who now has Chilli's dedication. How wonderful is that?</p> <p>P.S I received news recently that Chilli alerted her new family to an oncoming seizure that their young boy was about to have – so they took immediate action. She was placed only two weeks ago. My heart is humbled by this amazing dog. I just had to share that!</p> <p><em><strong>For more information about SmartPups Autism Assistance Dogs, please visit their <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.smartpups.org.au/" target="_blank">website</a>.</span></strong></em></p>

Family & Pets

Our Partners