Seven

The coffee machine squeals. Like Pavlov’s dog a strong desire for another cup of black liquid ripples through my body and I weigh up the hour and the likelihood I’ll be up all night. Not to mention the likely need to pee in the communal loo out the back of the shop. Always a pot luck adventure. Will it be bearable? Or more likely, will it resemble a scene out of a Tarantino film. Not to mention that accessible loos are rare as hens teeth. I can see the rising cloud of steam in my mind’s eye and caffeine sings it’s siren song. I throw caution to the wind and suck up my petulant bladder issues, embrace my doom and order another. To my right the sweet smell of citrus tart rises. All is well with the world. 

I’m the only customer seated at long line of otherwise empty, square, faux-marble tables. We’ve lived in this town for two and half years now and only really discovered this local bakery a few months ago. Drawn by a sudden inexplicable need for a classic meat pie which sent us in search of a proper country bakery. And here I am all these months later hoping that a change of scenery, a long black and a baked treat can prompt some coherent words out of my sluggish brain. My blog is seven years old today and I refuse to not at least attempt a post to commemorate its birth.

It’s been a rocky road this year and words haven’t come easily. But I’m on the upswing (I type before frantically reaching for the closest piece of wood). An upswing that is becoming more apparent as the days creep by. I’m getting better at pacing. At self care. At time. All things that were never my strong points long before illness and disability came calling. I still beat myself up about my failures and inefficiencies. I still lie awake trying to recall the important things that I know I have forgotten. I am still my worst enemy in many ways. But seven years since I first began tapping away on a keyboard, transferring the circumlocutions and tangential thoughts that raced thorough my mind into glyphs on a screen, most of which resembled those things called sentences and paragraphs, I am still here taping away. Hoping that the process of transference will somehow clarify my sense of self and work through the emotions that come along with a life of illness.

Next month is ten years since I first ended up in the Emergency Department at work. A decade working through not only the physical, but the emotional, social and psychological aspects of health are not really one I want to commemorate. But three years from that day I managed to pump out my first post. It wasn’t much just a basic, This is Dysautonomia, post. Pretty bland and not one that warms the cockles of my heart with sentimental pride. My next post was in truth my first. One that I had worked on encouraged by my counselor in the months proceeding my decision to blog. It was a great purging. Not my best writing but it was raw and honest and my heart burst all over the page desperate to remove the burden of those proceeding three years. To be able to breath again. Even for a moment. It was a sweet release. Until I shared those words on the public domain, they’d remained my secret. They remained my silence and my shame. Then I set them free. I stood naked in the middle of a crowded room and waited for the ridicule I told myself was a certainty. Instead I found a community of people who understood. The silence and shame so many felt was theirs alone, was shared. Baring my truth was empowering and addictive.

I can look back at my words and track the ups and downs of the last seven years. Life is catalogued.  All seeming more vital given how poor my memory these days. I look back and see the times I found the laughter and the times when it was all too much. I see all the stages of grief played out time and again. Acceptance raises it’s head more frequently these days than in the beginning. Though even it is beaten into submission by anger and fear, denial and much pouting with annoying regularity. It’s all there warts and all. The truth of my experience. I look back and see where I emerged from hospital under 50kgs and looking more wraith than human being. I see the sunken eyes and read my own words talking about fear for the future. Fear for the unknown that was taking over my body. Trying to balance living with uncertainty and an unbearable shadow dominating each and every day. Life became complex and I like to think I negotiated it well for the most part, but at times it’s been a complete balls up. I have failed in being the perfect patient, through self-sabotage (denial is a wonderful thing) and through the regular frailties of simply being human.

I want to say I know the secrets. That I can lay out the seven secrets to living well with illness, one spiffy item for each year of blogging. But the truth is I don’t think there is a set list. There are some big overarching ideas, but for the most part we all wing it. We aren’t a homogenous group to which you can apply a nice neat list. I listened to a podcast on Frame of Reference today and it reminded me of that individuality. We all come from different backgrounds and carry the baggage of our unique pasts. Even growing up with two siblings I know my recollections of our youth are very different. We interpreted and processed the events of our lives with an eight year gap in brain development and unique personalities and interactions with friends and family. All three of us have fiery tempers and are independent to fault, but beyond that our lives are incredibly different and the sum of our life experiences over the past 43 and 51 years respectively, have made us who we are today.

And so it is with illness. I see it even in the forums where two patients will see the same doctor, receive the same information but walk out feeling that they have had very different interactions. We walk into every encounter in the medical system with a set frame of reference that helps to determine our path from that time. We walk in carrying ideas about illness and disabiltiy, self-identity, and religion. We walk in with differing social and familial support, balanced against the social and familial responsibilities we all bare. Introvert or extrovert. In light of that it can be hard to say what the tricks are to making it through the world of chronic illness and living a full and happy life.

I do know that we can do it. I see the resilience in the friends I have made over the last seven years. I see it in my own words on this blog. I need to read them more often. To remind myself of where I’ve been and where I’m going. This life of mine hasn’t turned out as I once expected, but it is a good life none the less. I read a great piece somewhere, at some point in time, my befuddled memory wont tell me where, that life is flux. It is change. And that is what the last seven years of blogging and ten years of illness have taught me. (Well held me down and screamed in my face with relentless regularity may be more accurate.) The flux and change are natural even if they haven’t always felt that way. My life isn’t like other lives, but then again neither is anyone else’s. We all tread our own paths, even all those other 43-year-old, Australian women with green hair living with Dysautonomia. We share snippets of each others lives, but our unique parts are what determine our life experience and outlook. And equally what make us fabulous.

I can say there have been bonuses along the way. Friends I’ve made and strength I’ve found. There is a whole community of amazing people out there in the ether that I would never have been lucky enough to meet if I’d never become ill. My outlook on life that was really in it’s infancy back in 2006 has been honed and refined. Blogging has become an act of defiance. Breaking free of the lessons of my youth that said that illness was shameful and weak and that you should never speak up and share. The importance, and more than that, the power of one’s voice is one thing I have come to embrace. There are still those who don’t understand why I choose to share. There are those who mock social media. But for myself and others like me, embracing social media has become empowering. We don’t have to wait on the gatekeepers to allow us to speak. We don’t have to ask permission or sanitize our lives to be palatable to the powers that be. The power of our voices can lead to conflict as existing power structures are challenged. Not just in direct means through activism and advocacy, but by means of their growing irrelevance in an age where we side-step them entirely. We create our own communities. We share our stories and no longer wait for someone else to tell us about our experience. In the time it takes a monolithic media outlet to write an op ed on the passing fad of social media, our voices have been heard all over the world a thousand times over and we grow in strength.

Illness has been freeing. I have learnt more about myself over the last 10 years than I have in any other period of life. I care less for the opinions of others, be it what a woman over a certain age should wear, or how I should react to illness. If I listened to the words of those who talk about approaching illness in a dignified manner, I’d never have written a word. And I’d be the poorer for it. Such opinions seek to silence us least we make them uncomfortable. Because having to hear the reality of our experience is so challenging. Illness is messy. But in hiding the truth we do a disservice to all those who find themselves thrown into the new world of broken and decaying bodies. Illness is hard. I have cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. I’ve had to give myself enemas and puked and passed out in foul public toilets. But I have also had a life of joy and love. I am disabled and I’m happy. I live my life and embrace my weirdness. These are the stories that need to be shared. Not the dichotomized sanitized inspirational meme version of illness and disability, nor the pity worthy, “I’d rather be dead than live like that”, alternative. Life is a roller coaster of good, bad, and mind numbingly boring ordinary. It’s pretty damn beautiful when you look at it.

So I sit here seven years on, 43, bright emerald hair, haphazard clothing choices in my wheelchair tapping away at a keyboard in front of a fuscia wall in a small bakery in country Australia, realizing that life isn’t that bad and no matter what I’ll be okay. And so will you, dear reader. No matter what life or illness throws at you, you’ll be okay.

“Those first days and months are hard and scary and lonely. But you'll make it through. You think you wont. You'll want to throw in the towel and scream "No more!", but you'll make it out the otherside. And you'll do it again and again. I can't predict how your symptoms will pan out overtime. We are all very individual. Some will get better, some will have symptoms that wax and wane, some will have a chronic but stable process and some, like myself, will progress. Your body may still be broken, but your ability to deal with it, will get better.  You will find your stride. You will find the things and people in your life that matter and make you happy.  You'll be able to breathe,even when it's bad. It wont be easy but you'll find that your ability to cope and your acceptance will grow. Your spirit will heal and you'll find direction you never imagined. You are filled with possibilities and, if you give yourself permission, you'll find them.Being ill can give you a freedom to explore yourself in ways you never thought possible. Life with Dysautonomia or any chronic illness, is a life changed, but sometimes that change is a wonderful thing....

.... Just know, it gets better. Not in the Disneyesque sense of shooting stars and rainbow-farting unicorns. But in the real world sense  where you're battered and bruised but you're stronger than you thought and more at ease with your life. It takes time, and there will be tears and disappointment and setbacks.But one day you'll turn around and realise that somehow you made it through, and no matter what your body is or isn't doing, you're okay.”
                 
(I realised all this back in 2012, but sometimes I need to remind myself of own words)

That is what seven years of processing my life, my thoughts and emotions, though this blog have given me. So I’ll keep tapping away. Purging my brain. Quality and quantity waxing and waning, breathing in time to the pulse of my body and life. 

Thank you to all who keep reading. You are the rockstars. And your support, encouragement and friendship are what make every hard wraught letter worth it.

Michelle

We float

Take life as it comes

We float

Take life as it comes

(We Float, PJ Harvey)

 

42: "It's here" (Must be said in the voice of the creepy little girl from Poltergeist.)

So 42 is here and I am none the wiser. I would even venture to say I am even less the wiser. Which isn't all that surprising. Damn you Douglas Adams, you lied. I slouch here in bed, 42, and still no clue about life, the universe and everything. Admittedly, I should have known. 42 was also Mulder's apartment number and while he was convinced that The Truth is Out There, he really never found a satisfactory answer. And if Mulder can go through 9 seasons and a couple of movies with Scully, and still be in the dark, what hope does a middle-aged woman with purple hair and coffee-stained pjs (it's been one of those mornings) have? And while we're at it, and I was procrastinating before writing by looking up pictures of Mulder, I came across this picture and realised that Tony Abbott has ruined the red speedo forever. I couldn't even look without a little bit of sick rising up to the back of my throat. Worst birthday moment EVER. And now you can't unsee that either. You're welcome. 

Answers to questions I didn't even know I was asking that became clear today:

• Nasonex squirted under your armpits rather than in your nostril does little for your allergies. Although I'm pretty sure my armpits will be able to tackle rogue dust mites in a single bound while my nostrils continue to weep and offer up their lunch money.

• A casually hung hand towel is not a substitute for a sturdily attached handrail when you are flailing about as you head downward. Terry toweling works well to cover your face and dab the drool from your lax mouth. Pro tip: check for errant hairs (yours, your husband's, or the dog's) and the location of that one miscellaneous slightly damp spot, before use.

• When you are walking to the bathroom with an empty glass in one hand and your Florinef in the other don't put the pills in your mouth and stand baffled as they stick to your tongue rather than going down. Don't then try to drink from the empty glass, or fill and rinse the glass while you are gagging on the pills, still surprised that they are not going down and you still have an empty glass.

• When apologising for slurred speech whilst on the phone to a local medical centre, the slurring does not suddenly evaporate. It is all just a continuation of slurring. Slurring overly articulated words, is still slurring. Though I have a feeling a frustrated half-whispered F bomb may be the only word that becomes crystal clear. Even should the phone be held away from the mouth.

I'm pretty sure that those are the bargain bin versions of answers to life, the universe, and everything. You'd find them tucked down at the bottom of the bin next to a Kenny G cassette, a battered Troll Doll and a dog-eared copy of The Secret. But hey, that's the kind birthday it is. I still feel like crap but still not sure that I feel 42.

So while I lay here and contemplate my navel and my past 42 years I'll repeat my birthday wishes from my Almost 42 post.

I have two birthday wishes. 

1) If you know someone living with chronic illness give them a hug and let them know you care. Because this shit is hard.

2) If you are living with chronic illness, know you are a superhero. Because this shit is hard.

Bring on the birthday cake. 

Michelle

A funky birthday tune.

Not quite 42 things I've learned over the last not quite 42 years.

(source)

One week from today I turn 42. I am hoping that I'll find the answer to life the universe and everything. If not, well I'm not sure what I'll do. Probably sit apathetically on my couch and pluck salty chip crumbs off my dressing gown like most other days.

42 seemed so old to my child's mind as I sat watching episodes of Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy on Mum's tiny portable black and white. I would plonk myself on the end of her lace covered bed and sit, glued to the TV, chomping on my plate of dry Weet-bix, topped with a thick layer of margarine and huge globs of glistening strawberry jam, taking in lessons about the importance of always having a towel. 42 seemed the fare of science fiction, not something I would ever apply to myself.

I don't feel 42, or almost 42, whatever 42 feels like. My body feels what I imagine 80 feels like (until I see a shot from the Masters Games and realise that I wish I was 80.) In my head I am still stuck in my late teens and early 20's. I still believe (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!) and think The Only Way is Up. And that there is nothing wrong with being Too Funky. I still want to party like it's 1999 and I can't even think of 42 things I've learnt since I sat in Mum's bedroom in our old farmhouse all those years ago. I can't be bothered with lists but feel I should probably make the effort to impart some of my 42 years of knowledge. So here goes.

• No one knows what they are doing. Some are good at hiding that fact, but most of us are just winging it.
• If you want to dye your hair blue, do it. Don't wait. Don't worry what anyone else thinks. 
• There will always be someone telling you what you are doing, like, or think, is wrong. For the most part those people are twats and don't deserve your time. There are a couple in amongst the yammering crowd who do deserve your time. Spotting those people is the big challenge. Because if it's you acting like a twat, you want someone to set you straight.
• You will have doubts. Big buckets of doubts. Recognise them. Accept them. Challenge them. Like most people telling you that you are doing life wrong, those doubts you are carrying around are arseholes. Don't let arseholes run your life.
• Don't be a dick. If you are a dick, apologise. 
• Screw trends. Wear what you want. If it makes you happy wear it. Confidence shines far more than squishing into the latest trend in jeans. 
• If you believe in something don't be afraid to have a say. Fight for the good. Shout it from the roof tops. People will shout back, but if you believe passionately it's worth the effort.
• If an opportunity comes your way take it. You can lie awake at night worrying about it afterwards, or worry about peeing in your pants as you roll up to the stage, but odds are you can do it. Or stress will wipe the memory from your mind so it is all a blur and you'll agree to the next opportunity to speak in public. 
• Breathe.
• Give yourself the compassion you 'd give others.
• Eat the chocolate. 
• Life sucks at times and it's okay to say so.
• Life is amazing and beautiful at times and it's okay to enjoy it.
• Dig your toes in the earth. Or the sand, or the water. 
• Always challenge your beliefs. If they are worthy they'll stand the test. If not, you have new knowledge. 
• Change is good. Same old same old leads to stagnation.
• Different isn't a bad word. Embrace the infinite variety of life. You don't have to want to live your life the same way as someone else, to respect and accept their choices. The world opens up into a beautiful place when you yourself are open.
• The world will not end because you don't eat the kale and think green smoothies look like the Slime in a Can, you used to get in your showbags when you were a kid. It is okay to say you would rather eat the slime, or a Tim Tam, instead. 
• You have more to offer the world than beauty. Beauty is a construct. An ever changing and ever limiting construct. You can be intelligent, strong, kind, brave, or all kinds of things other than beautiful. Open up a dictionary and find ALL your words. 
• Similarly, happy. We have a happiness industry these days and yet happiness seems more elusive than ever for many. Happy is a basic word to explain a complicated concept. My happy isn't your happy. And that's okay. It's also okay to NOT be happy sometimes. We have a variety of emotions, use them. 
• Laugh. 
• Fart jokes are always funny.
• Read. Read a lot. Read crap as well as the classics. Just read. 
• Watch bad TV. If Judge Judy floats you boat, watch. If you like your Housewives, watch them. I would never have learnt about the Smize, if not for watching America's Next Top Model. 
• Hate is a blight on the world. We are so busy hating others we cannot see our own flaws. When we hate, we dehumanise. And when we dehumanise it makes us capable of acts and thoughts we would never normally entertain. Hate serves no one and minimizes us all.
• You will make mistakes. Lots of mistakes.  
• You will have the opportunity to do good. Big and small good. Take those opportunities. Not for any personal reward. Just because it adds to the communal ether.
• Religious or political affiliations do not make you a good person. Actions are what matter. Especially how you act towards those who are vulnerable, different, or can do nothing for you in return.
• Wear make up or don't wear make up. Neither decision makes you a better or worse person. Same with tattoos and hairstyles and peircings and.....
• You are not your past. 
• Someone who holds your hand as you sleep, is worth their weight in gold. 
• Sometimes you just need to do something forbidden even if you pay for it later. I'm talking a forbidden glass of wine, not bank robbery. Rebellion, even small rebellion, is good for the soul. 
• Politicians suck.
• Media reporting sucks.
• Media reporting of politics sucks.
• Don't believe everything you see on TV or read on the internet. Be skeptical. 
• There are far to many hate and fear mongers in the world. Be a do gooder. I'm not sure when doing good became a bad thing, but screw that. Wear that do gooder label with pride.
• Love, Kindness and Hope should be sprinkled liberally. 
• When shit happens you'll think you wont make it through. You will. It just doesn't feel like it at the time. But you will.
• You are worth it. 
• It's okay to change your mind. When you learn better, do better. 
• Life is full of possibility.
• Dog cuddles are smelly and wonderful. 
• Sing badly and sing often.
• Singing along to Vogue and doing all the moves, is a great panacea on the bad days.
• I still have no clue what I'm doing.

Okay so that was longer than I expected. There's probably more. Maybe even 42. But I need to pee and there are also the meds I just realised I forgot to take. 

No doubt after next Monday I'll still have no clue about life, the universe or everything. I'll still be muddling through. And that's okay. Muddling has gotten me this far. It'll do for a while yet.

I have two birthday wishes.

1) If you know someone living with chronic illness give them a hug and let them know you care. Because this shit is hard.

2) If you are living with chronic illness, know you are a superhero. Because this shit is hard.

(source)

Michelle

And because in my head I'll always be that teenager singing into her hairbrush in front of her cassette recorder, I give you one of my all time favourite 80's songs, Don't Leave Me This Way by The Communards (1986) with the amazing vocals of Jimmy Somerville (of Bronski Beat fame.) 

40 is the new whatever.

(source)

Today is the last day of my 30's. Exciting, no? I'm sure I'm excited. Really I am. Well people keep telling me that I should be excited, or depressed, or that today should be seen as a last hurrah. But I seem to have a bad case of the meh.

40 seemed so old when I was a kid. Now it just seems like, well, I'm not sure. It just is. Yet another day on the calendar. Another year done and dusted. I just don't get the hype. I don't feel older. Well my body does, but in my mind I'm still 20, or 12 (fart jokes still crack me up). Apparently, I'm supposed to be hitting my sexual prime. Okay, I can't even type that with a straight face. And if all my years of Oprah viewing taught me anything it was that I am now supposed to have some epiphany and come into my own as a woman. Bwahahahahaha.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not upset or depressed either. And it is better than the alternative. It just doesn't feel like that big a deal in the scheme of things.

The lack of care factor could be partially due to the fact that the last week or so has been more a hello 80 than hello 40 moment.

Last week I was officially confirmed as disabled. Bonus. Yesterday was spent checking out tilting wheelchairs named Karma (obviously I kicked A LOT of kittens in a previous life if that's my karma). YAY. This morning I was mocked by my dosette box and granny compression stockings. And to top it all off I found a new breast lump. Woo Hoo! Celebrate good times. Come On!

Though in truth I've been pretty meh about the whole 40 issue for quite a while. I don't like fuss. I particularly don't like fuss about me. And these days, well fuss is just plain exhausting.

Part of me would like to party like it's 1999. In 1999 I was throwing back rocket fuel shooters in a dodgy karaoke bar in Middle-of-Nowhere, Vietnam. Surrounded by drunk Asian businessmen whilst singing a fabulous, if I do say so myself, version of Fame. Now those were good times.

In reality I'd be happy with a nice meal, chooks and a goat. Yep chooks and a goat. Don't tell me I don't know how to party. Though now we are moving my chook and goat plan has gone on the back burner till we get to the new house at the end of the year.

My 30's have made me re-evaluate what's important. Not out of any deliberate attempt on my behalf to find myself or any other such psycho-babble. But when life hits you upside the head and throws you flailing into the abyss you are forced to really examine all your beliefs and what makes life worthwhile. And frankly arbitrary time measurements and socially expected celebrations aren't up there for me. Good friends, the love of your family and learning that happiness is a gift you can give yourself are where it's at for me.

So goodbye 30, hello 40. Or as it really feels, hello another day of breathing with a potential for macarons.

Cheers
Michelle :)

If you do want to celebrate for me, give out 40 smiles tomorrow. Give them to family, friends or strangers. Or give them to yourself. You just might make someone's day, or even your own. xx

Because I am a child of the 80's and I really can't get excited about tomorrow.

How do you celebrate when your blog turns Three? Why, with a fabulous Giveaway of course!

When I started this blog three years ago I could never imagined how much it would grow. Initially, it was simply a place to record my thoughts. My diagnosis of Dysautonomia was still relatively new. And I was still trying to traverse the ups and downs of living with an illness that had dramatically changed my life. I never thought anyone would read my ramblings. Well, apart from pity reads from friends and family. To be honest I thought I'd do it for a few months and then forget about it. But something unexpected happened.

One-by-one people I'd never met started leaving comments. People from all over the world, some with Dysautonomia, some with other chronic illnesses, some with no health issues of their own but who also had an equally warped sense of humour or could relate in someway to what I wrote. Over time more people found the blog and a really lovely community developed. I get emails everyday from people thanking me for giving a voice to their experience or helping them find a little light and laughter in the midst of what can be a truly difficult time. Those emails mean the world to me. Being able to help someone, even in a small way, makes the whole blogging process worthwhile.

But it's not a one way street. The support I've had from readers still blows me away. Complete strangers who take the time to care during the hard times and who can laugh with me during the good. Many of those strangers have become friends in every sense of the word, though we have never met face-to-face. That support and the sense of community make what is often a difficult time bearable. And for that I will always be grateful.

Chronic illness strips away much of who you are. It is hard. Damn hard. Sometimes you have to make a concerted effort to find something that makes it easier. For me it has been finding ways to pamper myself even when I am at my sickest. For example, I can whip on some gorgeous hand cream even if I can't sit up, or I can snack on my favourite treat whilst I'm stuck on the couch. Those little things make it a little easier to deal with. And this is what I want to share with those who have supported me through the past three years here on the blog.

I want to give a little something back to say thank you. And thanks to two of my favourite companies and some generous and talented fellow Dysautonomia patients I am able to do just that.

To celebrate Living with Bob's birthday, it's time for a focus on a little pampering. It's time for...

...a GIVEAWAY!!!!

Prize 1: 
For the past couple of years I have been using the gorgeous body products of a local Australian company, MOR Cosmetics. My sister first sent me their Marshmallow hand cream in a care package and from that time I've been hooked. And it is the Marshmallow range that continue to be my favourite in the fragrance range (as evidenced by the growing collection on my bedside table). The products themselves are luxurious, but it is the eye for detail, which includes the packaging that sold me. Anyone who takes the extra time to create such beautiful packaging knows about luxury and pampering. 

Huge thanks to the lovely folk at MOR, whose generosity means that I am able to share three of their lovely products from the Marshmallow range, with one lucky reader. MOR describe the Marshmallow fragrance as a "Vanilla Musk with Jasmine Flower gloriously rapture in this pretty, feminine fragrance. Sugar dipped Rose Petals with White Carnation & Cotton Candy blend beautifully to create a deliciously sweet perfume". I'd describe it as a little slice of heaven. 

The prize includes:



Marshmallow Body Cream: A silky, whipped cream designed for intense absorption, with emollient
to soothe & protect dry skin. The luxurious moisturising experience lingers throughout the day with a delicate, soft sweet scent.

Marshmallow Hand Cream: A rich, decadent cream that turns unkempt hands into the softest of
Marshmallow mittens. Shea Butter & Sweet Almond Oil mingle with extracts of Marshmallow, Peach & Vitamin E to pamper, restore and protect hands and nails.

Marshmallow Triple Milled Soap: Feelings of sweet nostalgia are kindled with this pink, vintage inspired, Triple-Milled Soap Bar that produces a soft rich lather which pampers and softens dry skin.


Bliss.


Prize 2:
I call this one Ode to Dysautonomia, and it fills me with pride. The Dysautonomia community is both generous and creative. This is a collection of awesome. Products range from jewellery and accessories to  beautiful aromatherapy products. Pampering in anyone's language.

Double sided headscarf (above) and rose hair clips (below) from Cherry Pie Accessories by Claire Barnier:  As Claire says "Every girl has the right to feel glamorous and I believe they can - it's all about accessories! I create many things from fabulous fascinators, cute kawaii hair clips, glamorous Rockabilly, burlesque and Pin-up styles to Punk and Gothic inspired pieces and generally gorgeous girly things. Cherry Pie accessories' mission is to make you feel fabulous by adding just the right touch to complete your outfit and put that spring in your step that only comes from finding the perfect accessory! Each product is handcrafted with love and Cherry pie's unique style using specially sourced new and upcycled materials". Claire has kindly donated the gorgeous double sided headscarf pictured above and hair clips below.

Metal Stamped POTS earrings from 'Tennille's Jewellery': Tennille creates unique metal stamped pieces in  copper, brass and stainless steel. The hooks are sterling silver, so safe for those with nickle allergies.

doTerra essential oil Introductory Kit: This lovely kit containing Lavender, Lemon and Peppermint oils was kindly donated by Vickie Isaac, whose daughter has been using them in the treatment of her Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). A beautiful accompaniment to any pampering and well being session. They can be used topically, internally or aromatically. I'm loving the freshness of the lemon scent. More information can be found at (rechecking the links sorry should be up again soon).

Prize 3:

2 Photographic Prints by Kyli Wolfson: Kyli Wolfson discovered her passion for photography in the beginning of her journey with POTS. It quickly became an outlet for her. She discovered that by taking pictures she could freeze a beautiful moment in time and allow others to escape there as well. After that, she was hooked! Kyli has kindly donated two of her beautiful photos size, 16"x20". Both of these photos (below) were taken on the beautiful Mackinack Island in Michigan, USA.   

Prize 4:
One of the quirks of Dysautonomia is that patients are often prescribed a high salt diet by their cardiologists and neurologists. Although necessary, it can be hard to stomach at times. Last year I discovered a most delicious way to meet part of my daily intake, Lindt Excellence, A Touch of Sea Salt. My discovery of this culinary miracle was most surely accompanied by a choir of angels and a beam of light falling directly on the neatly arranged blocks on the supermarket shelf. Salt and dark chocolate, this my friends is pure brilliance. Since that time A Touch of Sea Salt has had pride of place in my refrigerator. Word of A Touch of Sea Salt spread quickly and it has since become somewhat of an unofficial chocolate of the Dysautonomia community here in Australia. Now I can truly say my chocolate intake is purely medicinal.

Now thanks to the lovely people of Lindt Australia, who generously donated 10 blocks of A Touch of Sea Salt for this giveaway, I can share the joy.

To spread the joy there will be five chances to win 2 blocks each of Lindt Excellence, A touch of Sea Salt. 

 (So pretty)

How to Enter:

The competition opens as of, 9am Thursday the 19th July 2012 (Australian Eastern Time).

To enter simply leave a comment at the bottom of the post sharing your favourite way to pamper yourself.

For extra entries:

Follow me on Twitter 

Follow Living with Bob (Dysautonomia) on Facebook

The giveaway will be closed & drawn, 5pm Thursday 2nd of August 2012, (Australian time) using the Thor Method. 

COMPETITION IS NOW CLOSED.

A huge thank you to MOR Cosmetics, Lindt Australia, Claire Barnier, Tennille Pooley, Vickie Isaac, and Kyli Wolfson, for helping me say thank you to all those who have supported me and helped to make Living with Bob the blog it is.

Cheers
Michelle :)

OMG its a Giveaway!!!!

This little old blog of mine has almost reached a milestone, it will soon be two-years-old.  It's a very exciting time as I never thought I'd still have anything to write about two years down the track.   Between my apathy, lack of follow through and difficulty in coordinating breathing and.....well anything, it's amazing that it manged to get past the first sad little post.

I've been racking what little is left of my brain for an appropriate way to celebrate.  I considered chugging margaritas, dancing on the inside, face planting in a large soft mud cake, or, even doing a streak through the lines of shrieking fans outside the opening night of the new Harry Potter movie.  Now whilst a medicinal margarita and a cake of the chocolate persuasion are highly likely, I thought it would be nice to give a little something back to the lovely bunch of readers that have stuck by me despite my obviously increasing insanity.

It's GIVEAWAY time!!!!!!!

I've thought long and hard about what would be an appropriate prize for such an auspicious occasion and such discerning readers.  Of all my posts, there is one that stands out for the joy it seemed to give others.  Even a year later I'm still getting comments, both here and on FB.  I also love my shoes even though I am unable to walk in them.  Just to glimpse their glittery goodness out of the corner of my eye brings me great happiness.  And, as the more astute of you may have noticed, a picture from that post now adorns my header.

My tutorial on making Dorothy Shoes unearthed a desire that seems to have lain hidden in the hearts of women (and not a few men) the world over.  Glittery red shoes are the path to true happiness.  There is magic in them there shoes, and that magic must be shared.

*I also find it highly entertaining that my little post which contains information about unicorn farts has ended up on the Vogue forums.

Hello my pretties.

So in honour of that one little post and those glittery shoes of goodness.

I am giving away 

a pair of Dorothy Shoes 

to one lucky reader.

I know it's hard, but try and contain your excitement people.  Glitter fever is quite overwhelming, and frequently contagious.

And just think you too could be a crazy woman doing Blue Steel impersonations in her backyard.

To Enter:

All you have to do is leave a comment here on the post.
This giveaway is open to all readers, both here in Australia and overseas.
Feel free to Tweet or Facebook the competition to anyone.
If you happen to choose to 'Follow' the blog over on the side, or 'like' the FB page I'll even give you an extra entry (just make sure you let me know, brain challenged remember and I don't want anyone to miss out on an extra entry).

Entries close Midnight Sunday 17th July 2011 and the winner will be announced on the Tuesday.

***ENTRIES NOW CLOSED***

The shoes can be made in either the traditional high heel, or in flats.  They will be made to the winners size and choice of heel height.

So enter away people the magic of the glittery Dorothy Shoes of Goodness needs to be shared.

Cheers
Michelle :)

PS Thanks for all the well wishes during my recent tussle with the flu.  I think the delightful phlegm cement is finally starting to move off my lungs and I am hoping to attempt a full day out of bed in the next few days.  Brain may take a bit longer to de-fog as evidenced by my recent new phone debarkle.

Me: "It says that the temp is going to be 11 to 32, that can't be right?"
Youngest: "No Mum, that's the time".
Me: "Oh".
Youngest: walks away shaking head at my growing stupidity.

One step closer to the use of safety scissors. Sigh.

No this song doesn't really have anything to do with the post, well unless you like shoes a little too much. Not judging......much.  It's just an old favourite and it's my birthday, so there.

Fabulous Friday: Happy Birthday Cougar.

Yes it's that time again.  The one day of the week I am determined to be queen of optomism, perkiness and the glass half full.  This week has been all about me. Me, me, me, me, me, me.  It's my birthday (well on Tuesday it was, but "it's my birthday on Tuesday just gone", sounded crap) and I am embracing my aging and character-filled body.

The big 37, or 73, not sure which.  Depends on the day really.  Having seen Betty White on Saturday Night Live, I have realised that even old chicks can be hip and happening, so I am equally comfortable with 73.  Well for today anyway, don't ask me tomorrow as I may be less relaxed about the whole aging thing and be forced to throttle you.  I have moved from my mid-thirties to the land of possibilities that is my late-thirties.   Yep, Alyssa Milano, Cameron Diaz and me, 37 is hot! (Shut up!  It's my birthday and I can be as bedazzelingly delusional I want to be).

I realised the universe was sending me a hint when MaryMac over at Pajamas & Coffee put up a post about Cougar Crushes on my big day.  Yep, that's right, I can now be classed as a Cougar.  I believe I get some sort of official card in the mail, plus a Team Cougar jacket, and learn the secret butt-grabbing handshake.  I'm pretty sure it's like the Stonecutters, but with better shoes, more cocktails and discount botox vouchers.

(All hail the Queen, Anne Bancroft, The Graduate, 1967)

Now I should clarify that I have no intention of becoming Mrs Robinson per se (especially on the off chance my mother should read this and be totally horrified), for me hitting this milestone means that I am now officially obligated to perve on guys who were born when I was already in school and even some who are of an age (over 18, all legal) that I could have technically given birth to them (now that makes me feel just a teensy bit old).  Not only do I get chocolate birthday cake and pressies, but I must drool over hot younger men.  I shall force myself if I must, I can't let the cougar sisterhood down.  Besides it's my birthdy and I'll perve if I want to.

So for all my lovely readers I think it's only fair that I put up a picture of my cougar crush.  We all need a little eye candy in our life.  Sweet dreams dear readers, sweet dreams.  See even on my birthday I'm thinking of you.

(Mmmm....Jensen Ackles.......mmmmmm.......sorry what was I saying?  

I think I lost my train of......mmmmmm).

Oprah tells me I now know myself much better now than in my 20s.  Apparently I have reached the guru swami level of spiritual equalibrium.  I know what I want and how to get it.  Things are all peachy from now on.  Acording to a recent episode I should soon be jumping out of planes and doing roller derby.  Lucky I still have my old roller skates, and I think I remember my Xanadu routine.  Just give me a week or 6 to limber up.  And lets face it, if Oprah says it, it must be true.  I still believe she and her guests are on a steady diet of Prozac and tequila shots but hey whatever gets you through the day.  I'm willing to get with the program.

According to medical science I am also now at my sexual peak.  Apparently I have it goin' on.  Okay, even I can't say that with a straight face.  Mr Grumpy, stop laughing, wipe your eyes and pick yourself up off the floor.  So my favourite part of Sex and The City was Carrie's closet full of Jimmy Choos, but hey I'm sure I picked up a trick or two sub-consciously.  Is it possible that having it 'goin on', refers to flannelette pajamas, a carfully crafted muffin top, sparkly slippers and flossing out the spinach from between my teeth before bed?  If so, I am officially a sex-bomb. Watch out honey, bom chiki wah wah, call me when you finally make it up the chandelier.

(Mr Grumpy brought me the best gluten free chocolate cake ever.  

It has also been great for breakfast and lunch for the last few days).

So coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs Robinson, and a happy birthday to me.


Cheers

The Trainee Cougar Michelle :)

Simon & Garfunkel, Mrs Robinson 1968