Why putting your dress out is not enough.

So #putyourdressout is trending on the net today where women are hanging their wedding or special dress on the front door. It's supposedly been initiated by Stephanie Scott's family as a way to remember her life on what should have been her wedding day and raise awareness of violence against women. 

Here's the thing.

Hanging your wedding dress on your front door out of respect for Stephanie is wonderful. If that brings you some comfort & makes you feel closer to a woman, who's life was cut way too short then go nuts. If you think that it will help less women get killed, you're fucking delusional.

I find this is somewhat along the lines of #makeupfreeselfieforcancer. Slacktivism. Where people can feel good about themselves by thinking they are actually standing up for something they believe in, without actually having to do very much at all.

By putting a dress out the front of your door, you are not helping to end the fight of violence against women. Not even close. It's not enough.

30 women have already been killed this year. 2 a week. The news stories run sad film for a week or so, Twitter blows up about violence against women, then another woman is killed so the first is forgotten and then the cycle is repeated. Do you know why?

Because violence against women is so ingrained in our culture that we don't even bother to fight anymore. Or we fight for a little bit, but then we just continue to live our lives because it's all just too hard.

We elected a man, who's head of a party that ran a 'ditch the witch' campaign against our first EVER female PM. LNP candidate Mal Brough held a fundraiser that had a menu that talked about her small tits & red box. We talked about what she was wearing & who coloured her hair. The now MALE Prime Minister has appointed himself Minister for WOMEN and cut funding to domestic violence services for fuck's sake! There's one women who managed to get his approval and we talk about how she must be a 'ball busting bitch'. That just touches on the people who run our country. Run. Our. Country.

When Jill Meagher was killed there was a huge outcry of 'why was she by herself at that time of the morning!?' A priest just a few weeks ago said she'd still be alive if she'd had 'more faith' because she'd be in bed not walking down that street. Then just last month, a teenage girl got stabbed to death walking through the park, in broad daylight. And what do we say? Oh she shouldn't have had her earphones in.  A prostitute gets murdered and we say 'she was an easy target'.

COME THE FUCK ON AUSTRALIA!

So what are we going to say about Stephanie who was AT WORK when she was killed? Working is too dangerous so women should stay at home and let the big tough men go out into the big bad world for them? Oh wait, 96% of women get killed by an intimate partner! So I guess that rules out staying home too.

If we want to stop violence against women, we have to get rid of the mentality that women aren't worth as much as men! Boys are being brought up with the covert message that women are weak, easy targets and their lives aren't worth as much as a mans', partly because of the messages above! A woman shouldn't have to be on guard, walking through a park in the middle of the day. A woman should be able to walk a few blocks home at any time of the night, not having to fear for her life. A prostitute has just as much right to life as a 26 year old school teacher. 

This goes hand in hand with my previous post about rape. If a woman is raped she was 'asking for it', or 'drunk what did she expect?' or 'dressed provocatively'. Fuck that shit. Men just shouldn't fucking rape! I should be able to walk down the street naked, drunk and swinging my tits around my ears without the fear that I will get raped and murdered.

'But that's not how it is!!' I hear you cry. And my question is why the fuck not? 'You don't leave your house unlocked and expect not to get robbed'. Why the fuck not? Why are we such a fucking victim blaming fucking society that the criminals get more sympathy than the victims? I don't give a fat rat's arse if you've had a shit childhood. DON'T KILL PEOPLE! There are millions of other people who had pretty terrible upbringings, and guess what? They don't kill people. They manage to keep their dick in their pants when a woman says no to sex. I don't care if you never had a Daddy to show you the way. In that case you should have more bloody respect for women coz you got raised by one solely!

I wish we would get to the stage where a woman was raped and the first thought is 'what a piece of shit man, I hope he gets life imprisonment where he gets raped every day'. A woman gets murdered and that man goes to jail for life. Not 15 years - LIFE. Meaning you die in prison. If you go to jail for rape, then rape someone when you get out, you can't be rehabilitated and your dog arse gets no more parole opportunities. Full fucking stop.

So no, I won't be putting my dress out. Because if you put your dress out, then continue to tolerate sexist behaviour, nothing will change. Here's what I will be doing though.

I will be teaching my son, that violence against women is disgusting. I will teach him that you don't need friends that joke about rape. I will teach him what consent REALLY is. I will always take exception when a man makes an inappropriate joke around me. I will tell Tony Abbott that he can take my vote & shove it fair up his misogynist arse. I will write to my MP. I will stick up for my fellow women. I will loudly and repeatedly tell people that violence against women is not ok. And I will fight with everything I've got if a man ever decides that I'm an easy target. He better hit me so hard that I don't get up. Because if I get up - he's a fucking dead man. 

GIRL POWER YOU RAPING MURDERING PIECES OF DOG SHIT.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Why jokes about rape are really not funny.

Any views expressed here are strictly my own. I don't speak for anyone else but myself.

Trigger warning - this post talks about sexual abuse and may upset some people.

I cottoned on to a little story in social media this week, about a comedian and a joke about rape.  A woman in the audience took offense and staged a silent protest by getting #UnderTheTable. Comedian took offense to her taking offense and cuts set short. Male comedian then tells female audience member (I have paraphrased here) but basically because she ruined his set, she should die. Tweets that he 'ended up having my worst gig ever'. 

Here's a smh article about it.
http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/comedy/comedian-ray-badran-tells-audience-member-to-die-for-objecting-to-rape-joke-20150327-1m9hgb.html?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=nc&eid=socialn:twi-13omn1677-edtrl-other:nnn-17/02/2014-edtrs_socialshare-all-nnn-nnn-vars-o&sa=D&usg=ALhdy28zsr6qiq

Here's a mamamia article about it written by the woman in question. http://www.mamamia.com.au/lifestyle/rape-jokes-told-by-comedians/

I wasn't actually there at his show, so I don't know exactly what happened. Maybe the joke was the straw that broke the camel's back after a long day. Maybe the comedian had just read a bad review and he took the insult to heart. I don't know. But here's what I do know.

JOKES ABOUT RAPE, BEING A RAPIST, KNOWING A RAPIST, WITNESSING SOMEONE BEING RAPED, SUGGESTING RAPE -  ARE NOT FUNNY.

Not in any circumstance, in any situation, in any company.

I tweeted something along the lines of this, and it started up a dialogue with a few of my Twitter pals about why such a big deal was being made of this. Not surprisingly, said Twitter pals, were male.  Now the dialogue was kept pretty above board. It wasn't the usual 'fuck u ya slag', 'that time of the month is it?', 'you need to get laid so you can have a laugh' comments that usually get thrown around by men when I start a conversation about not making violence against women jokes. So I appreciate that. But here's a few things I'd like to note:

2 women are week are killed by domestic violence and I'm pretty sure that's increasing. Women earn less than men for doing the same job, will have less superannuation when they retire, were granted the right to vote after men, fuck there's even laws stating what we can and can't do with our body including contraception & abortion. Here's what we're up against. Century upon century of inequality, being told we're just on this planet to please men, being told we are somehow sub-par to our Y chromosome holding peers. If you're religious, this shit gets even worse and I'm not even going to mention the Sharia Law atrocities that are committed against women.

Statistically, women are more likely than men to be raped. I think the stats sit at around 1/3 of women experiencing some form of sexual assault in their lifetime. That doesn't factor in, that there are many, MANY women who don't come forward to report the abuse. I'm one of them. There are 4 women in my close family. The stats are 100% for us. 

Personally, I've been raped twice. I don't go around advertising it, I don't introduce myself as the girl that's been raped, but it has and still does affect me. Like when someone thinks a rape joke is funny perhaps.

Both times, it was by men whom I thought I could trust. Who EXPLICITLY TOLD ME that I could trust them. I knew them, and had known them for a few months before they raped me. Both times I had turned down their previous sexual advances several times.  Both were significantly older than I. Both times I was drunk.

And there it is.....I can hear the collective groan from here. Yep, I was drunk. I was stupid enough, to let down my defences in front of men who I thought, no, who ASSURED me that I could trust them. And THAT is why I didn't report it. Because the go to commentary of rape is that the woman had it coming. That they shouldn't have been drunk because 'what did they expect?'. That they led the bloke on. They shouldn't have worn x, y, z. Does it change your perception if I tell you that both times it was in my house? Not in a sleazy nightclub. I didn't go home with them. Does it make a difference that both times, I wasn't dressed up at all. In fact I believe I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with no make up and no hair do because it was IN MY HOUSE with PEOPLE WHO I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST.

You know what else was the same? BOTH times, they told me it was MY fault. That they couldn't control themselves because I was so pretty/sexy/irresistible. Both times these men made me feel like I should be ashamed of myself. Both times they made me feel like I should be flattered that they violated me. Both times I felt like I couldn't speak out and have these men held accountable for their actions.  I felt powerless because society has ingrained in me since I was very little that women are second class citizens. That women get raped because of something they did. Because there are men out there, like Ray Badran, who make jokes about rape and rapists for the sake of getting laughs from a few knuckle dragging, dead shit blokes who think it's funny. They think it's ok because 'Chris Rock said it was the funniest thing he'd heard!' They minimise it. They make light of it. They wolf whistle and touch women they don't know, and they think it's their RIGHT to do it. That is has no impact and that it doesn't matter. That 'it's a compliment love!' That we should 'lighten up!'. That it's no big deal. We live in a victim blaming society & it's not ok.

If a women takes exception to this they're a bitch, a 'feminazi', they have no sense of humour 'coz "gawd it was JUST a joke GET OVER IT!" Heaven forbid a woman doesn't find herself flattered that you want to stick your dick in her. 

I get it. It's hard to relate to something you've never experienced. If you haven't had someone violate your personal space and tell you your feelings about it are 'hysterical', then you wouldn't understand what it's like if someone makes a joke about it. I can guarantee that any man who's been raped, doesn't find rape jokes funny. I guarantee than any man who has his wife/partner/sister/mother raped doesn't find rape jokes funny.

If you're a man reading this, humour me for a second. Imagine you get drunk, pass out, and wake up the next day with a sore arse. You shit blood for a week and you find out it's because your mate thought you looked cute in those jeans, so when you were so drunk you couldn't move he had sex you with you. Do you go to the police, because I mean what do you tell them? You don't remember exactly what happened because you were drunk. Your friend tells you that you asked him for it before you passed out. You don't remember this, you've never been interested in this friend when you're sober, but you were drunk so you don't remember. You like this guy, he's a good mate. He tells you that he will never do it again, that he's sorry. He's not normally like this but you are just such a good looking guy. How do you feel?

Then imagine you go out with some friends to try and take your mind off of things. You're feeling a little precious. Then some guy makes a joke about shoving his cock up someone's arse. His mates laugh. 'Coz it's super funny right? Right??

If you're a comedian, roughly half of your audience is female. At least a third of them have experienced some sort of violence sexual or otherwise. If you then tell them that they 'should die' because they didn't find your joke about assaulting someone side-splitting, then you my friend, are a piece of shit. If you object to someone standing up to your disgusting gag about violating someone who will suffer lifelong trauma, then you're a fucking arsehole. If your whole repertoire as a comedian consists of jokes making light of someone else's nightmare, then you're a terrible comedian.

Because rape IS a big deal. It creates wounds that never heal, it kills people's hope, it changes lives irreparably. A person never gets over being raped. They maybe don't flinch when someone touches them anymore. They maybe have a functioning job, a functioning social life and have learned to like sex again. 

But they don't find your joke about rape funny.

Because it isn't. Ever. Because rape is #NotALaughingMatter.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

ADIT: I appreciate that women are not the only demographic who have been down-trodden throughout history. For the record I don't find any abuse against anyone amusing, child, animal, racial or otherwise. But for the purpose of this post, I've focused on rape.

Why Nursing prepared me for Nappies & vice-versa

So there's only a few more months until I return to work, and I'm freaking out a little. I will have had almost a whole year off actual Registered Nursing (not breastfeeding nursing just FYI sanctimonious mummies and who gives a fuck anyway thank you very much) and it got me thinking "wholly heck! I can't look after another person!" And then I had a 'duh' moment and got to thinking about how Nursing and Mummy-ing are similar in a lot of ways.

1. You are constantly covered in someone else's body fluids

Be it spit, vomit or the cliche 'code brown', Nurses and Mums are used to being covered in fluid that they didn't produce themselves. You just kinda wipe it off and get on with the job. Funny story - every nurse has their 'thing'. The thing they can't handle & will gag at, for example phlegm, runny shit etc. Mine was breastmilk. Well guess what haters? I'm unstoppable now!!

2. You have to put your own needs second to those of the tiny human/big human in your care

Oh you're hungry? Well guess what Nurse/Mum? No one cares. Your patient doesn't care. The tiny dictator living in your house doesn't care.  You can try and have some lunch when you think it's an acceptable hour to have it, but then the tiny dictator/patient will code brown/just code and you will end up having lunch at 3pm and by then you won't be hungry anymore so you'll just have 4 Scotch fingers and a coffee and wonder why you're fat.

3. Along with No. 2, sleep is something you vaguely remember from 'back in the day'

E.g. Before you were a student nurse, before you started shift work, before you had a child. Sleep is non-existent when you're a Nurse and/or Mum. You learn to function on a few broken hours. You're not sure how you do it, but you do. On the rare occasion you get 8 hours straight sleep, you actually wake up feeling worse because your body isn't used to resting to it's potential and you wake up wondering what year it is.

4. You have to have an enormous bladder & pelvic floors like a baws

Self explanatory no? The moment you need to pee, will be the moment your baby wakes up and needs a feed/play/rock to sleep/nappy change/your soul. The moment you need to pee, will be the moment you have to hang 5 IV's/do obs/wash your patient/do your notes. They don't call it 'nurses bladder' for nothing. Also, the more you hold pee, the better your pelvic floor muscles. Everyone knows that after a baby, those little suckers weaken. Nurses, have AMAZING pf muscles. Suck it child birth. You ain't got nothing.

5. Emotions run high - control that shit

Baby crying non-stop? Control yourself. Patient dying? Check your emotions. I am like the master of self control now. Nemaste motherfuckers. There have been many, MANY times when I have felt like throwing that bag of wipes across the room, flipping the change table and walking out of my life. The same with nursing. Emotions run high. You gotta control that shit! That patient that says they have 10/10 pain while they're laughing on the phone to their friend and eating a bag of chips - you can't slap them! Same as a kid that is pushing your buttons and makes you wonder why you did this in the first place. Violence is a no-go my friend. Nursing/having children makes you patient as a saint. Or at least knowledgeable in the places you can go and cry silently without anyone noticing.

6. You have control over someone's life

Whether a little person or a big person, their life is pretty much in your hands. They trust you to do what's best for them. They have complete faith that you will make the right decision. Whether it's making sure they get the right drugs, to whether they have complete faith that you will look after their every need. When you stop & think about that, it's terrifying. That's why you should not think about it. I said don't think about it! STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!!!

7. You wouldn't change it even if you had the chance

The possibility of an admin job came up for me. I literally shuddered. The same as being a parent. You just ARE a Mum. You just ARE a Nurse. The thought of being anything else kinda makes your soul hurt a little. Even though you hate it sometimes, even though you wish you could change it sometimes, even though the thought of waking up to another day of patient/baby makes you die a little inside sometimes, you wouldn't change it for the world. The thought of NOT being a Mum/Nurse makes you change your perception of yourself. It's just who you are and that's that. It doesn't make you better than anyone. Except it kind of does. Nurses are awesome. Mums are awesome. So, I hate to say it, but Mums who are also Nurses, are kind of like super stars. Sweaty, poo covered, exhausted, cranky super stars.

Cheers,
Qld Nurse.

#VaccinateYourKidsStupid

I have spent tonight arguing with dickheads on the internet about vaccinations. And you know what? I'm fucking furious. I'm ropeable. I can't sleep thinking about how I'd like to herd these people up and expose them to all the preventable diseases they believe they don't need to be vaccinated against just to see how they'd fare.

Because I have a baby. And I have a brain. And to me, those two things should be synonymous. But apparently they're not.

In the news recently, a 32 day old baby died from pertussis, or whooping cough as it's more commonly known. I can't even imagine the heartbreak those parents must be feeling. A 32 day old baby isn't old enough to be vaccinated. A 32 day old baby doesn't have the immune system required to fight off an infection. A 32 day old baby relies on the common sense of adults around them to get a jab in the arm that will greatly reduce the likelihood of contracting whooping cough. And I can tell you now, that if my baby died from someone who refused to get vaccinated, I would cut a bitch. Not metaphorically. Not jokingly. I would literally. CUT. A. BITCH.

If a child gave that baby the infection, I don't blame the child. I blame the parents. As a child, you don't have the option of requesting that you be vaccinated. You rely on the adults in your life having the common sense to vaccinate you. So I blame the adults in that child's life. The unbelievably uninformed, should not have been able to procreate adults.

I blame the stupid, non-informed, blog following, internet diagnosing fucking idiots who would disbelieve 99% of medical professionals and go ahead and NOT vaccinate their child because AUTISM. I had some waste of jizz tell me tonight that 'most medical professionals don't even read a medication insert'. For realsie dickhead? MOST medical professionals that I know, and you know, BEING a medical professional I sometime hang around medical professionals, well us medical professionals have to look up ALL the side effects of EVERY medication we give to ANYONE. In the case of a child that shit is doubled. Another nominee for the Darwin Awards told me that 'big pharma' create the illness to create the vaccine for money. Vaccinations for kids are free. You fucking genius. Seriously. Do these people have to remind themselves to breathe? How have they survived this long without licking a power socket??

Yeah, you know what? Some kids have a reaction to vaccinations. And that's really really really sad. Is it as sad as a kid dying from some vegan, organic eating, mummy blogging hippy who read that gluten & vaccinations cause autism so they opted not to vaccinate and then contracted measles but they were ok however the kid too young to get vaccinated died from hydrocephalus? No. No it's not. Some kids CAN'T get vaccinated. And that USED to be ok, because herd immunity existed. Herd immunity no longer exists because fucking playboy bunnies & movie stars decided to do a Google search to blame something for the fact their kids didn't turn out the way they expected.

You know what blaming autism on vaccinations does? It makes the mums with autistic vaccinated kids feel like shit. Because if you have a kid that doesn't 'fit the mould' you already go through every possible fucking explanation as to why that is. Maybe I ate too much sugar in pregnancy? Maybe that paracetamol really did affect them? Maybe it IS vaccinations! You know what really sucks?? You're autistic kid being ventilated in ICU because you didn't vaccinate them because AUTISM. Would you rather a dead kid than an autistic one? Would you rather a child that doesn't know who you are because they have permanent brain damage from contracting measles?

http://howdovaccinescauseautism.com/

Look that site up. And every time an anti-vaxxer Googles some meme that shows a kid crying with a huge needle, send them that link. BECAUSE GOOGLE IS REAL YOU GUYS!

Study after scientific study has shown that vaccinations are safe. Do some people have side effects? Yep. Do some people have side effects from drinking milk? Yep. Should we ban milk? Do some people have side effects from having peanuts? Yep. Let's ban peanuts everywhere then! I have a physical reaction to stupidity so does that mean I can stop stupid people by any means necessary?? Oh please say yes....

I firmly believe in the no jab no play policies being implemented. If you don't want to vaccinate your kid, then you know what? Keep them home with you, home school them, feed them from your own veggie garden and cow paddock, with home slaughtered chicken or whatever. Don't EVER take them to the hospital if they're sick, because those doctors are just trying to make money off you. Because you know what makes REAL money? The thousands and thousands of dollars of medicine that needs to be pumped into your kid when they contract measles, or whooping cough, or Hep B. And if you think Hep B is a STI you're an idiot and you deserve to die from Hep B. Seriously.

I honestly cannot believe the stupidity and hypocrisy of the anti-vaxxers on the internet. I cannot believe that most of these people class themselves as highly educated. I cannot believe that these people are running around without their tin foil hats on.

If you believe 'big pharma' are making money off vaccines, does your naturopath give you 'natural immune boosting herbs' for free? Does your 'organic' lifestyle come without a price tag?

No. #VACCINATEYOURKIDSSTUPID

Or die at an early age so the smart people can live longer. Kthanksbai.

Cheers,
Qld Nurse.

Parents everywhere, I'm sorry I was a bitch.

Dear parents everywhere,

I'm sorry I judged you. I'm sorry as a non-parent I thought I knew more about parenting your child than you did. I'm sorry I glared at you disapprovingly and bitched behind your back, when I should have been offering you a foot rub and carrying your groceries for you.

As a fairly new parent myself, I've had some time to reevaluate my stance on a lot of things I was pretty sure I was an expert on. These things I will never, EVER judge another parent for doing, EVER AGAIN.

Their screaming child

In a plane, in the supermarket, in the restaurant, fuck any public place in the world. I will now, simply give them a knowing 'I've been there' smile and offer to pay for the bottle of vodka I recommend they buy. When we bought my bub home, he screamed. All. The. Time. I was basically a hermit for the first 3 months we had him home due to the fear of death glares I would receive when we went anywhere where the noise level was less than 3,000 decibels. Now, I don't give a fuck. He's a baby and he'll scream if he wants to. Don't get me wrong, I try and stop the screeching but let me give the non-parents a heads up. The sound of a baby crying to YOU is annoying. Possibly mildly headache inducing. I know, I've been you. But to the parent, it is SOUL DESTROYING. Especially if they have tried everything they have in their parent repertoire and it's not working. So take whatever feelings you have, multiply them by 10, and shove that look fair up your arse. I take back every time I did it, because trust me, karma was in fact a bitch.

Feeding your child shit food

My bub is below the 3rd percentile in weight. He was born this way as he was growth restricted in-utero and has followed the line so far. He's healthy, but the fact that he is little plays on my mind constantly. His weight is in the forefront of my brain the majority of the time. He has started solids, and it's a mission trying to get the food down him. Before this, and still now, trying to get him to take a bottle was/is a mission where basically an hour or two was spent being covered in milk/formula and ended in us both in tears. The boob was even worse. It got to the stage where I would have gladly fed him strawberry milk if it meant that he drank it and put on weight like he was supposed to. It's a fight. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. And the constant worry about whether he's getting enough nutrition is quite literally making my hair fall out. So if feeding your child Maccas once a week means your resting heart rate is actually within normal range for once, you go on with your bad self mumma. No judgement here. Well, no judgement anymore.

Not looking like a supermodel or 'letting yourself go' as it's so fondly referred to

My elbow at the present moment is so dry it hurts. Mostly due to the fact that moisturising is number 723 on my list of priorities right now. Make up? You're lucky if I brush my hair before leaving the house most of the time. In fact I only washed it today because I couldn't remember the last time I had.  I know, I know, how does my husband control himself right? I used to think 'gosh when I have kids I'll make sure I still look presentable, how embarrassing for that women with eyebrows like caterpillars'. As a mum now, showering is a luxury & not necessarily a priority. I'm so tired that my eyes are blurry 75% of the time, so sometimes I don't notice that bit of throw up on my shoulder until I'm out in the blaring, non-forgiving light of day. And you know what? It took me 25 minutes to get out of the house in the first place, so you can bet your left nut I'm not going home now to change for a little bit of spit up. Deal with it. If you don't like what you see, don't look. I'm not here for your visual pleasure cockhead. And by cockhead I am of course referring to my pre-child self.

Being late & only being available at certain times

Time has only just recently started to exist for me again, and even then it's only in the form of baby asleep & baby awake times which generally fall in 45 minute blocks. I can start preparing to go out an hour and a half before I'm supposed to be there but you can guarantee that 15 minutes before I'm due to walk out the door, a pooslosion or a vomit the size of a grown drunk man will occur and I will still be 15 minutes late. Pre-child, waiting for a post-child friend would piss me off. Now, I not only understand but expect it. Kids don't care about time. They're little arseholes. And you know what? It has taken weeks, WEEKS of non cry it out sleep training to get my child to sleep longer than 30 minutes at a time. So many tears. So little sleep. So if I have to have lunch with you at 1030am because bub's biggest nap is somewhere around 1130-130 and he won't sleep when I'm out and as a result of being tired becomes the devil with roid rage and makes me want to stab myself in the eye, well guess what? You're having lunch with me at 1030am or not at all. Thems the breaks my friend.

Anything that happens when a mother has post natal depression

The story of the mother who left her baby in a drain? Well I felt complete heartbreak for her because it was at a time when I was also considering the various ways I could escape motherhood. Pre-child, I had nothing but pure hatred and contempt for any mother that could do anything but love their child silly. Now, as someone with PND, my child is extremely lucky that we both had a great support system that stopped me from leaving him on someone's doorstep. Literally. I was also lucky to have people that could recognise that my behaviour was not me, and did not judge me for it, but rather showed concern & compassion. Because judgement would not have helped the situation in any way, shape or form. It would have made it worse. Much, much worse. Because I can guarantee that whatever judgements you were passing about me, I was passing them on myself but twenty times worse. When you have a child that literally screams for hours on end, every single fucking day, the future looks bleak my friends. You add in the hormones of breastfeeding, a traumatic birth, the pressure of society, the mummy guilt and health problems, you've got a cocktail that I like to call 'shit just got real and it stinks'. With this point especially, I cannot apologise profusely enough. My pre-kid self was a judgemental, know-it-all cunt and I take back every Judgey McJudgepants comment I ever made about a mum with PND.

That age old saying of 'don't judge someone until you've walked in their shoes' is actually pretty accurate when it comes to parenting. I had no idea what being a parent was like, and all my friends and family that just gave me that 'you don't know what the fuck you're on about' smile whenever I started a sentence with "when I have kids......", well guys, I get it. I get it now. And I'm sorry I was a bitch.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

My advice to myself a year ago.

So again, I haven't blogged in a while. Due to the fact that I have 5kg dictator living in my house who takes up 90% of my time. The other 10% is split between cleaning up after said dictator, having follow ups at the horse piddle, Dr & specialist appointments, trying to get more than 4 hours sleep a day and the occasional brush of my hair and teeth with a shower thrown in. I'm not gonna lie to you, my husband is one lucky man. *sarcasm font*

My little boy born 11 weeks early and 900 grams has had the farthest thing from an easy journey. We have had numerous health issues due to his prematurity and he's been in a lot of pain for the majority of his tiny existence. It doesn't help that he also has a really determined, stubborn personality (definitely not from me..... *cough*) and can be a right little shit sometimes.  He's decided that the latest fad is fighting naps - which works out well for both of us. *sarcasm font again* Add to that, the fact his guts has now deteriorated to the point that he won't poo unaided we have a little bundle of fucking joy on our hands.

Anyway....

It was almost to the day last year, I was just starting to grow this little terrorist and today is 15 days before the anniversary of when I found out that I was with child. So I thought I would write some advice to myself a year ago..... So here goes!

1. You've wanted a child for so long that you've fantasized it in your head. You don't know you have, but you have. Be prepared for when it doesn't work out like you thought it would. Not everyone has the same journey and that's OK. It doesn't make you a failure. It doesn't make your journey a failure. It just makes it different.

2. You know it's going to be hard. Multiply what you think is hard by about 10,000 and you're about a tenth of how hard it will actually be.  You will find a strength within yourself you never knew you had. You will also see a strength in your husband that you never knew he had. It's hot. Go with it.

3. You think night shift has prepared you for the sleeplessness?! Oh you poor fool. The babies that sleep through the night at 3 weeks are few and far between and lady, the luck you've had? Well you've got Buckley's chance! Suck it up, it won't last forever. The sleeplessness will subside in the same amount that the baby-ness will, so choose which one you want to go faster.

4.  When someone offers to help you, TAKE IT UP! Don't feel guilty, don't question it, just say thank you and go and do something for yourself. Like shower. It's been a couple of days and that old milk smell is ripe!

5.  You will have a million and one pieces of advice from people who you think know what they're talking about. Take on board what they say, then do what works for you. Trust your instincts! They weren't kidding about 'mother's instincts'. You will just know.  Most times you will be right.

6.  Along those lines, if you think something is wrong, keep insisting until you're satisfied with the answer! Doctors don't know everything, and you spend 24 hours a day with your kid. You know when something is wrong. There's answers out there, sometimes you just have to act a little 'crazy tired new mum' to get them.

7.  Your baby can't read books. He doesn't know what he's 'supposed' to do whatever you think he's supposed to do. So step away from Dr/Physio/OT Google. A little bit of information can be really dangerous.

8.  Admitting that you're struggling doesn't make you a failure. It doesn't make the other mums who have 'easy' babies more successful. Comparing yourself to other mums, comparing your baby to other babies, it will just eat you up and make you sad. Just roll with it. It will be over before you know it and you'll wonder why you spent the last 10 years worrying about what everyone else was doing instead of enjoying your kid.

9. Finally - get some help a lot earlier than you think you need help.  Who cares what others think?  Who cares if it's unnecessary? Help is help. Stop being so proud you loser.

So in summation, motherhood is a fuckload harder than I thought/imagined/fantasized it would be. But you know what? There's help out there. Sometimes you just need to know where to ask for it.

PS Hats off to you single mummas, or mummas with husbands that work far away. Respect yo.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Welcome back sanity. I missed you. Promise you'll never leave me again?

So, this is awkward. I apologise for my rage, hormone, sleep deprived, possibly rum fuelled temporary loss of sanity in my previous post. I hope it made you feel better about your own sanity. If you were nodding along & getting ready to jump with me, then it's probably time to see a professional.

As per the previous statement, I actually did see a professional about my mental state. Reluctantly, but I did it.  It turns out, my reactions are mostly normal, human reactions to a pretty shitty situation. Do I have postnatal depression? Possibly. Is it bad enough for a phone call to the little men in white coats? Not yet. Hash tag winning.

For those worried about me, I'm fine. For those worried about my baby, he's also fine. See here's the thing. I actually have a very supportive network around me. My husband is amazing. My mother lives with us and helps out more than she probably should. My good friends are my good friends for a reason - they're good. No they're great.

Turns out there's actually a lot of support out there for those who are able to get it. Some people, aren't lucky enough to get it. Through lack of knowledge, lack of knowledge on where to get the knowledge, or simply because they slip through the cracks & help is too late.

Being a parent is hard. Like super, mega, how have we survived as a species hard. When I said 'how hard can it be?' apparently the universe accepted it as a challenge and complied.

That's cool though. I'll get there. I feel like sometimes our society has turned into something where being sad isn't allowed. When shit stuff happens you're expected to pull yourself up the bootstraps and continue on. It's OK to be sad sometimes, especially if sad stuff is happening.

This whole experience to date has really highlighted a few things for me.

Single parents - you're fucking legends.

You should be awarded as Australians of the Year every year. I don't know how you do it. My husband and I are finding it unbelievably difficult, and we have the ability to give bub to each other so the other can go and take a break. Same goes for people who have partners that work away. Hats off to you.

Mother guilt is real and it can & will kill your soul.

I thought the guilt I felt when I drank some coke whilst pregnant was bad. There are no words to describe the constant fear that I am failing my child. Is he well enough? Should I be teaching him words yet? Is he too hot/cold/insert anything here? Did I wait too long to change that nappy? Should I be taking his temperature more regularly? Did I pass on my crazy genes to him? The list goes on and on. It's ridiculous.

Mother shaming is also real and can & will kill your soul.

Unless you have an over inflated, untouchable sense of self that would rival Anthony Mundine, do not join any 'Mummy' pages/help groups unless they are run by an actual paid professional. If you didn't have mummy guilt before, you sure will after. If you must join, do not, I repeat DO NOT ask a question about how you should/have parent/ed your child. Not only will a war of words erupt, causing Facebook to implode and baby Jesus to cry, but you will end up feeling more shit than you already do due to the amount of Mummy shaming that goes on. There are 3 things you can be certain of in this world - Death, Taxes & the Self-righteous-I'm-a-better-parent-than-you-because-I-feel-passionately-about-x/y/z Mum. I just wish sometimes women weren't such bitches & could help a sister out instead of making them feel worse in order to make themselves feel better. Opinions are like arseholes - everyone has one but sometimes you shouldn't bring them out in polite company.

Sometimes, a flippant comment, or a miscommunication between a health professional & a parent can make the difference between a bad time & a disastrous time.

Today, I had an excellent specialist appointment. He appreciated the fact, that I'm a first time mum, I've had a rough time so far, and I'm fragile. He explained the not so good news in an understanding, calm manner. He made me feel like he had all the time in the world for my stupid questions. We left the office, disappointed but not feeling like it was the end of the world. He gave us his medical opinion and I respected it because of his manner. Before my last blog, I had a specialist appointment with a Dr who made me feel like I was a number, that my questions were irritating, that his time was more precious than mine, and who delivered bad news like it was no big deal that my world had come crashing down around me and 'next please!'. I left the appointment feeling like he should circumcise the dick on his head & I hoped he got genital warts. I also spent the next week in absolute turmoil, trying to find evidence that his opinion was wrong because he is obviously a peckerhead. Note to Dr's everywhere.....

It's ok to ask for help and admit that parenting isn't what you expected.

Remember that part about parenting being hard? Well when I spoke to a couple of my fellow parent friends, they let me in a little secret - it IS hard. Those new parents that look like they have it all together and that it's the most magical time of their lives? They're full of shit. They're struggling too they're just to proud to let you know (see Mummy shaming above). I've had it stuck in my head that I 'should' be doing everything myself & I 'should' be coping much better than I have been because that person on Facebook posted that wonderful status & picture. Well my words of wisdom are this....

Anyway, that's my diary entry for another day. I apologise for my flippancy about PND & mental illness in my last blog. It should be taken seriously & if you're struggling then please get help. Call lifeline, the hospital, a friend whoever. It's surprsing how a fresh set of eyes can change the way you see a situation.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

PND - Come at me!

See what I did there? I made light of my mental illness by rhyming it.... coz it's funny.

Not really.

Sometimes I want to leave my baby on someone's doorstep & hope they give him a better life than I believe I can give him. For realsie.

See here's what's happened. Bear in mind, events are shaded with a tinge of apparently post-natal depression (what PND stands for in case you hadn't figured it out already you stupid non-mental health professional stupid stupidity).

I've had a baby born 11 weeks premature, after almost 1.5 years of 'trying' and one round of fertility treatment. My pregnancy was awful, with me throwing up everyday until 2 days before said baby was born via emergency c-section due to pre-eclampsia and HELLPs. He spent 3 weeks in NICU, 1 day short of 6 weeks in SCN, a total of 1 day short 9 weeks before we could bring him home. I made the best that I could of the situation. I created charts that showed his progress. I decorated his room with photos. I made good of getting out of the room at least once a day like everyone told me I should. I expressed milk religiously, took medications & changed my diet to build up my milk supply to a) give him down his tube to prevent the millions of illnesses that were thrust upon him if breast was in fact not best, and b) be able to breastfeed once he was old enough & able. I kangaroo cuddled the shit out of this kid. If I was in the room, he was down my shirt asleep on me. I harassed staff daily, until the day that they finally said we could bring him home. I thought they were messing with me, but no, they were seriously giving a baby to me to look after.  I got him home. And....

He cries. ALL the time. If he's awake - chances are he's crying. Sometimes screaming. He has a whole range of health problems from being born prematurely - none of which is any of his fault. Hypothyroidism, phosphate deficiency, Hb deficiency..... a number of surgical issues that need to be followed up. The latest of which, is a tongue tie that is so severe it needs to be done under general anesthetic because it will no doubt need a stitch. The surgeon, tells me he won't do it until 12 months old, due to the prematurity and size of my bouncing baby boy. Sound medical judgement.  This however, means the weeks that I've been struggling to breastfeed are useless, because he will not be able to do it efficiently. Deep down I've know this. We've struggled. To the point I have yelled at him "this is instinctual!! All animals know how to do this! Why don't you?!?" We bottle feed him the milk I express all thinking "on Tuesday they'll snip the tongue tie and all will be well."

Here's the thing. I feel like the mother-fucking-epic-bob's-your-uncle-epic-fail of mothers that ever failed the fail. I feel like I should have listened to all the signs of the universe telling me I should not have a child, and just got another puppy instead. You know why? Because this is my puppy. Well my year and 2 months old puppy. This photo is not even posed. He just grabbed it, and wandered round like a "baws y'all". For real. Because he's amazing.

Here is my child. My 'survived me trying to kill him for 7 months, I'm a little human child'.

Cute, yes. Allowed me to make a beard out of bubbles in his bath, yes. Screams non-stop throughout the day, yes....

The one thing I was clinging to, was breastfeeding. The one normalcy of this whole situation, was being able to breastfeed my child. And that has been taken away from me. And you know what? I feel fucking cheated. If anything should be ok, it should be this. It could be the ceasear, where I couldn't hold my child, I didn't feel him 'coming out' of me. It could be the fact that I couldn't hold my baby for 8 days until he was over 1kg.  It could be a number of things, but I've always felt that I'm playing house. That this kid is someone else's and I'm just playing until someone real comes along and claims actual parentage. This confirms it. This should have been the thing that 'cinched' our relationship.

But it hasn't.

So welcome to the "Qld Nurses, wanted to be, but should have listened to the signs and now has PND and doesn't want to have a baby" blog.

Enjoy the ride. Someone should.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

I'm a MUM

So here's a funny story. About a week after I wrote my last blog I gave birth to a tiny little boy 11 weeks early via emergency classical C-section. Ok, so not really that funny a story.

I was writing about how I hated being pregnant and it turns out, that my experience may have been skewed a little. I developed severe, early onset pre-eclampsia and then HELLPs where basically my liver almost carked it (for once, not because of too many Bundy Rums!) and my platelets dropped a bit. Was good fun, you should try it sometime. *searches for sarcasm font*

Here's how it came about. I had upper abdominal pain for about a week that gradually got worse. Being a nurse, I don't go to the hospital unless I'm dying - in this case I was, as was my baby but because I took Panadol & the pain went away I figured it couldn't have been that bad. After all, Panadol cures nothing right?  Anyway, the first time I went to the hospital everything was relatively ok with my bloods so I went home & was told to come back a week later for more bloods. 2 days later I was back at the birth suite & my blood pressure had skyrocketed. A scan of the baby showed he was growth restricted, and although I was 29 weeks pregnant, he was only measuring around 26 weeks. The blood flow was impeded but he was compensating, just. I had to be monitored extremely closely, was given a couple of steroid injections in case of early birth and told I wasn't leaving the hospital without having had a baby. Yes I did ask the Dr if I could go back to work, as it was only a level up & I was on light duties anyway. No she didn't smack me in the head but I'm sure she was face palming inside.

Long story (somewhat) short, 2 days later he wasn't compensating as well as they'd hoped, my blood tests were getting worse as was my blood pressure, so the amazing team decided it was better he come out then instead of waiting until full blown emergency holy shit he's dead time. We had 2 days to prepare for being parents as opposed to the 3 months we thought we had.

Born at 900 grams, he wasn't breathing & scored himself a trip to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit then to the Special Care Nursery.  Today is our first full day at home after a very long 62 days in the hospital. So for those of my lovely Twitter pals who were wondering where I've been, I've been in room 42 of the Special Care Unit waiting (sometimes not so patiently) for my little boy to be strong enough to come home.

This little guy is pretty much the strongest dude I know. The will to live is incredible. Not only were nurses amazed that he was never intubated despite his young age & tiny weight, not only did he have no real complications that made his stay any longer than it had to be, but this little dude is showing no signs of developmental delay and has come home with only really relatively small health issues, considering his cooking time was cut short by 11 weeks. Most importantly, he also farts & burps at the same time, which I didn't manage until I was about 5 years old. He is the most incredible, tiny, scariest, cutest thing in my world and if anyone hurts him I will pull their fingernails out.

I went through a massive period of feeling immensely guilty that I didn't know something was wrong with my baby. Truth be told I'm still not over it. My little dude was making me sick because I was killing him and all I could complain about was throwing up and carpal tunnel. Having said that, I have been reassured by many, that the symptoms I was experiencing also happen to be symptoms of pregnancy. Carpal tunnel can affect up to 50% of pregnant woman, it also happens to be due to swelling which a sign of pre-eclampsia. I was sick well past the first trimester which some women are just unlucky enough to have to deal with, but it's also a sign of pre-eclampsia.

Hindsight is 20/20 and I did think that something might not be right quite early on. But, being a first time Mum, I put that down to being worried due to previous miscarriage and, well, being a first time Mum. My only advice to other future Mums, is to not feel stupid questioning your health care practitioner when you think something isn't right. I wouldn't have even gone to the hospital if it weren't for my husband strongly suggesting (with definitely no swear words) that I go right away. I didn't want to look like the over cautious, stupid, annoying first time Mum that got a check up for every niggle & pain. I should have.

Anyway, that's my story for the last 9 weeks. I hope you've all been well! I will spare you the million and one photo spamming of my gorgeous son because I'm sure you'll all see him when he rules the world in a couple of years. Ok, you twisted my arm, here you go. 

Cheers,

Qld Nurse (on maternity leave).

TMI about Week 28 of my 40 week sentence...

When I was barely 3 months pregnant, I wrote about what I'd learned so far about being pregnant. It's now 7 months & my baby will most likely survive with NICU support if born now (touch so much fucking wood). I have still have 3 months to go (yes that's right kids, women are actually pregnant for 10 months!) but have learned so much more in the 4 months that have passed. Here's some little gems that I hope you will find funny at my expense. I'm sure one day I will too.

1. Just accept you will lose all dignity from the start. It's easier that way.

This little gem came rather sharp and fast when my husband walked in on me naked and crying on the toilet, straining so hard from constipation that I thought I would give myself an aneurysm or rip myself in half. Through sobs I asked him to get me a glove so I could give myself a suppository. Sexy. That my friends is unconditional love right there. When someone sees you in that fine form, and still wants to actually have sex with you, hold onto them for dear life. They're a solid gold fucking keeper. I thought about it later, and realised this was probably excellent preparation for labour and we can laugh about it now. Well he can anyway.

2. Kegal schmegal. At some stage you will still piss your pants.

This one goes hand in hand with number 1. I've been doing my kegals like no-one's business. I've checked those little suckers out and can stop mid stream like a champion. Nurse bladder and all. I can tell you now, when you have such a violent spew that your nose bleeds and it comes out your eyeballs, with that added pressure of the baby on your bladder, you will piss your pants. My tip is to have a handy spew bag next to the toilet, so when it happens you can at least spew into that while you awkwardly try & get your pants off fast enough to maintain some sort of undie integrity. Worst case scenario, start stocking up on Tena when you find them on special. Do it now. You'll thank me later.

3. Don't ask a question unless you really, REALLY want to know the answer.

This one is especially true if you work with nurses. Specifically midwives who also dabble in special care nursery or the like. People think because you're a nurse you know everything about every medical condition in existence. This is so far from the truth. I worked with head injuries for a long time. Baby incubation and such are the completely other end to what I worked with and are just as much of a mystery to me as the next first time mother. So unless you really want to know what the actually likelihood of your baby surviving were it born at this particular instance, do not ask. You know the answer to whether you will shit yourself or not, don't be stupid. Do you really want to know what sort of damage will be done to your hoohaa and if it will heal like everyone says? Want to hear about all the ways you or your child could die during labour? You want an in depth description of how a full length mirror can be bought in during labour so you can watch what your hoohaa is physically capable of? No. No you don't. Trust me you don't. Unless it's imperative to your medical care, just ostrich that shit - keep your head firmly in the sand and pretend there will be butterflies shooting out of your lady garden as a harp plays, and the magic of the moment will sweep you up and make everything okay. That's what I'm doing from now on.

4. Just like the first signs of morning sickness, the novelty of the first kicks will wear off.

Especially when baby wakes you up sitting on your pubic bone kicking you in your special place at 2am. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely reminder that baby is alive and I'd rather it kick than not. But when people think you have developed Tourette Syndrome because mid conversation you suddenly grab your guts & scream 'Oh Jesus Christ you little fucker get OFF there!', you realise the wonderment of the first 'oh my god I just felt the baby kick!' is long gone. Seriously, sometimes it's like a little kick boxer seriously testing the limits of skin elasticity and organ resilience to baby feet. It's lovely but it's fucking painful, and anyone that tells you it isn't, well they're lying to you fool. Which brings me to my next point.

5. Women lie about the 'joy of pregnancy'.

Why? I don't know. Maybe it's because they're evil bitches who lure the unsuspecting in to pregnancy just to smugly laugh at how someone else had to suffer like they did. I honestly don't know. Let me tell you this. I'm not enjoying being pregnant, and I'm telling every person who is wanting to have a baby this. The glow? That's sweat. The calm? That's deep breathing trying to keep the vomit down. Everything hurts and sometimes if you're really lucky (like me) you get complications such as carpal tunnel, bleeding, incompetent cervix, eclampsia or a list of other shit & painful things that by now you'd think evolution would have sorted out. Apparently it's all worth it in the end, and hey some dumbasses go back for it more than once so it's got to have some perks. I'm telling you now to think seriously about whether you are really prepared for a booger eating shit machine to stake down territory in your uterus for almost a year. I didn't. I was so focused on the 'getting pregnant' problem that I didn't focus on the 'once you're pregnant' stage. Be the healthiest you've ever been in your life, no joke. They don't tell you this just to make you feel bad for eating that cake. Make sure you've got a really supportive partner, friends, workplace, Doctor, community phone counsellor etc. Don't be like me and think 'how hard can it be? You get fat and your back hurts a little. So many people do it. She'll be apples.' Dumbass. This girl right here. I've learned my lesson so you don't have to. The cliches are true. You're welcome.

So that's me done for another hormone induced rant. I'm just going to get up and dislodge this kid from my left hip bone before it then kicks me in the stomach & I projectile vomit. I'll probably have to wash my compression gloves & splints that I use for the carpal tunnel again. Then I will get some broken sleep where I will wake up crying after having dreamed that something has happened and this kid didn't get to know how much I love it. Then I will think about how overjoyed I am that this kid has made milestones and is healthy and I can't wait to meet him or her and realise that I would die before I let someone hurt it. Then rock the little bugger to sleep whilst feeling awful for all the other wannabe mummies out there who won't get to experience a baby lodging itself under their hip. Then I'll cry again. *sigh*.

Little shits really weasel their way into your hearts don't they?

Cheers,
Qld Nurse

This is not going to be a popular post.

So I'm going to dip my toe in a political post again. *Deep breath*

DISCLAIMER

I don't claim to be an expert on political affairs, most of the time I struggle to care because it's all such bullshit. I also in no way support Tony A-butt as I'm sure you know from me calling him a few choice words in a heated post a while back. I'm not a LNP fan, having said that I am also not a ALP fan, or a Clive Palmer fan or pretty much any of the politician's fans because the majority are overpaid megalomaniacs in politics for selfish reasons who really don't give two shits about the people they're representing.

Here we go.

There are proposed changes to the dole which mean that job seekers under the age of 30 will have to spend 25 hrs a week 'working for their dole' and apply for 40 jobs a month. Which works out to be 2 job applications & 5 working hours per working day, say Monday - Friday. Or Tuesday to Saturday, because we all know the Saturday paper has the biggest amounts of jobs.  My question is......and?

There are people losing their collective shit all over Australia stating how unfair this is and how you will have so many people applying for so few jobs and how are you supposed to fit in the job finding with the having to work? Seriously? You are unemployed and young. What else do you have to do with your 24 hours free a day?

In the short periods of time where I have been unemployed, I used to apply for up to 10 jobs A DAY. I had rejection letters coming out the wazoo. My job was finding a job. But I wanted a job. No, scrap that - I NEEDED a job. I applied for jobs that were beneath me, above me, jobs I wanted, jobs I wasn't so keen on, jobs I thought I'd have no chance of getting but would apply anyway. Because that's what you do. You don't 'wait' for the perfect job to appear because guess what kids? Sometimes that 'perfect job' doesn't exist or won't exist for months, and your landlord doesn't give a fat rat's ass that you've got a degree in interpretative dance and there are currently no jobs in your area. I've been a checkout chick, worked at Maccas, waited tables, I worked at a servo filling up gas bottles back in the day. Did I want to be any of those things? Nup! But apparently Ergon Energy aren't that interested in my dreams and aspirations. They're more interested in not letting me have free electricity. Because nothing in this world comes for free kids. So how 'bout we put our big girl panties on and deal with that ok?

The more time you are unemployed, the more undesirable you will be to a future employer. The more time off you have had, the less likely you will be to even get to interview stage. So if people are REALLY wanting to work, why is working for the dole such a big deal? It's experience. Even if you are working at a job you hate, you are getting experience in time management, in team work, in arriving on time, in organisation. The work for the dole may not be experience you would normally get, but it's experience. It will look good on your resume, it will show future employers that you have initiative. No, everyone is not suited to going out and digging holes but you will be a productive member of society and getting skills that can be transferred into your dream job when it is advertised one day. I was working 2 jobs while I was studying at uni AND still found time to volunteer at 2 places that I thought would get me valuable experience when I finally could apply for my 'dream job'. So don't tell me that it can't be done.

I don't know anyone that jumps out of bed in the morning, raring to go to work. Would I rather sit at home all day? Well yeah for a while I guess that would be great. I get pretty bored when I have more than 4 days off in a row and I remember going insane having no job and no money though, but hey! Maybe that's just me?

My point is, there are people out there, myself included who pay shitloads of tax to support people who need it. Who flog themselves into the ground daily but never see a third of that money because it goes to improvements in society like free healthcare, education and helping those less fortunate. I have absolutely no problem in that.....when it's actually going to people who need it. Disabled. Mentally ill. Pensioners. Yep, I got your back. Not single mums, who's youngest kid is 10 and going to school but she doesn't want to be a cleaner. Not a 20 something year old who wants to pick and choose when they want to go to work because some days they just don't have the energy. Not someone who has figured out that they get less money if they work over a certain amount of hours so they choose not to work instead because 'what's the point when I get less money?' No. No and no. Get a job. Get a shit job like everyone has had to do at some stage in their life. Figure out the child care and after school care. Work something out like other people have to. Can you imagine if everyone had that attitude? There would be NO payments because there would be no one paying tax. 

Not everyone on Newstart is one of these people, I get it. But you know what public outcry? There are fuckloads of them that are. I SEE it everyday in the hospital. People who can afford to drink grog everyday and buy illicit drugs but are on a welfare payment. People who are more than able to work but 'don't see the point' when they can get free money from the government. People who are earning almost as much as I am when I am, when I am shaving years off my life working night shift to look after those 'less fortunate'.  Being on the dole never used to be a lifestyle choice. It was something that you hated to do and were embarrassed by, but did until you got another job. It was a back up plan, not a first option.

Yes, there will be people that fall through the cracks. That's democracy unfortunately. Not everything will work for every member of society. And that's unfortunate. Will the amount of able bodied people being forced to actually get of the butts and get a job outweigh those who fall through the cracks? You bet. And if we had a government that actually had half a brain between them, the money saved would be filtered back into employment programs, mental health programs and homeless programs to help those falling through the cracks. If we had a government that actually listened to people and cared, they wouldn't have an ulterior motive to use work for the dole as a cheap labour source for their big business friends. But that will have to wait until next election.

Anyway, rage away kids. I honestly welcome your opinions as long as they are logical debate. I REALLY want to see why there is such outrage at this proposition.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse

I hit the dreaded number today....

The big 3-oh. Dirty thirty.

You know, when I was 15 and thought about who I'd be when I turned 30, this was not what I thought life would be like. I don't feel 30. Well, today in particular I feel 50, because this spawn of the debil (aka the future ruler of the world as we know it) growing inside of me is still giving my guts a hard time; but in general I don't feel thirty.

Like for example, I was a little bit disappointed that I was having a 'zero' birthday and couldn't get write-myself-off schnockered. I was a little disappointed that I didn't have a million and one Facebook messages from people I barely knew saying the obligatory "Happy birthday!" I felt a little inadequate, that I organised a dinner in a nice quiet restaurant, for 10 people.

I look back at photos of me in my early 20's and wish to Bacon that I'd seen how gorgeous I appear to my now 30 year old self. I think about the masses of friends I had back then and compare them to the few good friends I have now and wonder where they went. I look back to the times that I used to be able to hit the clubs until 4am but still wake up at 8am feeling like I could take on the world and wonder what the hell happened to that chick.

Then it hits me. I really AM 30.  Because none of those things really matter to me anymore. Suddenly having 'drinking buddies' became less important than having friends you could cry with over a loss of a child.  Having a quiet night in instead of a massive party where I have to clean up vomit & dread the photos being uploaded to the internet is kind of, well, a relief.

It's just funny how priorities change & you don't even see it happening really. How life goes on and it's not until you stop and go 'holy snapping duck shit, where the HELL did the last 10 years go and who am I?'

I loved that today, I got to wake up to the love of my life, who made me a quiet breakfast then we played with our dog. I loved that I didn't have to worry about being a host to a 100 people who were probably just going to get drunk and trash my house anyway. I loved that I am starting a family and my thoughts have been on buying baby things rather than alcohol.

I think the main thing I've learnt today though, is that growing older isn't a bad thing. There was a lot of bad shit that happened to me in my 20's. I wouldn't be the person I am today without it happening, but it wasn't fun to experience and you couldn't pay me enough to go back to those years & do it again. Why do we as a society (in general) fear getting older? Why was I clinging on to the fact that I'm not the person I was 10 years ago? I like who I am now. I feel like I'm a completely different person to the woman I was only a year ago.

And that's ok.

Don't get me wrong, I still wish I could have a night of party & not pay for it for 3 days afterwards, but the other stuff that comes with getting older is so much more worthwhile.

So happy 30th birthday to me. This year I genuinely feel like I am actually another year older & another year wiser.

Cheers,
Qld Nurse