A blessing or a curse

Over the last week I closely followed the televised Olympic games coverage as time allowed. I was in awe of the talented, focused athletes, who have worked exceptionally hard and undeniably faced many sacrifices to reach such elite status. Of course, I am nation proud and celebrated Australia's amazing achievements, however it was the individual efforts and life stories of the collective Olympians that tugged at my heart strings throughout the games.

I can't even begin to imagine the blood, sweat and tears shed over the countless years of training toward reaching such significant personal goals. I'm sure illnesses and injuries have had their place too, amidst endless hours of mundane repetition. Memories of triumphs along the way blended with unwavering commitment toward aspired dreams, surely feeds the hunger of such successful sporting campaigns.

You could sense the overwhelming pride and joy emanating from the beaming athletes as they entered Tokyo's venue during the opening ceremony; each one exuding an air of honour and humility. Walking tall behind their country's distinctive flags, they would have pinched themselves often. Then, as the games began and the Olympians prepared for their individual sports, emotions and adrenaline ran high - as did mine from my lounge room.

I shed victory tears along with the winners on the podiums, as I watched them sing along to their national anthem under their masks. I was saddened for the athletes who missed out and tried their best to hide their disappointed. I was upset for the devastated athletes, whose nerves engulfed them at crucial points from the sheer pressure of being Olympians. You can learn to prepare for all aspects of a sport, however no one can teach you the overwhelm of an Olympic environment. Knowing the world's eyes are focussed upon you, counting on you to do your country proud, must be a huge, daunting cross to bear among the excitement.

I felt for the coaches, teammates, and the families from afar of these extraordinary sportsmen and women, as they cheered for their stars. I empathized with the repeated Olympians, whose dreams once again came true. Now hanging up their boots, their memories of patriotic accomplishments forever documented in history books, will accompany them through all the days of their lives.

Each and every athlete is admirable, regardless of personal outcome. To be an Olympian is already such an impressive, outstanding ranking, and acknowledges hard yards, pain, stamina and sheer determination. All are incredible competitors.

However we view Tokyo going ahead with the Olympics and Paralympics, the keen spectators among us would have to agree the games have given us a much-needed break from the constant Covid-19 coverage. Whether the prestigious, international event causes a severe, global increase of Covid-19, albeit rigorous safety protocols, is yet to be determined. Was it even worth the risk?

May our Aussies and all the international champions arrive home safely and Corona virus free, to celebrate their Olympic experiences in the arms of their loved ones and countries.

How wonderful that would be ...

Nina is in Town

A few weeks ago I received an email from BreastScreen Victoria stating I was due for my biannual routine check-up. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly these appointments come around! Feeling uninspired, but knowing it was in my best interests, I promptly booked, wishing to have the procedure done and dusted. Three days prior to my appointment I received a reminder text insisting I not forget to bring a mask. I doubted I would, as face masks were permanent fixtures across the board. Victoria was in yet another lockdown.

The day of the screen arrived and for the first time in months, I annoyingly slept in. Usually an early riser, I booked an 8.20am appointment to have the uncomfortable experience quickly completed to tackle the remainder of the day. I rushed to get myself ready around sorting my gorgeous, but demanding fluff balls, who were irritatingly dancing around my feet. Soon I was off to Leongatha, mask glued to my schnozz.

During the drive my thoughts gravitated to breast screens of the past. I remembered the clinicians were typically focused and thorough with a practical attitude. This day I expected no different as I turned into Gippsland Southern Health Services carpark and spotted the distinguishable pink mobile van. It was a bitter-cold winter's day and the thought of shedding my many layers made me shiver.

Arriving at the foot of the bus stairs, I checked in with the contact tracing app conveniently placed on a table outside the entrance. Preparing myself for what lay ahead, I entered the vehicle as the door automatically opened and summoned me inside. Standing in the modest reception area, I was instantly greeted by smiling, welcoming eyes glowing from above a face mask. This friendly soul introduced herself as Trish and immediately made me feel at ease.

As I sanitised my hands, Trish proceeded to confirm my personal details, after which I signed the form to be true and correct. Suddenly a lady from the adjoining room appeared and introduced herself as Joanne, the mammographer. She had been thoroughly cleaning, sanitsing and preparing the radiography room and machine after the previous client, in preparation for me.

Joanne was lovely as she kindly showed me into the area I've always facetiously name the 'pancake' room. The state of the art, digital radiography machine was typically familiar and confronting, but I was thankful for the room's toasty-warm temperature.

Joanne clearly communicated directives showing incredible compassion and consideration to my mental, physical and emotional needs. Her competency and collective dedication toward her important role was obvious. I couldn't help admiring her in fact, I can't speak highly enough of both Joanne and Trish, who significantly eased a usually unpleasant, vulnerable experience.

Joanne expressed the Breast Screen van named 'Nina', is offering free screens until the 20th August and is targeting women between the ages of fifty and seventy-four. Having a breast screen every two years is the best way to detect breast cancer early, before any symptoms arise and when treatment is most likely to be successful. You don't need a doctor's referral or even your Medicare card. The van is diligently operating with Covid-19 safety measures in place to protect both the community and staff. Appointments are appropriately spaced out to ensure physical distancing.

BreastScreen Victoria CEO Terri Smith claims, "Nina is one of our two mobile screening vans, which travel the state throughout the year. This visit to Leongatha is organised to ensure women of South Gippsland have access to potentially life-saving mammograms."

Statistics reveal one in seven women will develop breast cancer in their lifetime, most without evidence of family history. Ageing is the biggest risk factor for developing the disease, hence why breast screens are so important.

The pink van is presently situated at Gippsland Southern Health Service, 66 Koonwarra Road, Leongatha (beside Koorooman House) until Friday 20th August. Appointments can be booked online at breastscreen.org.au or by calling 13 20 50.

Breast screening is a choice however, one well worth contemplating. Taking only ten minutes of your time, this procedure could ultimately save your life.

One of the ambassadors outside 'Nina' the BreastSceen Victoria van.

Finally I've Seen the Light.

I cannot believe, having food shopped for a good thirty-five years, I was oblivious to the easy solution to one of my most frustrating annoyances in life! A friend kindly put me out of my misery last week. I'm almost too embarrassed to write of my former dilemma, but if there are others like me with their heads in the sand, I wish to pay my enlightenment forward. Believe me, your food shopping world will forever revolutionise.

My problem was with plastic, produce bags. Yes I know, plastic is not ideal, however I reuse these bags, often twice. Trying to pull them apart in an attempt to reveal their opening was an exasperating, time-consuming task that had me swearing profusely under my breath. Simply put, it drove me insane!

I would rub the opening of a bag between my fingers, then palms, as empathetic onlookers continually suggested. I would try and pick the bag open or scrunch it in my hand (short of throwing it to the floor and stomping on it), in an attempt to loosen its iron grip. I searched for water droplets among the fruit and vegetable stands (that were never to be found), as wetness always seemed to do the trick. God forbid I licked my finger!

While it took fifteen seconds to fill a bag with goods, ten minutes would be wasted unlocking the wretched thing. I was short of pulling my hair out. Mind you, the hand sanitizer available at each store entrance since the beginning of the pandemic, has been a godsend. As I entered the supermarket each week, I repeatedly made sure to seize and immediately open the number of plastic bags I needed with the last little bit of remaining moisture on my hands. This worked beautifully and not one swear word arose. However, hopefully this method is not sustainable as we endeavour to heal through the Covid-19 virus, although I imagine, sanitizer will stick around for a long while.

Now I am able to completely rub the antiseptic gel into my hands because I have finally been educated. Last week a friend of mine, who happens to work in the produce department of my local supermarket, was entertained as she noticed me wrestle with yet another uncooperative, plastic bag. Quickly coming to my aid before police were called on the grounds of me disturbing the peace, she pointed out the most amazing thing!

"If you hold the bag up and look along the sides, you will see one side marginally overlaps the other, just enough to grab it with the tips of your forefinger and thumb," she said.

"Oh my goodness, you're right!" I shrieked.  

As Tracey proceeded to pull the overlapping piece, the two top adjoining corners of that side separated to form a small, hollow triangle shape, enough to manoeuvre my hands to easily grab both sides of the plastic bag. From there, one shake and the bag was open, ready to be filled.

Seriously, over all these years, how have I never noticed that little overlapping bit, although in my defence, you almost require a bionic eye to perceive it. Sheepishly I calmed down and suddenly felt all my Christmases had come at once. That enlightening moment was definitely something worth celebrating.

I'm forever indebted to Tracey for her forthcoming wisdom. Not only will my sanity stay intact, my blood pressure remain normal and I'll refrain from offending fellow shoppers within earshot, but food shopping may possibly transform into a new, enjoyable experience. Then again, I wouldn't quite go that far, but at the very least it will thankfully take up less of my time.

There's More to Blood than Meets the Vein.

I grew up in the South Eastern suburbs of Melbourne, Australia, and as an adult, religiously answered the continual urgent and loud call for blood, sought by the Red Cross. Not only was regularly donating blood an easy process, it was an important purpose and offered instant gratification. I typically floated out the door. To this day I'm still not sure whether my reaction stemmed from my emotions, knowing I was helping to save a life, or if my body rejoiced releasing just under half a litre of life juice. Perhaps both reasons intermingled created the euphoric pleasure.

Once I relocated to rural South Gippsland, Victoria, almost two decades ago, I found it difficult to continue on my good Samaritan quest. Disappointingly, Red Cross Blood Donation Centres were located miles away from my new home. However, some years later I discovered a Lifeblood Mobile Donor Centre, which to this day, frequents a nearby town. I was back in action and resumed giving blood at three month intervals.

A few years on I rang Red Cross one morning to book a customary appointment. Blood remained in high demand and since my last donation, time had once again flown quickly by.

"I'd like to make a new appointment please," I told the Red Cross operator.

"Sure. May I have your donor number?" the lady asked.

After giving her the information and waiting a moment, I was shocked when she voiced, "We don't require your blood at this time, thank you."

"You don't require my blood?!" I replied. "How can that suddenly be when you're forever crying out for the liquid gold?"

"No, we don't require you to donate blood and we'll call you if we do," the lady repeated.

I was flabbergasted!

Months typically flew by, which turned into years. I'd not heard a whisper from Red Cross and decided to give them another call. Surely I was forgotten or had somehow slipped through the database cracks. However, I was met with the same response - thanks, but no thanks.

I began to wonder if my blood showed abnormalities. It couldn't be too serious an issue or I'd have been promptly notified, I thought. Maybe there was something undesirable running through my veins too adverse to share with recipients. This was the only resolution which came to mind.

Another few years passed since I filed my questioning thoughts to the back of my mind and still no word from Red Cross Lifeblood. Last week I again picked up the phone, determined to put my bewildering notions to bed. 

“Good morning. I was wondering if my blood may be required after not having donated for an extremely long period of time?” I asked.

The Red Cross operator searched my file and again claimed my donation was not needed.

“I’m beginning to think my blood is faulty.” I half-heartedly joked. “I really don’t understand.” 

A giggle sounded through the telephone and the lady assured me there was nothing wrong with my blood. She went on to explain both her and I have a rare AB positive blood group. In fact, so rare, our blood type makes up approximately only 3% of the population.

"But wouldn't that make our blood even more sought-after?" I asked.

I was intrigued and promptly researched the topic of blood to quench my curiosity. According to Red Cross Lifeblood, there are eight main blood types organised through two combined systems. These systems are ABO (blood types A, B, AB or O) and Rh type (Rhesus).

By percentage of population, the most common blood type in Australia is O positive, while the least common is AB negative.

There is no great demand for AB blood types, as O blood groups are the most universally adaptable. If a recipient's blood type isn't available to administer a transfusion, O negative red blood cells can be given, which is often the case in emergencies.

However, there are actually three kinds of donations one can offer - blood, plasma or platelets. Australia needs a steady supply of all three types of donations, but the specific amounts of each variety fluctuate daily.

As an AB positive donor, I  discovered my plasma has serious potential. It is determined as universal and can help treat anyone suffering from ailments, such as cancer or serious burns. In fact, plasma is a powerful and versatile element of our blood that can be used in eighteen different life-sustaining ways.

So why haven't I been donating my plasma instead of red blood cells? This I have yet to establish when I next ring Red Cross!

In search of blood information, I also discovered the term Ketsueki-gate, which means analysing a person's personality based on their blood type. A Japanese professor, named Tokeji Furukawa, published a paper in the 1930's, claiming each blood group possesses certain distinguishable personality traits.

These are as follows:

A blood groups are apparently  earnest, creative, sensible, reserved and patient, while stubborn and tense at times.

B blood types are passionate, active, creative and strong, and tend to be a little selfish, irresponsible, unforgiving and erratic.

AB types are supposedly cool, controlled, rational and adaptable, while prone to be critical, indecisive and forgetful.

O are confident, strong-willed and  intuitive, but sometimes self-centred, cold and unpredictable.

While there is no scientific proof bonding blood groups with personality types, Furukawa's theory is fully embraced within the Japanese culture. Locals use it as a tool to assess the potential of an employee or to ascertain the compatibility between two people planning to enter marriage. It's not uncommon in Japan to be asked which blood type you are.

However, no matter how we view blood, blood types, blood elements or the colour of blood, one thing is certain - donating blood saves lives, and it's a chance for us to take some guilt-free time out to relax, socialise with caring staff and fellow altruistic volunteers, and enjoy a snack, all the while knowing we are making a significant difference to humanity.

Cat Owners Be Aware

Some years ago my husband and I decided to adopt a cat from the local pound. Not only did we wish to expand our family with a beautiful fluff ball, but our farm begged for some serious organic pest management. As the pound cage unveiled a stunning ginger and white cat with adoring, emerald eyes, I instantly knew this divine creature was meant for us. We named him Oscar.

Oscar slipped into rural life and our hearts quickly and completely. Exuding a vibrant, colourful personality, he playfully shadowed us as we went about our days. Simultaneously, he was our number one pest control officer, efficiently fulfilling his beneficial role, while butter wouldn't melt in his mouth when we nurtured and showered him with compliments.

After eight, wonderful years, Oscar became unwell and was eventually diagnosed with Cat AIDS. We had never heard of this apparently common disease I believe he contracted years ago through a serious leg bite from an FIV infected, stray cat. We were shocked and horrified to learn Oscar was living on borrowed time.

FIV stands for Feline Immunodeficiency Virus, similar to HIV (Human Immunodeficiency Virus), however it cannot be transmitted to humans or other animals. FIV is highly species-specific and can live in many different internal feline tissues, often in the salivary glands, which can easily transmit infection through deep bites.

FIV typically leads to AIDS (Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome), again likened to symptoms of human AIDS. Infected cats can survive with FIV in their systems for many years and live relatively healthy lives as carriers before showing signs of any illness. Once AIDS symptoms present, the disease interferes with the immune system and secondary, potentially fatal, illnesses typically emerge. Examples of these ailments are loss of appetite/weight loss, respiratory, urinary and skin infections or mouth and gum disease. 

There is a vaccine available, consisting of 3 initial boosters 2-4 weeks apart, followed by a yearly vaccine to help protect cats from contracting FIV, however there is no cure once a cat is infected.

We adored our Oscar. Only two months after his AIDS diagnosis, we had to make the heartbreaking decision to euthanize him. We tended to Oscar's every need with medications, love and attention, but he was just too sick and unhappy as his health rapidly declined. We wished we were aware of the devastating FIV and would have attempted to protect him from contracting the deadly infection, but sadly, hindsight is always a wonderful thing. Our two fluff balls we now own are religiously vaccinated for FIV each year.

If you are an owner of a cat that ventures outdoors and are oblivious to FIV as I was, arm yourself with more information about this prevalent virus. Talk to your veterinarian to discuss available options to help safeguard your pet.

Cats are so therapeutic, bringing much love, playfulness and serenity into our lives, and great wisdom if we read the play. Pet ownership is a privilege and requires us to responsibility care for and shield our animals from harm and illnesses to the best of our ability, ultimately offering ourselves peace of mind. They are after all, members of our family.

Oscar is missed every day ...