WHAT'S WOUND CARE GOT TO DO WITH CURLY FRIES?
If you ever find yourself scratching your head at the things I say, and how I say them, you can simply think, Oh, she’s neurodivergent.
But that’s just a label. It doesn’t define who I am, and I don't wear it like a badge of honour.
For me, it’s simply an aha moment — one that helps me understand why I sometimes do silly things. It allows me to own those moments without beating myself up.
I can make people laugh at my dry sense of humour — sometimes purposely, sometimes inadvertently. My kids, however, just roll their eyes.
But I almost digress.
My mother lost a toe to diabetes, which makes her vulnerable to the smallest abrasion. Something that might seem insignificant, like a superficial wound, can quickly turn into an ulcer and become life-threatening. So we need to keep a close eye on anything suspicious.
My sister was away the other day and the task of redressing and attending to Mum's wound care fell to yours truly.
Now, I like structure. I like everything in its place, so I can focus on one task and one task only.
Funny that — there’s the contradiction raising its ugly head.
I honed in on my active listening skills as my sister went through the ABCD logistics of Mum's wound-care plan before she went away for some R & R. I gave her the thumbs up and told her, "Too easy."
It was — until it wasn't.
It began with the messy first-aid boxes, and their bits and bobs of no particular order. That's when I began to lose my shit, with my poor mother on wound-care standby.
I managed to get hold of my sister on the phone, and she patiently instructed me to find the Kerlix — really good for wound care dressing, by the way.
The words had barely left her mouth before they'd gone straight through one ear and out the other. I constantly had to ask her to repeat the same word. When something finally managed to force its way through the fog, the only words I heard were — curly fries.
If you're wondering whether my meltdowns affect my mother, they don't. She gave birth to me, after all, so she knows what makes me tick — and what doesn't. And, to be honest, she finds them quite amusing — usually at my expense.
This is Mum doing one of the things she does best. Ain’t she a peach?
As you can see, she loves to knit, so we never go cold in winter. But alas, her talent hasn't rubbed off onto any of her four children.
Her taste in movies leaves a lot to be desired. She's a horror buff, and when gore is added to the mix, she's ready with the popcorn.
I'm beginning to think that maybe we were all adopted.
Yeah, nah.
I'll tell you that story one day — the one where Mum talked my sister into taking her to see Wolf Creek, and how my sister waited in the foyer, only to cop a mouthful from the theatre manager for bringing her mother to see such an inappropriate film.
Well, I guess I already told you. I’ll tick that one off the list then.
There's the digression again. Okay, where was I? Oh yeah.
For the record, I do have a qualification in disability support, so I’m familiar with wound care procedures. Going from ABCD is simple enough for me. But when I have to go from BDCA, that’s when the meltdowns arrive.
And as for finding everything? Turns out there were no Curly Fries in any of the boxes after all.
But there was a hell of a mess on the floor.
And as for the wound care itself, I must say, I do a bloody good job.
I always get there in the end, even if I do hit a lot of detours along the way.
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