Long Tunnel Extended Gold Mine

Walhalla used to have a gold mine.  A few of them, actually.  We go on a tour of the Long Tunnel Extended Gold mine, which was the biggest, and most profitable.  Incidentally, it's the only mine that offers tours.  Entrances to all the other mines are closed off with heavily padlocked doors.

Just walking down the tunnel itself (actually, up the tunnel) is an amazing experience - seeing the light at the end of the tunnel (behind us) get smaller and smaller.  Eventually the tunnel forks, and we gaze up the left fork, the smaller fork - it just begs to be investigated.  We continue up the right fork into a huge double chamber - the size of a small house.

Here, our guide, Sheriff, explains to us how water continually seeps into the mine, and had to be pumped out. They had serious boilers in this chamber to provide the energy to pump this water out, and they had chimneys going directly from this chamber up 130m to the surface to get rid of all the smoke. Well they had all sorts of problems with debris dropping down said chimney, due to the heat of the smoke. So they lined it with bricks. Can you imagine? Working inside a chimney, 130m tall, merely 4 feet wide, lining it with bricks?

Sheriff shows us a map of all the tunnels, and where the gold was found. My jaw drops, because I realise that we are in the very top, very first tunnel. We're at the tunnel's end, where a shaft drops down 923m! That's almost a kilometre! Straight down, towards the centre of the earth. And this was dug out in the late 1800's, with relatively primitive tools! But the even more amazing thing is that there are tens of tunnels extending horizontally left and right off this shaft! Think about it. Kilometres and kilometres of tunnels, deep down under the earth. No light at the end of those tunnels. And that's where the gold was dug out from. All 13.7 tonnes of it.

I move away from the group, and find the shaft in a corner of the chamber. It's been sealed off, and made into a bit of a display. Behind the glass, on the right I can see a miner on a ladder. Blue uniform, a miner's lamp. Next to him, there is a trolley full of ore. The trolley is sitting in a cage - this is the real shaft, the big 1km hole in the ground. The trolley has wheels. I gaze down at the ground - I am standing on a pair of rails. Like train tracks. I gaze back down the tunnel - the train tracks run all the way to the end of that tunnel.

My mind comes alive. I can see trolleys being hauled up, being released from the cage and pushed down the tunnel, towards the light. They rattle as they roll. Men toil hard, feeding wood into the boilers, and getting trolleys out of the cage, their faces beading with sweat. I entertain visions from one of the Indiana Jones movies. A sneaky smile creeps onto my face.

Sabina, curious, comes over. She sees the miner behind the glass. "Mama, is he alive?", her eyes widen with childlish disbelief. I am so, so tempted to say "yes", but I resist. She is so innocent in her concern for the poor miner behind the glass.

"So, 20m below us is the water table", Sheriff's voice bellows over our thoughts. "And 300m below us are the stables." Sabina pricks up her ears. "Just before they closed the mine, they sent all the school kids in here, disassembled as much as they could and brought it up to the surface. Then they shot the ponies, got everyone out, and turned everything off. The entire mine flooded, and now we can only get 20m down the shaft." If you thought Sabina's eyes were big when she saw the miner, you should see them now. "But why did they shoot the pony?", she asks.

"We spoke to one of the women who, as a schoolgirl was sent into the mine to help disassemble equipment", Sheriff continues. "She said that there were trolleys loaded with ore. There is no evidence that those trolleys ever made it up to the surface. So we know there is gold down there." Everyone gets a little twinkle in their eye. Gold talks in mysterious ways. Sabina, tugs at my sleeve. "But Mama, why did they shoot they pony?".

Finally we turn back down the passage. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Sabina leads us out of the mine. The tour is over, but the question "why did they shoot the pony?" haunts us for the remainder of the day.

Walhalla Railway

We are spending the weekend in Walhalla, an old gold mining town. Sabina has already told all her school friends on Friday that she is off to "Walhalla-halla" for the weekend. Very cute.

Our first attraction is the Walhalla Railway.

When we arrive at the station, the train is already waiting.  Sabina gets all excited, jumping up and down, while I purchase tickets.  The train has two carriages pulled by a diesel engine.  The carriages have windows, which have all been dropped down, so the air in the train, is as fresh as outside the train.

The station master goes ahead with the full protocol of whistle, "All aboard!", wave the green flag, and we're off.  Sabina is jumping up and down with joy, sticking her neck out of the window, and grinning from ear to ear.

The train moves off slowly, and the red carriages creak and groan.  I poke my head out of the window too, and admire the creek below us.  We're in a deep gorge, with the road cutting a straight line somewhere up above us.  "There's brumbies up there", comments Sabina.

The valley is green and lush with ferns.  The train track is cut into the side of the hill.  As I look ahead, I can only see the rocky mountainside, that seems to suddenly disappear.  It looks like the train might just continue straight, and run off the edge.  But, it doesn't.  At the last moment, I see the green engine turn left, hugging the side of the mountain.

Another time, it looks like we might well scrape a rocky ledge.  It passes within hand's reach.  It's better than a Disneyland ride. 

We pass a tiny station called "Happy Valley", and eventually we cross the Thomson river, and end up at Thomson.  Here we have a chance to jump off and explore for a few minutes.  Visions of Menzies Creek station and their devine devonshire teas come whafting to me from the past.  The whistle of the train, now turned for home, brings me back to the present.  We board, and re-live the journey back to Walhalla.  Sabina's enthusiasm is unabating.

Finger tips

My finger tips have gone numb. It's yet another taxotere side effect. It didn't just happen now. It happened somewhere around chemo 5. But the side effect is still with me. Charming.

Not only are they numb, but they are very dry as well. And sensitive too.

So far it has cost me one jar, one glass and one dish. Yes, slipped out of my fingers, hit the floor and crash. And all along I could have sworn that I was holding onto it tight.

It also makes typing a little bit difficult. Pressing the keypad on the phone is quite a challenge - mainly due to the sensitivity. One week I use one hand, then it gets too sensitive, and I have to work the phone with the other hand.

Doing up buttons? Now this is a real joke. Because I can't feel what I am doing, I have to be watching. So I cannot do up buttons around my neck without the help of a mirror. And even when I am watching it's a very slow process. Doing up buttons on shirt cuffs is simply impossible - someone else has to help me.

My other finger tip issue is plastic container lids. The sensitivity makes it a real struggle to open plastic lids - as in, it really hurts. So I have to do it slowly, and with patience. And preferably not too many per day.

Naturopath's verdict

Before I started chemo I was 39 years old, and my naturopath did an AMSAT test on me. The report showed that I am about 37 years old.

Now, having finished chemo I am still 39, but AMSAT now says that I am 50! (And I feel it too!)

I cried for two days after getting that news.

Naturopath to the rescue

When I last saw my oncologist I complained about the ongoing numbness in my finger tips, and pins and needles in my hands and arms. The numbness in my finger tips is expected, and otherwise he gave me a blank look.

I took the pins and needles problem to my naturopath. Within a second he grabbed my arm, and squeezed it just below the elbow.

"Does that hurt?", he asked as he squeezed the muscle of my forearm.

"Yes!"

"What about the pins and needles?", he continued.

"They're gone."

Then he squeezed the side of my neck - the pins and needles left my arm.

"Just give those areas a good massage, and keep eating all that protein, so those muscles can recover." That was the final word on that topic. Then he got onto fixing other things.

Eating in recovery

I haven't been writing too much recently (last couple of posts excepted). There are a few good reasons for this. Firstly I have returned to work - just two days per week. Two days is plenty! Most of the rest of the time is spent eating, preparing food, and resting. Okay, okay ... I do find time to ride horses. But honestly, I've become a bottomless pit. At least where food is concerned. So when I am not eating, I am busy shopping for, and preparing, the next meal.

A typical day can consist of - two egg omlette for breakfast, two pieces of fish for morning tea, double serve of bolognese sauce (with veggies, no pasta) for lunch, chicken shnitzel (about 250g) and veggies for dinner, salad, and apple crumble for dessert. Add to that three protein shakes, and a magnesium drink, plus a variety of other supplements.

When I only ate fish on Good Friday, I suffered so much from lack of protein, that it took me two days to recover. When we were on holiday in Merimbula, I ate fancy desserts for three days in a row and felt totally sick for two days afterwards.

So what does it mean when I don't feel well? I feel dizzy and nauseaus for starters. I feel confused, and I cannot focus. I feel tired - my muscles are throbbing like they've done a 100km bike ride. Sometimes, I can't sleep, but I don't feel rested. I feel wrung out and anxious instead. I get pins and needles in my arms and hands. And ... the best one of the lot ... I feel irritated. Very, very irritated. Irrationally irritated.

Add a solid serve of protein and veggies for a couple of days (at least) and these symptoms subside. Phew!

Hair update

The good news is, the hair is coming back. Pretty much everywhere. Including my fingers (between knuckle and first joint). What?!

I am not sure whether the hair on my fingers fell out or not. It wasn't really an area of hair I paid much attention to. But I gazed down the other day, and there is all this black fuzz on my fingers. It looks positively ... well ... (and I don't mean to be racist here) ... Greek! If my fingers are so meditteranean, then what about my chin? I rushed off to the mirror. Yep, just as I had suspected. Long black hairs all over my chin. Out came the tweezers.

While I was at the mirror I checked out my mane. All good here. A few more greys than I thought I had, but otherwise it's growing back thick and dark. Despite reports from people, that hair after chemo grows back thick and quick, my hair is not growing back quick. How can it? My body is so deprived of vitamins and minerals, that growing hair at all is an added bonus. I estimate that I am about two months away from sporting a "hair style". In the meantime, I've kissed the wig goodbye.

Eyelashes - gorgous. No complaints. Thick, even, beautiful. But eyebrows? What's going on here? They are growing back in two rows! It looks like I have a set of train tracks above each eye. Actually, let me correct that. I have a set of train tracks above the right eye. But above the left eye, the train tracks sort of start half way across the eye. Weird.

Typical day at the farm

I've been reading Bill Bryson's "At home" recently, and was awed by how little we really know about how people used to live on a day to day basis. It also occurred to me that, while I write a whole lot of interesting (or otherwise) things in my blog, no one knows what a typical day at the farm is really like. So, here goes. A description of a typical day at the farm ... from my perspective. (And just to be clear - this is a typical day now, post chemo. Before the whole cancer thing, life was a whole different kettle of fish.)

I wake up. Must be day, because there is daylight coming in through the ensuite window - one of the few windows where we don't draw the shutter at night. For exactly this purpose - so that when you wake up you can tell whether it's day or night. I jump out of bed, get a drink, take my homeopathic remedies, and jump back into bed. It's 7:30am. I lie in bed, thinking that maybe I still need more rest, but after 20 minutes I decide I am wrong.

I get up, get dressed and have breakfast. Very quietly of course, because the rest of the household, that is husband and Sabina, is asleep. If luck has it, they are still asleep at 9am, when I finally sneak out to ride my horse. I am back in the house (having ridden said horse), at 11am. By this stage, husband has had enough time playing with Sabina, and is absolutely busting to be set free. So off he goes, outside, engaging in farm maintenance and innovation tasks.

Sabina and I have a snack, and then I survey the situation I have been left with. Sometimes the guinea pigs need to be taken out, other times I might engage in a few small tasks such as throwing out a dead mouse and resetting the rat zapper, or cleaning a shelf in the pantry (yes, from mouse droppings).

At 12:30pm I start preparing lunch, which is usually ready at 1pm or so. Lately, husband has become pretty good with his timing, and is usually milling around the house by this time. On a good day he even comes in and sets the table. On a bad day, I have to get out the front door and ring the big fire bell.

By 2pm lunch is eaten. Sabina and I go for a 20 minute lie down, and husband cleans up after lunch. Then husband heads back to his farm tasks. When the alarm bell rings that our 20 minutes is up, Sabina and I usually have giggle and tickle time. Then we head out to ride Sabina's pony. Hopefully, I get to ride my pony at the same time. After riding, we feed the horses.

By this stage it's about 4:30pm at best. I gaze longingly at the garden, and see it screaming at me. I grab the required tools and dig in. Or slice in. Or saw in. At 5pm I realise that I should be heading inside to make dinner. Oh, but maybe I will just trim a little bit more. At 5:30pm I must finish. But of course I can't leave a mess in the garden, so I quickly clean up and put away my tools. By 6pm I rush inside. Dinner is now officially late, and I haven't even started yet.

I create a tornado in the kitchen, making salad, providing Sabina with a snack, slicing meat and preparing dessert simultaneously. We eat at around 7pm, then blissfully relax around dessert. Husband and Sabina head off to the bathroom while I clean up. At 9:30pm I dash off to the bathroom for my own shower, hoping that I can be in bed by 10pm. Quite often, however, I get caught up in some conversation with my husband, or some blog writing, and I end up in bed at 11pm.

I read a book for about half an hour, before turning the lights off.

Easter walk

It is our family tradition to do an Easter Walk on Easter Sunday, with the whole idea being that children find Easter eggs along the way.

Us adults? Well, we take our chocolate dark, melted and mixed with pure spirits (95% proof, yes). We drink it together with brunch, which is the first meal of the day, after an obligatory visit to church. Usually, we start our brunch with a solid swig of the said chocolate vodka, then proceed onto other delicacies such as hard boiled eggs, cold meats and salads. The brunch is finished off with a traditional Polish Easter cake called "Mazurek". (Think thin layer of short bread, covered with creamed caramel, mixed fruit and nuts. Rich.) After such a serving of food and alcohol every adult falls in a heap on a bed, any bed, and is rendered helpless, and often asleep, for about an hour. Maybe two.

When the adults finally stir, we go for an Easter walk. At last the kids get a chance to get their dose of chocolate. (Don't get me wrong. The kids do get a dose of chocolate at brunch. But this is very modest by modern standards.)

We head out on our walk with pockets full of chocolate eggs, while Sabina sports an empty backpack. At the very entrance to the walk, on a fence post, she finds a golden chocolate egg. With huge excitement, she puts it into the backpack, and slows the entire walk down to a crawl as she scans the ground for more eggs.

We walk along patiently behind her, and as I am last, I drop an egg here and there. Fingers crossed that they will still be here on our way back.

The walk takes us into a rain forest with tall trees, and shady ferns. As Papa points out the trees to Sabina, a couple of eggs roll onto the footpath. Sabina squeals with joy, and adds them to her collection. Deer tracks, ferns, and the creek provide another useful distraction. Sometimes we just throw the eggs while walking along behind her. Every egg is greeted with unparalleled excitement, and a commanding "stop! Everyone stop!".

There is an added level of difficulty when throwing eggs at random. The track we are following has been recently visited by a couple of horses. So it's important that the eggs don't land in a pile of reasonably fresh horse droppings.

Eventually we turn back and while the egg hunt is now officially over, we still manage to find a few eggs. We even manage to find a chocolate bunny. Amazing.

Baw Baw Classic

So, my husband has decided to do the Baw Baw Classic, cycling race, for the third time in a row.

Last year we actively supported him, and drove to the top of Mt Baw Baw amid falling snow. It was very exciting, but the journey is long and winding. So this year, we piked. Well, we half piked. We asked for permission to not be at the finish line, and permission we got.

This morning we drove my husband to Warragul for the start of the race. Of course, as luck would have it, the week was full of sunny autumn weather, but last night it poured with rain, and turned nasty cold. So we braced in our coats and waved him good luck at the start.

The race went well and he managed to climb to the top of the mountain and finish. He even got a medal. Just like last year, it snowed.

Then he caught the bus back down. But the bus doesn't come past our place. They dropped him off in Neerim Junction, and he rode the rest of the way home. That's right. As though cycling 100km from Warragul to Mt Baw Baw, doing the toughest climb in Australia (correct me if I am wrong) wasn't enough. He then got out of the warm bus, into the freezing cold, and with his spare clothes bag waltzing like a matilda off his bike, he rode the 11km home in the dusk. The last 2km being on a gravel road. And it's not flat.

He deserves his medal.

Nails

It's now over 2 months since my last chemo, and some of the side effects are still with me.

Every time you have chemo, it leaves a mark on your nails.  So my nails are striped and indented (and in a couple of cases bruised), each stripe showing the depletion of vitamins and minerals.  Some people lose a nail or two during chemo.

I haven't lost a nail, and the stripes are now progressively growing out.  The nails are weak and brittle and need attention.  They need attention every hour!  Sound rediculous?  It is!  I can't touch fine fabrics because these endlessly braking nails are just so full of sharp edges that I would quickly ruin any fine fabric.  I'm in danger of ruining my more sturdy fabrics - that's how bad the problem is.

Now, you would think that if a nail broke off at 8am, and then again at 9am, that by 10am there really wouldn't be any more nail to break off.  Oh, but there is!  Heaps to break off.  Apparently.  And even if there is no more to break off, the nails still break off and splinter and split.  And sometimes I have to put a band aid on because the nail has broken off too much and the finger underneath is bleeding.

They are not pretty to look at, either.

Nethercote Falls

Having already hit the wall once this morning (on the bike), I must have been so exhausted that foolishly I agreed to go for a walk to Nethercote Falls.

The walk wasn't far, nor was it hard.  We didn't have to bush bash.

But 10 metres from the picnic table my leg muscles gave out.  That was it, couldn't make another step.  Felt like the whole show was just going to buckle.  I could still "shuffle", which I did to the picnic table.  Then I ate

and rested,

and enjoyed the view.

Wind in my hair

This morning we rode our bikes, 9 kilometres, to breakfast.  It was wonderful to feel the wind in my hair.  (I now have some hair, and there is enough airflow through my helmet that I can actually feel the wind in my hair).  And the breakfast was fabulous too.  We went to the same cafe as last year, and I ordered exactly the same breakfast.  Delicious.

Then we rode the 9 kilometres back.  More wind in my hair.  Some tiredness in the muscles too.  And then my husband spied a shortcut.  What is it about my husband that prevents him from sticking to the well trodden, safe, easy path?  Every single time we go somewhere, anywhere, he manages to get us bush bashing.  It's just not a trip out, if we don't end up somewhere off the track at some point.

In this particular case, a sandy vehicular track veered off the main road and we followed it.  My thin tyres were sinking into the sand.  Then, we saw a steep climb up ahead.  My husband sighed, and turned his bike around.  He is human after all.  (Although, I bet if he was with his mates they would have ridden up it.)  We continued along the well trodden, a.k.a. easy, path.

About 50m from our accommodation there is a steep pinch in the road.  It goes on for about 30m, but it gets you into bottom gear, and out of your saddle.  I hit that pinch, and I hit the wall.  That was it - my limit.  Of course I still rode up it.  Mrs 70% went out the window.  If I wasn't breathing and concentrating so hard I would have heard my naturopath going "tsk tsk" in the background, arms folded across her chest, fingers tapping.  But ... my muscles were crying.  Not just hurting.  Crying.

Holiday riding

We get to horse ride pretty much every weekend.  And we ride for however long we want.  And whereever we want.  We have access to unlimited trails in a state forest.  So when we go on holidays, you would think that we would do everything other than riding horses.  You would think that.

But, no!  We are on holidays and we have to go on a local trail ride.  And it's not some high country adventure ride.  It's the usual, one horse after another, plod-a-long.  Actually, for Sabina, it's perfect.  She gets the challenge of riding a bigger, stronger horse than Tornado.  I in turn, get to observe how she tackles that challenge, and what are her biggest issues.  In this case, the horse finally figures out that it's stronger than Sabina, and when we go through a field of lucerne it stops to graze.

For my husband and I it's nice enough time out, although we could have got the same out of riding our bikes or kayaks.

Back on the bike

I decided to finally brave the bike and ride down to the local shops.  To the chemist to be exact.  I got dressed in all my lycra, and off I went.

It was, oddly enough, just like riding a bike.  What was probably more interesting, was my visit to the chemist.

I parked my bike right out the front of the chemist shop.  I had forgotten to bring a lock, so I kept a very close eye on the bike, while waiting for my prescription.

One man appeared to be very curious about my steed.  He gazed at it from every angle for about 5 minutes.  I half expected him to go for a test ride.

Then, another man also waiting for his prescription, struck up a conversation with me.  "You should read Lance Armstrong's book", he sidled up to me.  Now, I am not sure whether it was just the lycra that caught his attention, or whether he figured out I was still recovering from chemo.  (I still had my helmet on, so you couldn't immediately tell I had mega short hair.)

"I have", I responded.  "Very inspirational."

The conversation didn't end there, and I was quite glad when my prescription was handed to me, and I could get out of there.

On the way home I was still enjoying my riding.  What bothered me is that I had no idea how much I could push it.  Would riding up that steep hill be too much?  Is this a "good" distance to ride, or is it the tip of the iceberg?  How far do I have to ride to feel happily tired?  (As opposed to stuffed.)  I used to know all these things about my body.  Now I'm lost.  It's all become a new frontier.

Creatures of the night

We're off on our annual family holiday to Merimbula.  We have chosen to drive up tonight, rather than during the day.  It's a bit of a trade-off.  Sure, at night you have to keep vividly awake at a time when you would normally be asleep, but during the day?  During the day you have to cope with endless caravan of grey nomads, boat enthusiasts and holiday makers, who all seem to be on a sightseeing tour rather than focussing on getting to their destination.

So we drive when no one else dares.  Well, that's not entirely true.  The boat ensemble seems to be out in full force.  The bigger the better.  We marvel at their size as we pass them one by one.  And in the end we all rock up at the same petrol station in Bairnsdale anyway.  Although I must admit that with our rooftop load of two kayaks and two bikes we are somewhat cautious.

In Bairnsdale we change driver, and hit the forests.  The road winds, the fog descends.  We wind with the road, left then right.  Sometimes we slam on the brakes as the fog is too thick to make out which way the road will turn.  Then we turn and keep going.  No crowds, just the road and us.  No limits.

A smigin after 3am we arrive at our destination, greeted by three roos on each front lawn.  We unpack the essentials and hit the pillow.

Friend or foe?

Mum and I drive up to the farm. We pop a few things in the kitchen, then I put my riding boots on and wander outside.

I'm in that wonderful fuzzy world of my own, thinking about what I need to do when a sixth sense stops me in my tracks. Motionless. I've got no idea why I've stopped. Slowly, I climb out of my little internal world, and proceed to look around.

Carefully I gaze at the path, and notice a scaly abnormality. A snake. Lazily strung out across the path and part of the garden. My husband has seen him (or her, I guess) around here before. I take two large steps back and look for something to throw. I find a flimsy piece of bark. I throw and just manage to lightly touch the snake. He stays put. I stomp my feet. I find another piece of bark. Eventually, with all the time in the world, he moves along.

I run inside, boots and all, and show the slithering scaly reptile to my mother. I get an earful about keeping the grass short, and keeping the kids out of the grass. Even if it is short.

A community of women

As I have been going through my cancer operation, treatment and now recovery I am forever amazed by the support of people around me. Primarily women.

They comment on my status updates on facebook, they read my blog, they send emails, they send book vouchers, they send sms's, they offer words of strength and encouragement, they bring soup, they pick up my daughter from school, they take me out to lunch.

The odd guy is part of that community, but they are few and far between. Mainly it's a community of women. But they don't only support me. Should any woman in that community post a slightly distressing status (on facebook, it's the communication of choice), all the women rally around her with, at the very least, warm words of support.

And to all those women I am eternally grateful. For they have shared the journey with me.

Mrs 70%

So it's been ages since the last chemo and I am still feeling ... well ... I'm not one to easily use poor language ... but ... I'm feeling crap.

I went to the naturopath and whinged, and told her all my woes. She looked at me sternly, then proceeded to line up a little bottle, followed by a bigger bottle, followed by an even bigger stapler.

"If you use up 100% of your energy every day", she said, "then you will have the energy of the little bottle. When you go to bed at night, your body will be really busy recuperating, but because it's starting at zero (because you've used up everything), it will only be able to recuperate and become the little bottle again. So the next day, you will feel like the little bottle."

"Aha", I commented vaguely.

"But", naturopath continued with stern gaze, "if you only use 70% of your energy, then when you go to bed your body will be starting at 30%. So it can recuperate to become the bigger bottle the next day."

"Oooh!", I exclaimed. This was sounding good. I really want to become the bigger bottle.

"And if you consistently keep using just 70% of your energy, every single day", she went on, "then one day you can become the stapler. I want you to become the stapler."

"A-ha" moment. If I had been working at 100%, I guess things wouldn't be so bad. But the truth is, that I commit at least 110% to pretty much everything I do. And I am a performance fanatic. Which means that I can manage to pack a huge number of things into my day, with one task separated from another task by mere nanoseconds. Each task being done to about 110%. Hello? Who are we kidding here? Let's stop beating around the bush ... it's mad!

So, I now have to go from being ultra performance machine working at 110%, to just being Mrs 70%. It's hard. Really hard. I mean, when I'm folding the washing, and I've got through 70% of it, I just have to stop and say to myself "oh, I'm too tired to do the rest". Feels very foreign to me.

Shouldering the blame

Over the past 10 years I've had a problem with my shoulder. The muscles in my right shoulder get really tight, and the result is pins and needles in my the fingers of my right hand. At it's extreme, I also get excruciating pain in my shoulder, my fingers and anywhere in between.

I've always thought that this problem belonged in the physiotherapy domain, and would have never thought of mentioning it to my GP. Over the years I have managed the problem with various stretches, chiropractic care and physiotherapy massages.

As I subjected myself to the care of Dr Gruba, it dawned upon me that my shoulder problem is the result of what I have and have not eaten. Furthermore, despite the chemotherapy, the problem started to actually go away. Until today. But allow me to explain.

Yesterday, my horsey friend and I went to our favourite pub to have a drink for Gally. Well, one glass of chardy for Gally. One glass of chardy for Bandit - Bandit was a wonderful horse we were lucky enough to own. Well, Chris owned him, but we're really good at sharing. I realise that over time that list (of horses) will just get longer. Anyway, back to the shoulder.

After those two drinks I was exhausted, my whole body felt like bits of lead, and I spent the rest of the day drinking water and resting. Even dinner was an easy affair as I just reheated something. I did absolutely nothing.

Well, this morning the shoulder was all stiff and my pins and needles were back with a vengence. I had trouble typing this morning! I put the entire blame on those two glasses of wine. I don't regret them, don't get me wrong. But now I've got my culprit. My years of drinking like a sailor are well and truly over. I think I'll be thinning my champagne with mineral water in future.

Vale Gally

Before we bought Gally, my husband, my coach and I discussed what we wanted from my next horse. Gally fitted the bill perfectly. And so I bought Gally - a present to myself for my birthday. I was in heaven.

As Gally settled in at the farm we discovered that he was playful, cheeky and very very bossy. Very soon he became the boss of the paddock and left marks on backsides of anyone who didn't tow the line. (Mine included - although the mark is now gone.)

Life with Gally wasn't all chocolates and roses, but if I was willing to listen, he was willing to share some deep horsey secrets with me. Initially, I wasn't listening. I had no idea that a horse could teach you things. That mistake had me on the ground five times. Then I started listening, and this is what I learnt:

• Respect your horse. 
• Scratch your horse - the more he complains, the harder you should scratch - until he stops complaining. Find all the spots where he enjoys a scratch. You may be very surprised in what you find.
• Make sure your horse respects you - your space, and your requests.
• Be firm.
• Never, ever, get angry.
• Ride in the sweet spot.
• Keep your legs still, unless you're using them to ask for something.
• Keep your hands still, unless you're asking for something.
• Ride with the horse (don't get behind or in front of the action).
• Balance.
• Seperate "play time" from "work time".
• Use "approach and retreat" when dealing with scary things.
• Enjoy your horse. If you are doing something that is too hard, or not enjoyable, then simplify it. Go back a step or two. Enjoy.
• Relax is the reward. Relax. Reward.
• Reward frequently.
• Ask for the best. Ask.
• Follow your intuition.

Most scary moment with Gally - We were warming up for cross country at Wandin, and Gally was spooking at everything - especially other horses. I had already fallen off in the warm up for dressage, and now I was just shaking in my boots.
 
Most bossy moment - Gally - I was standing in the paddock with Gally and Sabina, looking far too goofy. It was winter and I had a hood and beanie on. Gally grabbed at my hood, ripped it off, and sent it flying across the paddock. Sabina started shouting at him that he is naughty and can't do that.
 
Most bossy moment - me - I was lungeing Gally and he stopped and refused to keep going. I cracked the whip, and he faced it, defiant. I came a step closer and I cracked it again, and again, and again. Finally he trotted off in the required direction.

Funniest moment - There were three buckets lying in the paddock. Gally picked up each bucket in turn to show me that they were empty. Gally loved his food.

Best ride - The last ride, when we went into the state forest and I was all relaxed, and we used approach and retreat to ride past the dam.

Other moments of note - Letting my friend Chris ride Gally into the state forest.

There are many other memories that will always bring a smile to my face. In some ways Gally and I were like peas in a pod. I thank him for all the things he taught me, and all the fun we've had together. I hope that his spirit will gallop, play and graze with his herd forever.

Gally - you will always be in my heart.