Born in Sydney as the War finished, I have had a colourful life and wouldn't have missed one little adventure. You can sit and watch TV or you can join the human race.

I started work at age fifteen. I was lucky to gain an apprenticeship to a design studio. Thanks to my mother who put a good word in to my soon-to-be boss. The studio helped me learn how to design carpets. I was shaking in my boots because all the studio staff were mature and hailed from Halifax, England. This was where real wool carpets were designed. All the staff were brought out to Australia for their experience in design.

My boss was very kind to me and encouraged my career. In those good old days; all our paint came in huge tins, nothing pre-mixed. I had to learn how to mix colours from scratch. The colours had to match exactly the colour of the wool that was going to be woven into carpet.

After three years of straining my eyes over painting designs on graph paper; outdoors was calling. I needed to see the outside world.

My family were not impressed when I told them I had applied to be a bus conductress.
That adventure lasted six years, hard and heavy work carrying pennies around all day. My Dad thought it was great I had decided to work on the buses; he worked on the trams after the war.
Mum told me I was throwing my art out the window; she didn't have to strain her eyes every day with graph paper. How the quality of the carpet worked: Depending on the amount of squares (to the square inch) on graph paper eg if it was 6x8 squares on paper. then it had to be the same on the carpet sample. We always ran small samples for buyers.

One day I got a call from the studio, my old boss wanted me back as I was his best copyist. I was so grateful for the help he had previously given me, I went back for another three years. My husband and I wanted to get out of the city and decided to build our house on the Hawksbury River, loads of freedom and river views. I wanted to go nursing.

We bought a small boat and fishing became a huge part of our lives. He had left the buses after twelve years and joined the Post Office as a driver. He was a reformed alcoholic; took on house building as a kind of rehab. He made it, became a counsellor for AA but he wasn't the person I married. He became morose and told me I didn't need to work.

The call to take up nursing was so strong, I applied to an ad in the paper. My first day on the job was scary. The nurse who was training me took me to a room to do a bed bath on Mr Starr.

"He's dead." I said to Joyce
"What?" She checked him and by golly he had passed away.
"How did you know?" Joyce had a quizzical look on her face.
"Well, I have been a psychic since I was ten years old."
"Really?" She smiled

At twenty-four I needed to work for my own sanity. My husband was fourteen years older than me. We should never have married; chalk and cheese we were. He continued to work for the Post Office and I trained firstly in geriatric nursing. I loved it but it was very heavy, physically demanding work. I left my husband and moved nearer to the hospital. I met my soulmate on the wards.

After a couple of years I moved on to nursing palliative- care children. From babies to teenagers. I loved working with the children.: After three years I was burnt out. Palliative care is very demanding. Some of the children were well enough to attend day school. You can't help getting attached to patients. One blind boy, who was fourteen, became attached to me. At night we would watch cartoons and I described to him what was on TV as he brushed my hair.

My next part of training was working in the field of psychiatrics. I didn't like this part of nursing because I was living on my nerves and looking over my shoulder most of the time. Some of the patients were dangerous and I carried keys to lock and unlock doors as I gave medications out - always with a Wardman by my side.

As we lived on the river, the facility was just ten minutes from home. I had a few close calls. Checking a ward for stragglers' I was chased by a man hiding under the bed. I just managed to reach the nurse's station and locked myself in. After phoning for help, two wards men took the escapee away.

The next time I got caught out was at night. We always had a guard walk us to our cars. This night a man with a knife was standing behind me as I opened the trunk of my car.
The guard told me the man was harmless and that he used the knife to gather oysters from the rocks. I ended up with a bag of oysters in my car.

By 1980, I answered an ad for a supervisor in a sheltered workshop for one-hundred trainees, with my background in nursing, I got the job.

I loved working with severely disabled adults; they were like children. One day I was traveling home on my motorbike and was hit by a car. Critically injured, I died on the operating table. For the curious; there was no pain, no sound when I hit the car. All was peaceful.

Three months in hospital, thirteen operations, nine transfusions; my left leg was amputated.

Earlier I have stated, you can sit and watch TV or you can join the human race. Yes, I was angry when I arrived home after being cocooned in hospital. I felt useless but I went to rehabilitation every day. The accident was in July, I walked on a temporary leg in the October. Take the bull by the horns.

I had applied for a job in Queensland in a day workshop for disabled adults. Can you see the irony it that?

The day came when an interview was being held. I met another interviewee who was blind. I bonded with him and we became good friends. "How the hell was he going to teach?"
Teach he did. By feel, he taught the clients leatherwork. It was fascinating.

Physically and emotionally I wasn't ready to work. My leg was still healing, standing all day caused me much pain. Sadly, The job lasted three weeks.

When the going get's tough, the tough get going. With my teenage experience in art I began to teach (sitting down.)

Our little country town had no art gallery. I posted an ad for those interested in learning to paint. I was inundated with replies and ended up working two days and one night a week. This also kept the wolf from the door.

At our first exhibition, I sold $1,000 worth of my paintings. Loved that country town. Country people are warm and friendly, city people are always in a hurry. I went on to teach at another venue; offering weekend workshops.

Art gave me my confidence back. Teaching was wonderful, I felt more like an able-bodied person.

Now confined to an electric wheelchair there is little I can do. I have carers twice a week. Twelve years ago I found FanStory and earned a trophy the first year for third ranked script writer.

Nowadays I paint for pleasure and I haven't stopped writing on FanStory. Writing and painting shuts my head down and I love all the friends I have met through FanStory.

So, when you are feeling like opting out of the human race, dig deep and you will find you have talents to share with others, a lot worse off than you. When I am in pain, I pray for those in worse pain.

When I am hungry, I pray for those who are starving. Yes, depression has its day now and again. 'For goodness sakes' I say to myself. 'Pick yourself up and start all over again.' Above all, listen to those who are hurting. The sick and lonely, the dying and the less fortunate than you.

Never say never, you can do it and it is worthwhile.