As you may have seen on the news, we had quite a big hail storm in Sydney this week. Or should I say hail storms? There were two distinct storm periods in my part of Sydney, separated by a half-hour period of stunningly bright sunshine. I’m lucky to live in the middle floors of an apartment block, and so I’m generally protected from all weather extremes – never really too hot, never really too cold, and usually well protected from the elements like rain and hail. But unlike previous storms, I was slightly anxious about this one, as hail stones came down through the open areas of the apartment block. I thought they were going to cause damage, but thankfully all was okay.
Of course, there was the big hail storm of the late 1990s which caused many millions of dollars of damage, but the last memorable hail storm in my area was twelve years ago. Though I don’t remember exactly when it occurred, from the photographs, you could have sworn it was winter.
For most of my colleagues this week, things have quietened considerably. By Friday, there were only five of us in an office space that normally houses about twenty people. Most people are taking leave, returning on January 7, I’m working through. With my role, it’s actually quite a busy time, as I take on the reins while others take a break. But at the same time, it’s also quite a nice time of the year to work.
At this time of the year, Sydney is delightfully quiet. You can walk to work and not have to worry too much about the traffic. With fewer people at work, there are less distractions, with fewer emails to respond to, and only a handful of essential meetings. So for me, this is a really nice time.
So I’m not going home for Christmas this year. I’ll be spending it with a friend and a few other people who she also described as “orphans”.
I’ll head up to Lismore some time in February, I think. One family member has a few “legal problems”, while another is going in to have surgery on her knees. I’m not sure if I’ll be a help or a hindrance being there, but it seems like a good time to plan a brief holiday.
Oh yeah, and for the next two weeks, I’ve vowed to wear shorts to work.
It’s lunchtime on Saturday. After a few glorious days in Perth – the first few days in a couple of months that I HAVEN’T needed a jacket in the daytime, it’s pretty overcast today, although the sun keeps shining through from time to time. Yes, Spring has well and truly arrived and I’m with the sudden realisation that I have only three months left in Perth.
This, of course, means there’s a lot to squeeze in if I’m going to make the most of my time here. And I have visitors, with Sue, Colin and Damien all coming throughout October. Actually I received an email from Damien this week telling me that he’d booked his flights to Broome for the last week of October. Although it will be reasonably humid when we’re there, I think it’s going to be a great experience.
I spent a fair bit of last weekend involved in our stand at WA On Show, an exhibition celebrating the 175th anniversary of European settlement in WA, co-inciding with the opening of Perth’s new Convention Centre. The Perth Convention Exhibition Centre, the $220 million world-class facility set to open in August 2004, is destined to become one of Perth’s largest and most important landmarks. WA on Show, the event created to open the Centre, will showcase the best of Western Australia. It will be one of the most significant events in the history of the State. On the evening of Thursday 26 August 2004 a reception for 3,000 local, national and international political, community and business leaders will formally mark the opening of the state’s newest icon. At 9.00 am on Friday 27 August 2004 the doors will open for WA on Show, five-day event created to provide the people of Western Australia with the opportunity to see and experience the new venue for free. After three days of full on work, by 5pm last Saturday though, I was well and truly over it. Still, opening night drinks made up for things and our broadcasts were very successful.
This week I went to have a look at a new apartment. Unfortunately, the man who owns the property in which I’m living has arrived back from overseas travel and would like his home back. As much as I love living in this place, I’m open to the idea of moving and so I had a look at another apartment which I can have as a short-term lease. Although there are some aspects of the apartment I really love, such as its proximity to the city, the views, nice furnishings etc, I am a little worried that it’s “too dark” and that, come summer, I might miss some of the creature comforts of this place, including the swimming pool and the large balcony. I haven’t decided yet.
No plans for today. Although I have some work to do this weekend, I’m trying to have today off… so if anyone from work reads this, please leave me alone today! Tomorrow night I’m out for dinner and a few more interesting things are planned for the next week.
The first time I had surgery I was 26 years old. I was living and working in Renmark, South Australia, and it all began with what I thought were late-night “hunger pains”.
If you’re hungry at midnight, of course, you go to the kitchen and eat a little something and hope they’ll go away. A few hours later, even after breakfast, I was still “hungry”. By mid-morning the “hunger pains” were still there and getting worse.
The complication by now was that I was actually on radio, presenting “Riverland Today” on ABC Radio 5MV, as it was called back then. At about ten-thirty, during a song, I left the studio and told my manager he would have to take over as I thought I needed to go to the hospital.
Several hours later my appendix was removed.
As I suffer from keloid scarring http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keloid, I still have a rather prominent scar from the emergency appendectomy. The nice thing about it all was that I got to stay at home for a week or so, enjoy the sunshine, enjoy the garden, and even painted a series of Frida Kahlo-inspired self-portraits of my experience. Yes, seriously.
Ten years later, aged 36, my recovery from surgery was at the Myall Lakes property of a friend’s family. Having been through three bouts of surgery for the same condition – a fistula – we didn’t hesitate to say yes when the offer was made.
Recovering at Joan’s place, though noting the glass of wine next to me, so I couldn’t have been too sick!!
That was a difficult time for me. I had a problem that just wouldn’t go away. The first operation seemed to work okay, but a month later the problem re-occurred. The second operation also seemed to work okay, but exactly two days after returning to work, and I was in agony again, and back on the operating table. Thankfully, the third operation seemed to fix the problem once and for all. I have also never felt so much pain in my life, both in anticipation of the operations (the morphine they gave me “wore off”) and with the subsequent need for a drainage tube in a sensitive spot, and an inability to go to “empty my bowels” for ten days. I still remember the joy of the Saturday afternoon when finally I could go to the toilet. I rang Damien, who was working at the time, with tears of joy. “I’ve gone to the toilet”, I told him.
By comparison, this latest bout of surgery, earlier today, was a breeze. Although I’ve been in pain for a few days – thank goodness for Voltaren Rapid – it was a reasonably simple and straightforward operation to remove a sebaceous cyst on my back that had become infected. Unlike the previous occasions, it was just day surgery.
My Wound
In contrast to the formality of Renmark Base and St Vincents, there were four of us waiting for operations in a small suburban day surgery today. I’m not sure about the first woman and why she was in, but the bloke sitting next to me, close to eighty, was there for a lump on his lip. The only other person waiting was a woman who told us she was there for something “self-inflicted”. “I’m having plastic surgery”, she told us. Later she revealed she was there for a boob job. “I only had nipples and I was sick of wearing two bras and having to pad them”, she told us. Also last year, she revealed her boyfriend left her “for a younger model, an eighteen-year-old with big boobs”. She was twenty-four she told us.
The staff at the surgery were all very lovely, and things went swimmingly. No sooner had I taken a few deep breaths of gas and I was soon awake and feeling good in recovery. I don’t even remember counting backwards. After a cup of tea and a biscuit, The Best Judge picked me up from the surgery and brought me home (to make sure all was okay post-operation). As I was expecting to feel pretty groggy after going under for a general, I was surprised at how good I was feeling after it all. Minutes after he left the house, however, I was comatose on the lounge with the television blasting away, but that’s how I spend most nights anyway.
Still wearing the paper nickers and shoes, but have ditched the hat.
I’m off work until halfway through next week, and so I’m looking forward to a few days of recovery, and daily visits to get “my wound” properly dressed.
Lately, I’ve been recording some incredible interviews for my Limb Shift podcast. This episode features the brilliant Madeleine Stewart. Born with a limb difference, Madeleine wore a prosthetic arm for several years before deciding it wasn’t for her. She is a talented actor, comedian, and passionate disability advocate—and, quite frankly, she’s awesome.
“It’s not inspiration, it’s not pity, it’s normal. It’s saying you’re different, but we accept you and you’re just like us”. This philosophy serves as the cornerstone of Madeleine’s mission, a vibrant and unapologetic voice currently reshaping the Australian creative landscape.
Born in 1994, Madeleine entered the world on the twenty-sixth of May weighing just 1.1 kilograms, a “miracle baby” with one arm. Today, she stands as a multi-hyphenate artist—a comedian, actor, advocate, and filmmaker—whose work challenges the reductive narratives that have long defined the disability experience.
Growing up, Madeleine’s connection to the disability community was virtually non-existent, leaving her to navigate the complexities of her identity largely on her own. Her early life was spent navigating constant medical intervention, primarily at Westmead Children’s Hospital, where she was fitted for prosthetic arms she found largely alienating.
“I thought hospitals are for sick people or for people in pain, and I wasn’t sick and I wasn’t in pain,” she recalls. “I thought I felt normal, I felt healthy, I felt like every other kid, but I was treated differently and I couldn’t understand why”.
The physical impact of these early prosthetics was also significant and painful. Madeleine describes how, as a young girl, the devices were forced into sockets that caused rashes, itchiness, and ongoing pain while “hanging off the joint of my elbow”.
Beyond the discomfort, the practical limitations were stark. She recalls a childhood memory of playing in a “play maze” and becoming caught in the netting by her prosthetic arm, left hanging and calling for her mother while dozens of other parents looked on.
This incident cemented her view that the prosthetic was a hindrance rather than a tool, stating, “I naturally wanted to do things with one hand and I just couldn’t into the two-handed life”.
These medical challenges were compounded by the financial realities of the era. Growing up in the nineties and early two-thousands, before the implementation of the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS)—an Australian government program designed to provide funding and support for people with permanent and significant disabilities—obtaining prosthetic limbs required a complex and often demoralising process of grassroots fundraising.
Madeleine describes having to visit Rotary Clubs to “sing my sad little song” to secure financial support for her artificial arms, with costs split between hospitals, local charities, and her own family. This constant pressure to justify her need for equipment through charity—often without anyone asking for her personal input or consent—left a lasting mark on her self-esteem. “A lot of effort, a lot of charity, a lot of singing my sad song, and that really cuts away at your self-esteem from a young age,” she reflects.
Her path to self-acceptance was paved by the unexpected influence of science fiction. When she was nervous about entering primary school, her brother introduced her to Star Wars and the character of Luke Skywalker. Seeing Luke embrace his mechanical hand as the tool of a Jedi rather than a sign of brokenness was transformative. “The confidence I had, I truly believed that I was a Jedi,” Madeleine says. “He restored peace to the galaxy. And he has one arm just like you”, her brother told her.
As Madeleine transitioned into adulthood, she found that the professional world—specifically the theatre industry—was far less welcoming. She was frequently told there was “no place for me in the industry”. Rather than retreating, she turned to the one space where she could reclaim her narrative: comedy.
A pivotal moment in her development occurred when she was sixteen and attended a show by Adam Hills, a celebrated Australian comedian and television presenter also known for his advocacy and Paralympic sport coverage. Madeleine waited to speak with him after the performance, and he encouraged her to pursue comedy.
However, Hills offered a candid piece of advice regarding the visibility of her limb difference. “He said that he for years was able to have, in his words, the luxury of being able to hide his disability and get his craft as a comedian like anyone else,” Madeleine explains.
“And he said, unfortunately, everyone’s going to see that you have one arm instantly, so you’re going to have to make jokes about disability”. Madeleine took this advice to heart, finding that “people are like, okay, we’re comfortable with this now. And then you can go on and talk about whatever you want”.
Madeleine’s comedy is marked by a sharp, cheeky subversion of how society perceives disability. This is evident in her creative output, including her ABC documentary and SBS podcast, both of which tackle the often-taboo subjects of intimacy and sexuality for people with disabilities.
She views these projects as vital for breaking down the dehumanising myths that follow disabled people into adulthood. “I just find it fascinating that people think that we can’t have sex or date,” Madeleine explains. “I think that people have these assumptions and people don’t know. And I think that it’s a, it’s a humanity thing. It’s about humanness of all of us”.
In her documentary and podcast work, she explores how a lack of adequate sex education in school left her and many others in the dark. “For me, it’s just like, oh, really? Really? So it’s like just basic sex ed baffled me during that podcast”.
Beyond education, she champions the inventiveness of the disabled community. “I think that is genius, the way that we can solve things, the way that we can go. Yeah, let’s figure this out”.
Madeleine’s work also acts as a rigorous critique of “inspiration porn”—the tendency of media to frame the daily lives of disabled people as inherently heroic. She notes that even her own film, designed to highlight the toxicity of such tropes, was met with praise that missed the mark. “The most common thing people say to me afterwards was how inspired they were on my film. And I just think I literally just look at them and go, did you watch the film?”.
Maddie appears in the film “Diving In” with fellow Limb Shift interview, Adam Bowes.
Despite the frustrations of existing in a world still grappling with ableism, Madeleine remains stubbornly optimistic. She sees the current rise in representation—and the increasing public discourse around neurodivergence and disability advocacy—as a necessary step toward genuine empathy.
“Every disabled person has friends and family and like a community around them, people who know them and care about them. And that that is advocacy too, because you’re showing people around you that you’re not this stereotype”.
Looking ahead, Madeleine is embracing a “semi-sabbatical” to recalibrate her creative output, stepping back from the relentless pace of her previous years to ask: “What do I actually want to create?”.
As she balances the two “trains” of comedy and advocacy, her long-term goal remains consistent: to ensure that the future of representation looks exactly like the inclusive, vibrant world she once saw on Playschool—a world where difference is acknowledged, but fundamentally, everyone is just normal.
Abril Felman
Madeleine’s journey is far from over, but she has already succeeded in shifting the spotlight, forcing audiences to see past the arm, past the “inspiration,” and directly into the reality of a human experience that is rich, funny, and entirely her own.
The audio from this interview will be featured in The Limb Shift later in the year. Click on the links above for Spotify, Apple and Youtube to follow the launch.
These are some photographs of the works by last year’s HSC students, currently exhibiting at the Art Gallery of NSW, including a photograph of the chat with some of the students conducted by the legendary, Gretel Killeen.
Art ExpressArt ExpressArt ExpressGretel Killeen chats to some of the exhibiting students from Art Express
I suspect the bloke behind the counter thought I was some kind of drug-crazed freak with the munchies. Why else would you buy chocolate from a servo late on a Tuesday night? Well for me, it’s because the servo is awfully close, and because I didn’t have any sweets in the house.
Generally speaking, I try to avoid sweets in the house. Occasionally I might have some ice-cream in the freezer. But mostly I try to avoid them, as I continue my middle-aged struggle with weight-gain.
But tonight I got a bit of a chocolate craving just before bed, which is never a good thing. In part, I guess it was fueled by a simple salad for dinner. Low fat to the max. And that’s when the chocolate desire kicked in.
At least our servo is open that late these days, as for a long time they were closing early due to security fears. I’m reasonably sure they still close down for a while after midnight, where you can only do transactions via a sliding tray (like in the bank)
Nothing else to report from the day which was surprisingly productive, despite my early morning consideration of a “sickie” :) :)
Despite the years (decades?) since I last played it, I still have a copy the 12-inch vinyl album “Rattlesnakes” by Lloyd Cole and The Commotions. Released in late 1984, this album was a permanent fixture on my turntable during the following year, my second year at Griffith University.
Even now, I can vividly picture my on campus single room, the record player, and my university friends, Michele and Heather, sitting with me, unwinding and reveling in the sophisticated melodies of his “literate” pop.
Although their albums and their singles achieved chart success, there was an unmistakable “indie” vibe about Lloyd Cole. During those years, Lloyd held a certain charm for artsy university types like myself. Oh, and I also thought he was very cute :)
Back then, the “cooler” of my university male friends adorned themselves in paisley shirts, while women favored high-buttoned tops. Last night, at Lloyd Cole’s solo performance at the City Recital Hall inh Sydney, the once ubiquitous paisley shirts made a resurgence among the male attendees, albeit accompanied by middle-aged paunches. Curiously, the women in attendance did not seem as inclined to resurrect their 1980s wardrobe.
Nearly four decades since the release of “Rattlesnakes,” I still regularly play the album, albeit through modern music streaming services. The lyrics to every track remain etched in my memory. My particular favourites include “Forest Fire” and “Are You Ready To Be Heartbroken?”.
During the show, as a couple arrived late, Lloyd quipped, “Welcome along, don’t worry, you haven’t missed Rattlesnakes,” eliciting laughter from the audience. Later, when another couple arrived even later, he humorously remarked, “Sorry, you’ve missed Rattlesnakers,” prompting further laughter.
Fortunately, Lloyd acknowledged that a considerable portion of the audience was there to reminisce about our late teens and early twenties when “Rattlesnakes” was a dominant soundtrack.
The performance last night featured four songs from the classic album, along with hits from later albums like “Brand New Friend” and “Lost Weekend.” However, much of the setlist comprised songs unfamiliar to me, as I haven’t closely followed his career in recent years.
He candidly described 2006 as the year when he was “almost completely invisible.” Surprisingly, his most recent solo album was in fact released earlier this year—a fact I was unaware of until now. I particularly enjoyed discovering his song “The Afterlife,” released in 2019.
Nonetheless, it is his work with The Commotions that resonates most strongly with me, motivating my attendance at last night’s show.
The performance itself was unassuming—just him on stage, minimally moving, alternating between guitars. Despite a slightly raspy voice, attributed to a mild cold, the audience, myself included, thoroughly enjoyed the show. Despite being seated toward the back, next to the mixing desk, the sound quality was superb—an advantage of being in proximity to the sound engineer.
Lloyd Cole at Sydney’s “City Recital Hall”.
I struck up a conversation with the couple beside me. She, a devoted fan from the early days, revealed that her husband “put up with it.” Neither of us could recall if we had witnessed Lloyd live during the “glory days,” but both departed the hall having relished an experience that was both nostalgic and contempoary.
The two guitars Lloyd Cole alternated between at Sydney’s “City Recital Hall”.
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Oh, what can I say about the last photo!
I am pleased that Victor’s car was safely garaged at his home and avoiding hail while he is swanning about Honolulu.
This is absolutely my favourite time of year in Sydney (second is Easter). So peaceful, so relaxed! So few people about – it’s wonderful.
I’m interested to learn that you refer to Lismore as home. I’d estimate that you and I have lived away from where we grew up for similar amounts of time but Sydney is “home” to me. Though you have lived in a bunch of other places too, so maybe that’s a contributing factor. No judgement of course (other friends – imaginary and not – do this too)! It’s one of those many strange things I’m fascinated by.
I think you’ve nailed it about why Lismore is “home”. Though I’ve actually lived in Sydney for longer, it’s the early constant from my life, and probably why I’ll head back there.
Oh, what can I say about the last photo!
I am pleased that Victor’s car was safely garaged at his home and avoiding hail while he is swanning about Honolulu.
I think my legs are okay :)
This is absolutely my favourite time of year in Sydney (second is Easter). So peaceful, so relaxed! So few people about – it’s wonderful.
I’m interested to learn that you refer to Lismore as home. I’d estimate that you and I have lived away from where we grew up for similar amounts of time but Sydney is “home” to me. Though you have lived in a bunch of other places too, so maybe that’s a contributing factor. No judgement of course (other friends – imaginary and not – do this too)! It’s one of those many strange things I’m fascinated by.
I think you’ve nailed it about why Lismore is “home”. Though I’ve actually lived in Sydney for longer, it’s the early constant from my life, and probably why I’ll head back there.