jmgoyder

wings and things

Unchopped wood

Here is a typical little scene of when Anthony/Husband comes home for the day:

I hear yelling outside as I am preparing lunch. I hear the slow chopchop of the axe. More yelling – Son to Anthony. I hold a grrrr tight in my chest.

Then, like a constant re-run of an old episode ….

Son (running into the house in a panic): Mum – Dad is trying to chop the wood again! He won’t stop!

Me (stirring the fish mornay for lunch): Is he okay?

Son: Yes, but what if he chops his leg off?

Me: If he chops his leg off we will deal with it. Just stop yelling at him. Let him do it – please – let him do it.

Son: Well do I supervise or what?

Me: Only if you don’t yell at him.

Son: Grrr!

Anthony usually manages to chop enough wood to start a fire in the fireplace before exhausting himself. Before he moved to the nursing lodge we would have a fire going 24/7 because he feels the cold so badly. But, when he isn’t here, Son and I don’t bother because, until next February, when Son’s spine is totally healed from the operation, he is not allowed to do things like chop wood, lift heavy objects, ride his motorbike.

So, except for when Anthony is home, that pile of wood remains unchopped and the fireplace unlit.

The warmth of Anthony’s presence is much more than metaphorical!

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Pondering 2

Some people say that love never runs out but I think this might be a lot of crap (and I don’t mind debating this), because it does run out. It runs out all the time in all sorts of different situations. Sometimes it dries up from the heat of exhaustion; sometimes it trickles into other ponds; sometimes it kangaroos away; sometimes it smothers itself with toomuchness; and sometimes it simply evaporates.

Some people say that the opposite of love is not hatred but indifference and, to some extent, I understand this theory but not entirely; I have been the recipient of both and the perpetrator of both. I hate Anthony’s disease(s) and I hate those who have hurt him and both of these hatreds will never become indifference while he is alive.

Son’s attitude has altered from hatred (of Anthony’s disease, of Anthony himself, of life and circumstances in general) to indifference (again, supposedly the opposite of ‘love’). This has only happened recently and, to begin with, I was upset because, as Anthony’s wife and Son’s mother, I wanted Son to keep on loving his father, but the fact is, quite simply, he doesn’t because he can’t. And that is perfectly all right because he is only 18 and has helped me in the caring role for many years now and he deserves to soar ahead of us.

Last night on the phone to Anthony I told him that Son had a problem coping with the situation, and with him, and Anthony, always pragmatic, just said, “Give the kid a break, Jules! I love him and he loves me and we both love you more than anyone in the world.”

Some people say that love never runs out and I agree. It just gets a bit whispery.

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Inviolable

I love this word so much.

It signifies strength, fortitude, courage and it means you can step off the metaphorical mountain and freefall into the water and easily – very easily – swim to the shore.

Inviolable.

If I had had a daughter I would have called her Viola!

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When the status quo shifts

When we first got Okami and Uluru we didn’t know that, underneath all that wool, they were quite little!

Once they had been shorn (earlier this year), we got rather a shock and had to retrain our brains to see them the way they are now instead of the way they were.

I don’t like to be overtly symbolic but this is very similar to the way Husband/Anthony, Son and I have had to retrain our brains in order to tune into the ‘now’ of Anthony’s Parkinson’s disease and its associated dementia.

In many ways, this creeping dementia is okay but in other ways its evidence always gives me an alpaca-shock!

“You were pretty crazy on the phone last night,” I say to Anthony. “Are you normal again?”

“Jules, I was at this party at Kingley Park.”

“Okay, so where are you now?”

“I’m at this place, you know, the old age home. When are you coming in?”

“Tomorrow morning – is that okay?”

“Bring me some of that chocolate I like, you know the one?”

“Yes. I’ll ring you to say goodnight.”

“Well don’t make it too late because I might be in bed.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

There is something extremely comforting about these phone conversations, but also discomforting (or is the word ‘discomfiting’?). On the one hand Anthony seems comfortable and content, though lonely. On the other hand, he often sounds confused but when I see him (every couple of days now), he is always perfectly lucid and the friends and relatives who visit him say the same.

I am about to go out and feed Okami and Uluru so I will ask them. Their huge eyes are always full of gentle wisdom.

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Quick apology before the power goes out again!

This is just a note to my blogfellows: I will catch up with your posts soon but can’t sustain at the moment, due to our freak/freakish storm. I have had to delete most of the last two day’s worth of email notifications in order to keep my sanity – very sorry!

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Storm 2

Two days ago I went into the local town (Bunbury) to see Anthony at the nursing lodge. It had been raining and windy but I hadn’t actually heard the weather forecast so I was surprised to find tree branches all over the road as I travelled into town. At the nursing lodge, which is right near the beach, the wind was strong but not overwhelming, but 5 minutes into my visit the wind became an audible howl and I opened Anthony’s curtains so we could see. The little trees in the garden were being whipped around madly and I said I thought I better go home as one of the nurses said a big storm was coming.

“Oh sure,” Anthony said, uncharacteristically grouchy, “I’ll be an old man next time you see me.” He was walking me slowly to the exit, then he stopped and looked up at me (I am much taller than him now because of his stoop). “Oh, that’s right, I am an old man aren’t I,” and he chuckled. “That’s for sure,” I laughed.

Outside the rain began to pelt down as I leapt into the car, and my 15 kilometre trip home was hair-raising. There were trees down everywhere in all of the paddocks and the road was almost blocked here and there by trees, branches and debris. As I turned into our little country town a shed was rolling across the road this way and that and momentarily seemed to somersault towards me so I sped up, wanting to get home quickly in the hope things would be better. But when I got home it was worse – the wind was almost impossible to walk against and inside the whole house was rattling. It was about 2.30 in the afternoon so Son had gone off to the neighbours to milk the cows. I turned on the radio to hear the weather forecast and at that moment the power went out.

The weather was so wild that I was afraid to go outside and very worried about Son who soon came back saying they couldn’t milk the cows because there was no electricity. It wasn’t until around 11am yesterday that he and his boss could milk the cows with the aid of a generator for electricity. By this time, of course, many of the cows were suffering from mastitis having missed two milkings.

A few hours later the power came on again but only lasted a couple of hours which is when I wrote my posts and read a few blogs. Then it went off again and only came back some time in the middle of the night last night. Son went over to milk at 3am (it’s usually 5am) and apparently things can go back to normal with milking this afternoon at the usual 3pm.

Another storm is predicted for tonight, but here is a link to a news item. Thankfully, it seems that no person has been hurt so far.

http://au.news.yahoo.com/thewest/a/-/breaking/13917214/western-power-battles-storm-damage/

To give you an indication of the ferocity of the storm here on this little farm, one of the massive wattle trees that the peafowl and guinnea fowl sleep in has come down, some of the guttering on our roof has catapulted to the ground, there are huge branches all over the place, bits of the old washhouse have peeled off, the dogs will need psychiatric treatment and I have a new respect for electricity.

And the birds? Without exception, they have all absolutely loved every minute of this excitement and none have been injured. Oh to be a bird!

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Charlie Chaplin

My father died on June 9 over 30 years ago and every single June 9 seems to descend on me like a nasty cloud.

Until today. Well, technically it’s today but it’s not even 1am yet so daylight will take awhile and I am going to bed, not with the usual June 9 Dad grief but with a whole bunch of happy memories.

He walked like Charlie Chaplin

Canadian autumn leaves brought tears to his eyes

He talked to himself on the train, just silently, but I could see his mouth moving

Perspiration sometimes beaded his upper lip

He was strong, stern and silent

He was tired, relaxed and vociferous

His adoration of my mother was evident in every blink of his eye, every day I knew him

I was sometimes afraid of his intensity

And my own

But this didn’t stop me from rushing to hug him

He let me buy bazooka bubble gum even though he hated gum-chewing

He was a grammar school teacher

Then he was a chiropractor

If patients couldn’t pay, he would accept milk or apples or smiles

He was not a business man

My brother were playing football when he died

It was too sudden

I was on the other side of Australia

The nun from the hospital rang my mother and told her to come quickly to the hospital but wouldn’t say why

My mother drove those 20 kms not knowing that her husband was already dead

He loved dogs

And squirrels

He loved my older brother’s determination

He loved my younger brother’s gentleness

He loved my being so much like him – well I think he did, maybe he didn’t know

My mother’s gregariousness was difficult because he was a bit of a loner

And a poet

Not a perfect man

Impatient if I didn’t cut my asparagus before putting it in my mouth

No stirring of the icecream

He got us our first television and we watched Disney at its inception – the wonder of it!

Everything about his memory makes me cry and laugh

Live and die

Bleed and heal

Today I refuse, for the first time in all these years, to mourn his death

Today I will walk like Charlie Chaplin

And I will grin my dad’s grin

Because I have thousands and thousands more memories

As Dad might have put it – “buggar off, grief!”

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The ‘now’ of before, during, after ….

I just got permission to name the wonderful surgeon who fixed Son’s spine (you need to see previous post). His name is Peter Woodland and I am trying very hard not to fall in love with him – hehe! Son took this photo from Peter’s computer at our last appointment.

And here is a picture I took today of Son’s brace-free back:

Thank you, Peter Woodland!

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Before, during, after ….

Those who have been reading this blog for awhile will already know the story of Son’s scoliosis and surgery, but newcomers may not, so I thought I’d do a little pictorial recap here. This is because, yesterday, Son was told that he could finally, after over three months, take his post-operative spinal brace off and leave it off for good –  YEEHA!

Before his scoliosis became so severe (it went from around a 40% curve to nearly 80% in the space of around eight months when he was 15), he was a passionate football player and had tentative dreams of pursuing football professionally. He was very good at it.

However, despite taking Son to numerous series’ of appointments with a chiropractor, physiotherapist, osteopath, kinesiologist, personal trainer and others (all of whom were wonderful and possibly prevented his scoliosis from getting even worse), the following X-ray speaks for itself. Surgery, which we hadn’t contemplated before, became a matter of inevitabilty rather than an option, so we saw a surgeon and Son was told he would have to have surgery and that he must stop playing football immediately. As this was two days before a school football trip in which Son was the star attraction (of course he wasn’t the star attraction, but I’m his mother so I like to say things like that), the devastation of this news was difficult to deal with and I will never forget Son’s sobs after that appointment.

So, on Valentines Day this year (Feb. 14 2012) Son underwent major surgery which took, I think, over eight hours and in which twelve of his vertebrae were fused, using quite a bit of titanium, and bone from the bone bank (a bit like a blood bank). I will spare you the gory details as there are plenty of youtubes on how this works. The following pictures show Son with the electrody things in his hair, the evening before surgery (we were allowed to go out for dinner!), the second is in intensive care after the surgery, the third is us mucking around and trying to be silly, and the fourth is Son a week later in the rehabilitation unit with the teddy I bought him and some gravy and chips!

And this is Son in his brace, standing 3 inches taller than he was (I kid you not!) with my mother – and another picture of him feeding the gang with some visitors.

Taking the brace off after all this time (Son had to wear it except when sleeping), has been, for him, wonderful but also a bit scary. He said today, before he went into town with his friend, “I feel a bit naked!” But, apart from that, the exhilaration of such a fantastically successful surgical outcome takes my breath away. Son is a new man!

In the next post I would like to show pictures of now, and to thank the surgeon publically, but I need to check if that is okay with him before I mention his name.

Meanwhile, Son has decided that instead of playing professional football, he will become a rock star.

And he will!

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A difficult decision

I have just made a difficult decision. I am not going to get the emu chicks after all.

Why? Because after Son came home from milking the cows for our neighbours this morning, he took our three adult emus for a walk and eventually came inside angrily because one had gotten away and it took him ages to get it back with the others into the yard. (Also, I hadn’t told him about the emu chicks).

So, I got my priorities straightened out. Son gets his spinal brace off on Friday and we can do all the things we haven’t been able to do over the last few months, like arrange driving lessons, arrange his driver’s licence, fix up the old car for him – and lots of other things in response to his request the other day that “we spend more time together, Mum, having fun!” How lucky am I to have a teenager who wants my company!

The emu chicks can wait until next year; this year I will concentrate on Son and Anthony and not get any more birds (well maybe just a few hens).

I feel rather relieved!

(Son’s wrath is something to behold, so I don’t want that – hehe!)

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