jmgoyder

wings and things

Christmas day with my husband, son and mother.

Ants, Ming, Meg and me.

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Thanks, Ma, for providing the turkey and the massive pavlova, and enabling us all to have a very cruisy day. Thanks, weather, for not being too hot. Thanks, God, for making today’s church service interesting and down-to-earth. Thanks, Anthony, for squeezing my hand on our way back to the nursing home and wiping my unexpected tears. Thanks, Ming, for being almost okay post-op. and for your humour. Thanks, extended family, for our wonderful night at Meg’s at Christmas Eve, my niece and husband’s homecoming, my brother’s homecoming (just last night!) Oh the list is getting too long so … to be continued ha!

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Ming’s reaction to yesterday’s post

Ming: You don’t seem to love me as much as I love you!
Me: Yes, I do, it’s just that the pain medications make you all touchy-feely and you STILL want my hand all the time!
Ming: What’s wrong with that?
Me: Nothing really – it’s just that I kind of need my hand back because I have to use both my hands to do the various chores. We’re home now and in a week or so you’ll be much better.
Ming: You don’t love me like you used to.
Me: You’re probably right. I read somewhere that in order for teenagers to leave the nest a certain amount of angst has to happen between parent and child to allow this transition without heartbreak.
Ming: So you’ve gone off me!
Me: Yes – I used to love you at 100%; now it’s around 50%.
Ming: What?
Me: Kidding!

Sigh! And this is only part of the bizarre conversation we had today on the way into town to see Ants.

The photo is from two years ago, before everything went a bit haywire in our lives.

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What to do if your computer overheats.

In the southwest of Western Australia we are experiencing a heat wave and, at 7.30pm the thermometer in the kitchen is nudging 38 degrees C to over 40 and apparently tomorrow will be even hotter. Oh that’s great – the air conditioner in the car stopped working a week ago and I have to take Ming up to Perth tomorrow for his surgery on Tuesday. I am going to be so worried about the animals in this heat (yes I’m just a tad worried for Ming too). Ming suggested he drive himself up for the surgery (that’s how nonchalant about it he is) and I have to admit I was a bit tempted but no, of course not.

So we are booked in to a hotel within walking distance from the hospital so that we can have a ‘night before’ get together with friends, a good sleep, then walk up to the hospital at 6am on Tuesday. Ming spent a couple of hours with Anthony at the nursing home today and we got Ants home yesterday for the afternoon so I am hoping he will remember what is happening and why I am not visiting. I will ring him of course but that is problematic in itself because he is often unable to remember how to answer the phone. But Ants hugged us both and wished Ming luck and said he would understand if I didn’t see him for a few days.

Oh, that’s right – this is about what to do if your computer overheats.

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Put a frozen package of something or other under it and it will gasp with relief!

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Not buying into Christmas

Such a relief! Today, Ming and I had planned to go into town, get presents for each other and Anthony, get a Christmas tree, a ham, wrapping paper, sticky tape (which I can never find), send a few last-minute cards, decorate the house, find the Christmas tree lights and ornaments (oh where did I put them?) and generally have a frantic, stressful, expensive, horrible day.

But on waking up this morning to a day that was already promising relentless heat, I changed my mind and a bit later I discussed my idea with Ming:

Me: I think we should postpone Christmas.
Ming: What?
Me: Well, you will be in hospital until Christmas Eve … actually maybe we should just skip Christmas this year.
Ming: What? No presents?
Me: No presents.
Ming: No tree?
Me: No tree.
Ming: No turkey?
Me: No turkey.
Ming: No Christmas crackers?
Me: No Christmas crackers.
Ming: Mum, this is such a relief!
Me: So you agree?
Ming: I think it’s a brilliant idea!
Me: Without all the usual fuss we can celebrate Christmas for what it is.
Ming: Do you mean go to church?
Me: Yes.
Ming: Okay, let’s shake on this.

So we shook hands and grinned at each other.

The sense of relief is huge! I don’t have to fight through the throngs at the shops, spend a small fortune on ‘stuff’, don’t have to worry about how the hell I am going to cook a turkey with no oven, don’t have to search the whole of Australia for cranberry sauce, don’t have to spend hours wrapping presents, don’t have to queue up at the post office – ahhhhh!

A bit later:

Ming: But what will we eat for lunch on Christmas day?
Me: Ham sandwiches? I mean Anthony hardly has any appetite anymore anyway, it’ll be too hot for me to eat and you’re a fussy brat.
Ming: I like ham sandwiches.
Me: Good, then that’s decided.
Ming: But Grandma’s still coming on Christmas day isn’t she?
Me: No.
Ming: WHAT?!
Me: I’m joking, you idiot!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh – now all I have to do today is frolic with the peacocks – yeeha!

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The stove that died

A couple of weeks ago I put the kettle on and it boiled and I made my morning coffee A bit later, I put the kettle on again for my second cup and nothing happened. Anthony’s 1963 stove died quietly.

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Sigh … it is only three years older than I am, poor old thing!

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Meg and Ming

Ming (my son) and Meg (my mother) are very good at charades, or whatever they were playing when this photo was taken. I have no recollection of this occasion, but my mother just sent me the photo which I have never seen before! In the good old days, when Anthony still lived here at home, my ma would often come to visit on Sundays. She and Ming would play games nonstop while Anthony and I watched, bemused, amused and sometimes hysterical with laughter. Meg and Ming + Ming and Meg = Inviolable.

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Meg is Ming’s only grandparent so they have a special relationship, as well as very bad taste in eye-glasses. Thanks for the guffaw, Ma!

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Not a one-way road

25 years ago, before Anthony and I were married, I would often travel the two hours from Perth to the farm to spend the weekend with him (he rarely took a day off). I would turn into Paradise Road – the short, narrow road leading to the farm – stop my car and quickly refresh my lipstick, powder my nose, spray the perfume he gave me onto my neck, fluff up my hair, then zoom the remaining half mile with my heart beating madly in anticipation.

I would arrive to a shout of “JULES!” the scent of a chicken roasting in the Aga, and a hug that would nearly crush me. There would be beer, maybe a visitor or two, willy wagtails flitting here and there, and the beautiful, comforting smell of cow dung in the outside air. There would be Anthony’s bellowing laughter, my latest anecdotes about university and the nursing home where I worked, a lesson in gravy making, a beautiful meal, a favourite comedy on television and lots more hugs.

We were in love.

Now, I head in the other direction up Paradise Road to go into town to pick Anthony up from the nursing home and bring him to the farm for the afternoon. Even though I retain a tiny shred of that anticipation of 25 years ago, it is tainted with a kind of exhausted dread because I know the afternoon will be difficult. There will be no bellowing laughter, very little conversation and there will be a lot of dangerous occurrences when Anthony tries to do things he can’t do anymore – like chopping wood, washing the car, mowing the lawns, fixing the gate. I will secretly (through the kitchen window) watch him try and give up, then I will watch him stand outside, swaying slightly whilst leaning on his walker, then I will ask him to come back inside. If I hover over him it makes him feel inadequate, so I don’t but as he has had so many falls, I get anxious. I watch him struggle for half an hour with things I could do in minutes (like opening a gate, washing the dishes), and I try to breathe slowly and patiently. If he begins to do something ludicrous (like wind a clock with a knife, drink from the sugar bowl, talk to people who aren’t there) I sometimes intervene and not always gently! And he has no idea how absolutely exhausting these days at home are, no idea of the guilty relief I feel when I can take him back to the nursing home, no idea of how much my heart breaks when he says, “But why can’t I just stay here with you?”

During the drive back it will be the same halting conversation:
Me: I can’t manage you at night now – you know that, Ants – you’re too heavy.
Anthony: But I’ve lost so much weight.
Me: I know but you are still too heavy and Ming isn’t supposed to lift either.
Anthony: I’m better than I was Jules.
Me: Yes, but you still have Parkinson’s disease.
Anthony: I miss you so much – please never leave me.
Me: Idiot! Of course I won’t leave you! Ever!
Anthony: That’s good then.

We are in love.

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Dementia is not contagious!

A lot of people are afraid of dementia, whether it be Alzheimer’s Disease, Parkinson’s Disease Dementia (my husband Anthony’s type), or other variations. It isn’t just the fear of developing the disease one day, it is also the fear of anyone who has the disease.

As someone who worked in nursing homes for many years, dementia doesn’t scare me at all but I guess, if you haven’t had that kind of experience it could be scary visiting a loved one who used to be the life of the party, or extremely energetic, or with a dry, sarcastic wit (Anthony) only to find them either silent or saying what sounds like nonsense.

But it’s not that scary once you get used to it – it’s not! You learn how to listen differently, you learn how to be comfortable with silence, you learn how to love the person again for what he or she is now, instead of pining for an impossible past. You learn to be unafraid, you learn how to give, you learn how to go with the flow, you learn how to treasure each and every moment no matter how bizarre or strange.

“I just want to remember him/her the way s/he was” is a common sentiment expressed by friends and family of people with dementia and this is understandable, yes, but it is also cruel and selfish and horrible because people with dementia are not dead. People with dementia might be confused, cognitively, but there is nothing confusing about the emotional need to be hugged or acknowledged or visited. Why is this so scary for so many of us?

Before this happened to Anthony, and despite my nursing experience, I, too, found it incredibly difficult to visit people I knew who had developed dementia on top of everything else they were already suffering. Can you imagine how terrible it would be to be so sick, so confused, and then abandoned?

There are not too many visitors at the nursing home where Anthony resides and, when I was a nurse, there were very few in the three nursing homes in which I worked. Loneliness is universal and has nothing to do with age or dementia. People with dementia are lonely; people with dementia are human; people with dementia are often aware of the dementia and need comfort and reassurance, or just a hug. A 5-minute visit is enough to make a bad day good.

This is not about Anthony exactly because he gets a lot of regular visits from family and friends but, because I am in there nearly every day, I see the blank, lonely expressions on many of the other residents’ faces and have now made friends with several people there who never seem to have a visitor. I have also made friends with the relatives who do visit but we are a tiny group.

And the point of this little rant? If you have a friend or relative with dementia, please don’t abandon them. They need you. If they don’t recognize you, so what? Just give that person a hug or a pat on the shoulder and then you can go back to your life knowing that you will probably have made that person’s day shine!

BTW dementia is NOT contagious! (Anthony said that to me today).

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When every day becomes yesterday

When Anthony was home yesterday he kept talking to the television. I would come in and out of the kitchen where he was sitting (his favourite spot) and enter an already-there conversation. I was busy with washing and other chores (something I continue to do even if Ants is home, just to keep things normal-ish), but every time I came back into the kitchen he would be talking to one of his deceased brothers, or to the now-dead stove, or to the dogs on the table (hallucinations).

Ming cannot stand it – he just can’t. He says, “Mum, I love Dad but I just can’t tolerate him!” I understand his point of view; after all, he is only 19 and his dad is nearly 78. On the shy side of 50, I am in the middle of this all the time so, when Ants comes home – and I do this as much as possible – I leave Ming with him while I go to the toilet to cry. No, not self-pity – just so hard to remember how good it once was and how bad it is now.

I miss all of our wonderful yesterdays just as much as Anthony does. But Ming doesn’t remember and he has no recollection of Anthony ever being well. Every day, lately, he has asked me for a hug and every day I have given him a hug, even after our ferocious arguments, about the car accident, about many things….

Sometimes it is hard to be positive but I have enormous faith in both Ants and Ming and I think that is reciprocated to me. I hope so.

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Apologizing to a microwave

Now that Ming is living in his renovated shed (which, by the way, is much more spacious than our house!) I am mostly alone. Of course I am out most days, visiting Anthony, or bringing him home, or taking him out, or running errands, or visiting friends but most of the time I’m home alone.

Don’t get me wrong – I actually love being alone and always have. I never feel lonely, have lots of fantastic friends and family that I see regularly and Ming wanders over from his shed frequently (in search of food!) So being alone does not equate at all with being lonely – well not for me anyway.

However, my aloneness was brought into sharp focus this morning when the microwave beeped for the third time (rather impatiently I thought) to tell me that my coffee was ready. I rushed over to it, saying “Sorry, sorry!” Then, as I took my coffee out, I said, “Thanks!”

It was only as I took my first sip that I realized what I’d done, and couldn’t stop laughing.

You will be relieved to know that the microwave didn’t answer me.

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