jmgoyder

Ever since I described Anthony as being in “good physical health” on my blog, which seems an hilariously ironic way of describing someone who has just turned 80, is living in a nursing home, with more diseases than I can count on one hand, Anthony has been remarkably fit!

It has been an extraordinary few days with Anthony walking (with his walker of course, and accompanied by carers), and talking with a bit more gusto, and smiling widely with the various staff who come and go from his room.

Today, my mother visited us in his room and it was such a delightful day. Even though Ants often refers to the mostly female staff as “those guys” he still gets a real buzz from the way many of these beautiful women flirt and banter with him.

Apparently Ants has been walking better and doing physiotherapy and occupational therapy better and he even demonstrated some arm exercises with the OT today in our room. It was hilarious and I am so grateful for these people who really do care about him!

Of course, he isn’t getting better. That would be, physiologically, impossible, but his extraordinary liveliness this week has been such a buzz. I know I’ve said this before, but Anthony is the most resilient person I have ever come across; he never complains even when I say no to his requests to come back to the farm (often his childhood farm, not this one). He accepts the status quo, accepts his health problems, accepts that when I leave to go grocery shopping and he says, “don’t be long, Jules”, I am not coming back until the next day. And this almost never comes back to bite me.

This afternoon, one of the OTs said Ants was, as always, invited to “Happy Hour” (a monthly event in the common room). His response was a perfect representation of how extraordinary and funny he is:

Anthony: Is that with all the old people?

Me: Yes, but it could be fun; we’ve done it before, remember?

Anthony: Do I have to?

Me: No, of course not!

Anthony: They’re all so old so no thanks.

And I am reminded again of the best gift Anthony gives me, not every day but often enough – laughter.

Recently, I wrote a post outlining some factual information about events following my marriage to Anthony. Almost immediately, I received a flurry of support from other family members, but this one stands out:

Dear Julie and Ming
I have been extremely interested by your comments about the past. You are on the right track, I believe. It is very important to remember incidences that have had a profound effect on you and your family. It is more important to recall the actual facts that have not been changed by glossing over the truth or to suit particular individuals. What you have recalled regarding J’s behaviour is fact. I can remember Anthony telling us.
I have discovered many interesting things about the Goyders and the Stewarts thanks to your box. Much of the information is quite contrary to what J. believed.
I am hoping to have it all together (within the next year) so that Ming, being the youngest of the generation will know some more about his family. It will all be factual too.
You continue to do what is best for Anthony and your patience with others who think they know better is amazing.

But then I received this:

What are you hoping to gain from ranting about … ??? You’ve only alienated yourself even more from our Family!!! I feel sorry for you Julie it obviously consumes you and makes you behave badly !!!

Of course this niece of Anthony’s is upset; and of course she doesn’t want to acknowledge that her father may have bullied Anthony into such a state of stress that he was gobbled up by one disease after another.

What should have been an idyllic first few years of marriage, with the ever-cute Ming, was tainted terribly by the extraordinary and (for me) unexpected malevolence of these relatives.

I had the most beautiful afternoon with Ants today. As I arrived, my wonderful mother left (she and I are his almost daily visitors). He was wide awake, bright-eyed, defying all odds, my hero. I told him about everything that had happened lately and I cried into his wonderful shoulder.

Me: Do you remember the ‘party’ the other day, Ants?
Ants: My birthday?
Me: No, it had a kind of death theme actually, but I didn’t realise it at the time.
Ants: Who is dying?
Me: You, apparently.
Ants: What rubbish. Look at this!

With that, he pointed proudly (as he often does) to his very flat stomach. Years ago he was a bit more rotund!

This is the thing, you see: Ants is on the other ‘side,’ so to speak, of the dementia of PDD. He has totally forgotten the ‘party’ of course; he often forgets his age, or where he is, or what is wrong with him. But he remembers the familiar very well and the constancy of my almost-daily presence, Ming’s, his nephews’ visits, my mother’s frequent knitting visits; the letters from his god-daughter (also niece); visits from my friends who love me almost as much as they love him; the carers and other staff at the nursing home.

This is the truth.