jmgoyder

wings and things

Antidepressants?

I have now spoken to two of Anthony’s doctors about the possibility of him going on antidepressants or some sort of medication to lift his spirits. The trouble is, of course, that when asked, “Are you depressed?” he immediately says no, without the slightest hesitation. Despite his inability to smile or laugh in the ‘normal’ way anymore, he still has the most amazing ability to remain relatively stable emotionally (it is me who zigzags constantly from one mood to another!) However, it is becoming more and more obvious that not being home is making him constantly sad, and longing for us – Ming and me – is making him even sadder. His head is always bowed right down now (an effect of Parkinson’s and his spinal condition) so that when he stands he is almost bent double and I have to kneel down to look him in the eyes.

When I thought about telling Anthony about my weird dream (see previous post), I anticipated he would laugh his head off because I keep forgetting he can’t laugh at all. Every time I see him I get a shock all over again at how deteriorated he is – and how quiet, sometimes sullen. So this week I am going to organize an appointment to get some happy pills – after all, what harm can it do now? I realize this post may elicit mixed opinions and that’s probably a good thing. I don’t know what else to do.

I’ve been wondering why I continue to love Godfrey the gander, despite the way he bites me all the time (even when I am giving him bread!) and I think it’s because his confidence, his boisterousness and his strut all remind me of Anthony when he could stand up straight.

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Good things 2

      I love peacocks,

and peahens!

15 is a good number to own!

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Two more culprits!

The following bloggers nominated me for awards without realizing that my way of accepting awards is to give them an award – yes, indeed, there are now two more lucky recipients of the Hot Potato Award for which there are no rules except that you either accept it and copy/paste it to your blog or not.

Riba, at No Holds Barred, has a way of writing that strokes the soul:

http://noholdsbarredribataylor.wordpress.com/

Magically Mad, at Not Quite Lost, has a way of writing that challenges the soul:

http://ocelotbound.wordpress.com/

Of course, they both do both of these things in their enlightening blogs.

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Dreaming hallucinations

Until last night it has been difficult for me to imagine experiencing the kind of hallucinations which are part of Anthony’s Parkinson’s disease. He will often see people in empty chairs and even talk to them. Sometimes those people are us – Ming and me – but sometimes  they are strangers, often children. Sometimes he sees animals in the house or in his room at the nursing lodge – dogs and calves mostly.

Over the last few years some of the hallucinations repeated themselves and were frightening – men chopping down his favourite tree, the girl with the bleeding eye, trespassers taking over the dairy – but most have been tolerable and sometimes even comforting. Now, for instance, Anthony often thinks Ming is in the room with us even if he isn’t.

If, on the phone, Anthony says something that indicates he is hallucinating – in the evenings, for instance, he now almost always thinks he is at some sort of party in a mansion somewhere – I either go along with it or suggest he might be hallucinating. I only do the latter if he seems distressed.

Last night I had a vivid dream that has given me an insight into what hallucinations feel like and it was very frightening. In the dream, Anthony, Ming and I were all home and we had a lot of visitors. Anthony wasn’t ill and he was out chopping wood for a fire. I was the one who was ill and all the visitors kept saying I should go back to bed, but I wanted to be up and about. I was standing in the kitchen just as Anthony came in the front door with a big bundle of wood in his arms, then I turned towards the back door and there was another Anthony, in different clothes, with a bucket of wood. I turned around, confused, to see that the first Anthony was still in the hallway, then turned around to see that the second Anthony was now entering the back door. I kept telling the visitors that there were two Anthonys and they thought I was joking around. Finally, one of the visitors believed me and was alarmed and kept reassuring me that there was only one Anthony, but I could still see two – one to my left and one to my right. Neither of the Anthonys spoke, so I didn’t know which one was real.

The dream went on to another scene where I was at the doctor’s and he was about to tell me what was wrong with me – then I woke up. I can still feel the fear I felt in the dream – that I was losing my mind. I hope Anthony doesn’t feel as frightened as I did in the dream. I’m going to tell him and see what he thinks. Knowing him, he will probably laugh his head off!

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Good things 1

A pianist in our paddock (yes, I know I posted this photo previously but for some reason the comments went off automatically).

Last beautiful picture of Anthony with Doc (who died several weeks ago). Jack in the forefront, who I have re-named ‘Jumping Jack’ because he jumps like a kangaroo, will outlive all of us I think!

How to make a Harley Davidson motorbike cake ….

My good friend, the madcakelady herself, on the left, and me.

A son, sitting on the best surprise Christmas present ever! (Anthony is in the background).

Anthony’s pride and joy, the Aga – the hub of this house.

A scoliosis surgery success story.

Love.

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Remorseless disease

This was yesterday….

Ming and I are in the nursing lodge visiting Anthony who is wearing his shark eyes – unblinking – and the lack of expression on his face (which is a Parkinson’s disease symptom) makes him look angry. He can’t swallow properly anymore, so he has a constant drooling problem (another Parkinson’s symptom). Then he wants to go to the loo and I try to get him up off the chair and don’t have the strength without Ming’s help. Then, once standing, Anthony freezes and can’t walk (another Parkinson’s symptom).

I try my old method of saying, “1,2,3” and stepping my own feet just ahead of his, but he doesn’t move. Ming and I half carry, half push him to the loo and then Ming says we should get a nurse, but Anthony says no, so Ming withdraws from the situation and I try to get Anthony into the bathroom but I can’t without kind of shoving him and pulling him and getting teary and angry. “Please, Anthony, it’s just a few steps – please walk!” I shout/whisper. In the background Ming yells, “Get a bloody nurse, Mum!”

I leave Anthony clinging to the toilet rail attempting to wee and go back into the room where Ming sits on Anthony’s bed, his face furious. “You are so weak – get a nurse!”

“He doesn’t want a nurse; he wants me,” I hiss, furiously. “And I am not weak, I am strong! Just go away.” My anger is undirected; I can’t decide who, or what, I am angry with most.

I go back to the bathroom, attend to Anthony and try, with great difficulty to bring him back into his room. It takes 10 minutes to get back to his chair and, when he is seated, he asks for his hanky for the dribble and I pick it up and give it to him. I flinch a little and Anthony says, “It’s just saliva; it won’t kill you.” By now his shark eyes have gone from angry to sad and I feel terrible for having snapped at him.

“When am I coming home to the farm?” he asks me and I say on the weekend.

“Am I staying the night?” he asks, and I begin to answer but Ming interjects with, “Dad, you can’t come home for the night – get it into your skull!”

We all sit for awhile in the room with Anthony sad, me guilty and Ming angry, and then we leave and I cry all the way home once again because of how much I may have hurt Anthony with my impatience. And I cry about my dread of the weekend, bringing him home.

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Please answer the phone!

Every day, whether I visit Anthony in the nursing lodge or not (this is now every second day, and I bring him home twice a week for the day), I ring him. If I am not coming into town, I ring him an average of four times – morning, afternoon, early evening and bedtime.

The trouble is he has difficulty answering the phone and often can’t work out what button to press, and sometimes he accidentally locks it. So my method now is to dial his number and let it ring 4 times, hang up, and repeat this several times until he finally answers. This saves the phonebill from skyrocketting, it gives Anthony time to answer the phone, and it drives me insane.

Ming and I spent the morning with Ants today, recharged his phone and put it within reach. Ants said to ring as soon as I got home and I have now been trying to for nearly 3 hours. I know he is in his room, warm and comfortable and watching television, with the phone right next to him on a side-table. I also know he is sad because he will think I haven’t rung him when, in fact, I have tried a zillion times!

Argh!

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Female pheasants don’t grow on trees!

When I wrote my cynical post about platitudes and cliches the other day, I wasn’t actually thinking so much of my own situation with a terminally ill husband, but of other people whose lives seem to have been swallowed whole by such chronic illness that each day becomes an enormous challenge. Some of those people I have met via the blogosphere, but I also know other people personally who are in various stages of illness or grief, so I understand and empathize with how difficult it must be to tolerate the platitudes.

The comments I received on that post confirmed that many people find the platitudes and cliches intolerable, but it was also pointed out to me that cliches can be very useful when you don’t know what else to say, so perhaps the post was a little over-cynical. One off-the-record comment implied that for me to call a well-meaning platitude ‘crap’ was an ugly way of expressing things and that my cynicism didn’t fit with the flavour of the rest of my blog.

So I went back and edited the post to make it gentler, but I kept the original words in there too. At the end I should have added “and you will pick yourself up” but, for some reason, I didn’t because, after all, that is not always possible. But, having upset one person, it is possible I may have upset others for which I apologize.

I have also had to apologize to Phoenix 1 because I still haven’t been able to find him a wife!

Me: Female pheasants don’t grow on trees, Phoenix!

Phoenix 1: I think you have used a remnant of a cliche, Julie.

Me: Oh, crap!

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No running

Anthony loved to run. He didn’t need a horse or a motorbike to round up cattle and get them from one paddock to another; he just needed his own legs. Sometimes he would get me to help by yelling, “C’mon, Jules, run!” But I could never run as fast as he did, which was a bit embarrassing.

He had the most muscly legs I have ever seen – huge calves, massive thighs – and he always wore those footy shorts, you know the black ones, and he always wore football socks too. So he kind of resembled a football player I guess – big, strong, energetic and, in my eyes (and his own!) perfect.

Sometimes I would just watch him run because it was like watching someone glide through a mirror, or a window; it was like watching magic.

……………………………………

Now Anthony’s legs are bony and often he can’t even walk.

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Awardees!

For those who are new to this blog, I seem to have a problem with accepting blog awards (yes, I am seeing a psychologist next week – joking!) So, in order to not seem ungracious or ungrateful, I created the Hot Potato Award to bestow on anyone who nominates me for an award. Hence, the latest winners are:

http://thoughtstomull.com/

This blog is both inspirational and very thoughtmully; it gets my brain working.

http://freedomtoafulllife.wordpress.com/

This blog takes the guts out of fear.

http://terry1954.wordpress.com/

This blog grabs me by the throat because it is about Parkinson’s disease.

There is only one rule for the Hot Potato Award: you accept it and copy/paste it to your blog, or you don’t.

I have been deliberately vague in my descriptions of these three blog awardees because I hope you will visit them and see how wonderful they are for yourselves.

Okay, now back to the award problem I have. There is an extremely profound reason behind my non-acceptance, which is steeped in philosophical reasoning:

I am lazy!

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