jmgoyder

wings and things

What’s more important – to love, or to be loved?

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Yesterday, after doing hours of paperwork and three related appointments, I finally got to Anthony’s lodge at 5pm and something in his face lit up. “My beautiful girl!” he said (now that I am 54, being called a girl always works a charm on me). We gave each other the usual hugs and kisses and then I sat down to tell him the latest about my nieces and nephews, my Centrelink adventure and other things, and poured him a small whisky. I knew I couldn’t stay long as I had to get groceries before the shops shut, so he got a bit upset when I had to go. I managed to jolly him out of that somehow and left reluctantly.

At the doorway to his room, I paused, as always, and said to him, “I love you so much, Ants” and he said, “When you go I won’t have anyone to love.” So then of course I ran back to him for one more hug and he was okay, knowing he would see me tomorrow (which is now today).

After getting groceries, I headed for home with his words resonating and I realized, for the millionth time, what an amazing person he is to want to give love more than to receive love.

Ming, at 19, doesn’t really understand why I go into the nursing lodge, take Ants out for cake and coffee, and/or on my errands, or home on weekends.

Me: Because he is my husband!
Ming: But how can you stand it, with Dad like he is? It’s no fun for you and the psychologist said you’re supposed to be having a bit of fun in your life.
Me: Because I love him and I can make it fun now I’ve stopped succumbing to the sadness so much. Anyway, I like going to cafes and so does Ants.
Ming (bewildered): Okay, whatever.

One day, when Ming is married to someone (who I hope will be amazing!) he will understand something about love that I didn’t really ‘get’ until now: that the gift of love is found inside every moment that you give it and not in how much you receive it. I certainly didn’t see it this way when I was his age so why should he?

So to both my beautiful boys: I love you.

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Note to blog friends


Thanks for all of your support. I am gradually resubscribing to the many blogs I have missed over the last months of various troubles. The last few weeks have been hell for my whole family, since the car accident, and with one niece still in hospital, the anxiety is high so obviously blogging isn’t on my priority list at the moment. I so appreciate all the good wishes, prayers and thoughts sent to my family, particularly to my nieces and nephew – thank you.
Juliex

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I found out today that Anthony and I are ‘illness separated’.

photo credit to Jane Terren

Ming and I were at Centrelink (Australia’s social security service) this morning to pursue job possibilities for him now that he is not supposed to do manual labour. He is still working for our neighbours as a dairyhand but only for three days a fortnight, and with no lifting allowed. As many of you know, this is because Ming tried to lift something really heavy in our shed a few months ago and actually fractured some of the titanium in his ‘new’ back. He will be scheduled for further surgery in the next couple of months, after which he will obviously have to quit milking the cows for good.

So we were at Centrelink with a the doctor’s certificates and other paperwork that might help Ming claim some sort of interim allowance before and after the next surgery, when (whilst waiting for her computer to reboot) the beautiful woman serving us chatted with me about this and that and she took an interest in my own circumstances. As I had previously received a carer’s allowance when Anthony still lived at home, I was on the system, but she could easily see that I have had no income of any sort for nearly 18 months and haven’t been able to claim any social security help due to living on a farm (asset). She asked me about Anthony and, when I told her he was now in a nursing home, she said, “Well that means you are separated.” I said, “No, no!” Then she said, “It’s okay, I just mean you fall into the Centrelink category of ‘illness separated’ and, as such, you could probably do with some financial assistance.”

She then said she would do anything she could to assist us in our Centrelink pursuits. I was so grateful I nearly got teary and then suddenly she realized that Ming (whose Scottish name is spelled Menzies) used to play football with her own son and, even though she and I had never known each other back then, I not-so-instantly recognized her!

I am feeling a bit uncomfortable about lodging a claim for financial assistance but, on the other hand, Anthony and I have, like so many, paid a fortune in taxes over the decades, so why not? It’s difficult for me to get another job at the moment because I spend a lot of hours with Anthony every week – either here or at the nursing lodge; and it’s difficult for Ming to commit to another job until he knows about surgery (next appointment with surgeon in two weeks).

One of the things I am so grateful for is the fact that my beautiful, now incapacitated, ‘illness-separated’ husband, has had enough savings to sustain us so far. And that we are living on his/our beautiful farm.

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I just deactivated my Facebook account – what a relief!

I have never taken to Facebook as much as I have taken to blogging, however over the last few weeks I have become more and more obsessed with checking up on my family and friends to see if they are okay, to find out if they are happy or sad, to ‘share’ information that might be helpful etc. But this morning I realized that the level of anxiety I experience before going to FB is too horrible. I.e. What if I have said the wrong thing? What if they don’t reply? What if they are sick of me commenting on their situation? What if they just wish I would go away?

But it’s not just my insecurities that have influenced my deactivation decision; I am sick of the advertisements, the miserable media reports, the posts from people I have never heard of, the disturbing images, causes, and cries for help from people I cannot possibly help. One of the many strange things about FB is its strangerness.

I will probably hop back onto FB in the near future but at the moment I’ve just had enough – not of my family and friends of course – just of Facebook itself and its paradoxical facelessness. After all, I do have a phone number, and an email address, and have a bit more animation than my gravatar.

Also, I might now be able to get to my mountain of paperwork – bills, tax return etc. I’ll just check my emails first haha!

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Nightmares

I had a dream last night that someone I knew (it wasn’t clear in the dream who exactly he was), took me to a holiday house somewhere near the sea. It was a really shabby old house and I felt a bit reluctant to go in but I did anyway because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Then, once I was inside, the door shut with a clang, and I knew immediately that I was doomed because a hanging rope was already in place for me and the someone-I-knew became a cackling stranger who was going to hurt me before killing me. The terror I felt within that dream woke me up, and I entered the day in a daze of perspiring relief that it was just a nightmare.

Have I read too many books, seen too many movies, thought too many thoughts, felt too many emotions? Yes, probably, but this was the most frightening nightmare I have ever had. Of course this nightmare is not hard to interpret at all I guess – a bunch of mixed emotions following trauma; ongoing anxiety for all those affected by trauma; shame, guilt and embarrassment over the stupid things I’ve said and done since the trauma; and a momentary wish that I would die.

The nightmare has made me see much better what it must be like for Anthony when he experiences the night terrors and and hallucinations of his PDD. If I can experience such a vivid nightmare whilst being physically healthy, and wake up with my face covered in the sweat of terror, then what is he going through?

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From heart to heart: The Dr. Says

I have made many friends in the blogosphere, one of whom is Sandra Callahan. She is wise and funny and positive and she and I share some very similar experiences. We have supported each other through many ups and downs and yesterday she made a comment on my post that compelled me to rethink yesterday’s doctor’s appointment with Anthony during which he described his dreadful terror the night before as ‘a bit of fun’. Sandra said, ‘He must have been embarrassed by his behavior. I cannot imagine how scary it must be when he doesn’t recognize people and they are trying to force him to do things he doesn’t understand.’

Sandra’s comment made me realize that Anthony’s bravado with the doctor was to cover his embarrassment and, even though I was aware of this at the time, it didn’t really hit me until I read Sandra’s wise words. Of course he was embarrassed – to be confused, to have been terrified of nurses, to have possibly made a fool of himself, and to have worried me so much. Anthony’s ‘bit of fun’ was his way of covering up his embarrassment and I understand that much better today than I did yesterday thanks to Sandra. She has once again helped to sharpen my sense of perception with her amazing empathy.

Our hearts have a lot in common except for one fundamental thing: mine is still beating loud and clear and Sandra’s is failing. She has congestive heart failure and is dying. But she is also living to the utmost, encouraging people like me and talking honestly about dying. Her book is now available and here is the link.

From my heart to your heart, Sandra.

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“I’m so much better, Jules!”

Today I picked Anthony up from the nursing lodge to take him for a doctor’s appointment to get some of his never-ending skin cancers burned off with that ice stuff. Having been a farmer all his life, out in the full sun before the days of hats and sunscreen, he develops many of these on an almost daily basis – new eruptions from old sun damage – on his arms, face and back mainly. Even though it hurts, Anthony has a strange liking for the procedure, mainly because he really likes seeing our doctor and so do I.

In the car on the way to the doctor’s office I asked him did he remember what had happened last night and he surprised me by saying yes.

Me: Well I think we should tell the doctor because this seems to be happening more often and you sounded so terrified.
Anthony: I didn’t want to be ordered around.
Me: So you fought the staff, told me I was part of a conspiracy against you, thought you were being tied up, and frightened the hell out of me.
Anthony: They deserved it.
Me: But they were just trying to put you to bed! Was anyone being nasty or pushy?
Anthony: Not really.
Me: So why did you fight them?
Anthony: Oh, just for a bit of fun.

AAARGH!

Before I go on, I should explain that this kind of conversation flows much more smoothly on the page than it does in real time. In real time, there are a lot of pauses and sometimes Anthony’s voice is so soft now that I have to say, “what?” or “say that again?” before I understand what he is saying.

Anyway, his ‘bit of fun’ comment made me laugh, until I became a bit cross.

Me: So you think it’s funny to torment the nurses and make me cry for worrying about you.
Anthony: The first thing yes but not to you. (He reaches out and pats my knee as we pull into the doctor’s parking lot)
Me: Well I’m going to ask the doctor to prescribe you with something for when this happens again.
Anthony: So you want to drug me.
Me: Nooooo! I just don’t want you to have one of these terrified episodes again with nothing to calm you down. Even I take something like that now and then!
Anthony: Yes, but you probably need it.

He has a point there!

When we went into the doctor’s office, he already had his ice-spray thingy in his hand like a weapon (a little joke he and Anthony share), but I told him that our visit was two-fold and then described last night’s incident, including Anthony as much as I could, despite his point of view being different from mine. He, too, thought it was funny when Anthony said it was all a bit of fun and Anthony’s eyes did that rare twinkly thing and he nearly smiled.

A new medication was prescribed, several skin cancers burned off and we left feeling as if we’d been on a social visit. By that time it was early afternoon, so I suggested we eat at a restaurant but Anthony wanted MacDonalds (most unusual!) So we got burgers from a drive-through, went to a park and ate them in the car (much easier than getting Ants in and out of a restaurant), then went to a bakery and bought a fancy tart which he vacuumed up, and a big chocolate cake for the nurses. By the time we got back to the nursing lodge, he was exhausted.

Okay it is now nearing the time I usually ring Anthony to say goodnight. The new pill won’t be available until tomorrow so we may well have a repeat of last night’s situation but this time I will be ready and I won’t let either of us be disarmed. I have to be prepared for the worsening of Anthony’s condition even though every single morning he says to me, “I’m so much better, Jules.”

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Parkinson’s disease dementia and night terrors

I have just gotten off the phone with Anthony for the third time in the last half hour. He is terrified and this is happening more and more often at around the same time of night. Tonight he thinks several people are trying to tie him up, that his house is being rummaged and wrecked, and that I am part of a conspiracy to hurt him. Ming and I have both talked to him and I have also rung the nurse in charge to tell her how distressed he is and that he is confused. She said they had tried to put him to bed (sometimes it takes two or three people) but he fought them all off. I told her he didn’t know what was going on and that we were seeing the doctor tomorrow to get emergency medication for this kind of hallucinatory agitation.

Our farm is a half hour drive away and I feel like I should sell up and buy a unit near the nursing lodge so I can be closer for these night terrors because for him to be this frightened is unbearable for all of us. I know/hope that in the short time it has taken to write this post, he will most probably be in bed and nearly asleep because in the end Ming and I managed to calm him down a bit – very hard to do over the phone.

The prolonged emotional agony of this disease, for all three of us, is like treading water in a strange and unfamiliarly large pool of murky water, and can change within the space of an hour. Earlier, when I rang Ants, he was fine and lucid and gorgeous. His words don’t come out very well any more so I was shocked by tonight’s frantic eloquence and his absolute terror. My feelings of helplessness are like jagged jigsaw pieces accidentally placed in the wrong box – futilely useless.

I love him so much.

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Peacock poop

Peacock poop is a bit unsightly when it is found on the top of your newly washed car, your outside veranda, or underneath your innocent shoe(s), but, once it dries, it is easy to sweep away with the leaves. Gutsy9 can ruin the immaculate neatness of this farm and house (ha!) by coming into the kitchen, flying up onto the table and eating whatever is on the table while I hang up the washing outside. Yesterday, she came into the veranda and purred (yes purred!) to Anthony until he stroked her little head. And then she pooped.

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The dangers of driving on gravel

It is nearly two weeks since the night of the accident in which my son was driving with four of his cousins and one friend in the back tray of his ute/truck. My family has learned so much from this, including the extent to which we love and respect each other. Responsibility for allowing the kids to go for a little ride has been shared and discussed, hugs have been exchanged, forgiveness has been a constant source of comfort to all I hope, but self-forgiveness is not so easy – not for me.

Even though I was the only one inside the house and didn’t know that my son had taken off with the kids for a second little ride, I should have already had a rule in place that this was absolutely forbidden. After all, it is against the law to have unrestrained passengers in the back tray of a ute. If I had had this rule in place, this wouldn’t have happened. Why didn’t I have this rule? Because it never occurred to me that my son would do this; he is such a cautious driver and has the reputation of driving like a granny! When they all came back from the first little ride and I realized they had been off the farm, I said to my son, “don’t do that again will you” but I should have said, “YOU WILL NOT DO THAT AGAIN!” If I had said that, this would never had happened. We are all struggling with our own ifonlys, but these two are mine.

What matters here is that, despite all five children sustaining serious fractures, with one still in hospital for some time, the longterm prognosis for all is full recovery, physically. Psychologically and emotionally, I think their recovery may be more complicated but as the young are so resilent, I hope and I pray that they will all unremember the terror of that night. For those in my family, who drove crazily around the outskirts of this country town, after my son’s panicked phonecall, looking for all of them, when they were only 2 kms away, the memories of our fear and horror will take longer to fade.

My son did a slow U-turn on bitumen, and was heading home again when he hit gravel and accelerated a bit, turning the steering wheel from left to right, just slightly, to give the kids a little thrill, and that is when he lost control and the ute fishtailed (I think); he tried to control it by braking, and steering it back, but nothing worked even though he was going less than 40kms.

If he had been speeding, hooning, drinking or a reckless person, this could have been worse. If he had coerced the children and snuck away for a little joyride, against our wishes, this could have been worse. The fact that everyone survived, and will recover, is the thing I tell myself each morning when I wake up to the horror of that night on constant replay.

When driving on gravel, be aware that your tyres only have half the grip they would on bitumen.
When driving on gravel, do not accelerate suddenly, even a little bit.
When driving on gravel, do not brake suddenly, even a little bit.
When driving on gravel, always go very slowly.

Nobody in this family – my beautiful family – will ever hop into the back of a ute again. Nobody in this family – my beautiful family – will drive without caution on gravel roads from now on.

My heart leaps with joy that everyone will be okay longterm, but his post is primarily to warn people of the dangers of driving on gravel, especially in a ute, and to never, ever, let your children get into the tray, no matter how much they want to, no matter how short the ride.

I am so sorry.

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