jmgoyder

wings and things

Sep 28

A stitch in time

by jmgoyder

Years ago, when I was working as a nurse in Perth, I was walking home one day and I suddenly felt a peculiar pain underneath my left lower rib. It was like a stitch or a slight cramp. It persisted off and on over the next few days until one morning it woke me up. As I got dressed I realized I was shivering even though it was summer and the pain was definitely more than a stitch. I didn’t have a car in those days so I decided to walk to the closest doctor’s surgery which was about two kilometres away. By the time I got there I was actually holding my side in agony, sweating profusely and feeling faint. The doctor immediately sent me to hospital in a taxi and after many hours of waiting and tests I was diagnosed with a severe kidney infection and ended up on a drip and very sick for over a week. After I was better I decided never to forget that kind of strange stitch-like pain, subtle to begin with, but soon agonizing.

Two days ago, during my little blog-breather, I was cleaning out my office when I felt the same stitch-like pain and that night I tossed and turned with the shivers – a fever. This time I didn’t wait and saw the doctor immediately who took samples and, long story short, yes I have a kidney infection again. Thankfully it isn’t as progressed as last time so I am on a course of antibiotics and that should be that.

I might be very good at looking after people who are sick but I am very bad at actually being sick. When I twisted my ankle the other week anyone would have thought I’d had my foot amputated; when the rooster clawed me and gave me a skin infection I limped around for so many days that Ming told me to stop my nonsense; when I then got asthma for a week I allowed google to scare the hell out of me; and now this.

The three things that scare me most about being sick are these: firstly, I am easily scared; secondly, I am needed; and thirdly, my family and friends will say, “you aren’t looking after yourself – you’re run down” which will make me feel guilty for being sick.

How come, when I am no longer working and no longer having to physically look after Anthony, I am run down?  Of course there are logical reasons like not eating healthily enough, not exercising, not getting enough sleep etc. etc. – we all know the drill – but now that I am beginning to admit-to-admit I am a little tired, I think it is simply that I am so sad. No, I don’t mean depressed, although of course that is a factor, I just mean plain old sad – sad about Anthony and his Parkinson’s disease and not being home with us anymore; sad that he is sad; sad that Ming is angry.

Chronic illness sufferers are so much more heroic than ‘come-and-go’ illness wimps like me. I salute them for their courage, determination and wit – and have met many via blogging. They don’t make a fuss about a stitch; they don’t let the sad stuff get the better of them; they soldier on, unfalteringly beautiful, and Anthony is one of these people.

Oh – google has just become my friend again – it says, “It is usually young women who develop kidney infections.” Ah, it’s good when a stitch makes you young again!

blogging Family

45 Comments »
Sep 23

Love story 97 – Dealing with death

by jmgoyder

Anthony has had miniature dachshunds as pets for as long as I can remember. When Ming was born, we’d just lost Doc, a male, to old age, but we still had Inky, a female puppy.

Inky was, at first, alarmed by baby Ming – this strange,new creature in the family. But her alarm soon became intrigue, especially once Ming started crawling, then toddling, then babbling and I’ll never forget the shock on Inky’s face when Ming uttered his first word – “INKY!”

They were inseparable, making their infant-to-child transitions simultaneously. When I took Ming to ‘occasional care’, we would take Inky with us in the car, then Ming would carry her into the centre, much to all the other little toddlers’ delight. It was around this time that Ming – if asked if he had any brother and sisters – would state, proudly, “I jus have Inky – she’s my liddle sista.”

Inky was four and Ming still three, when she began to lose her rather manic liveliness. She started to get really drowsy, and her tail didn’t wag frantically anymore. Ming became upset when she wouldn’t race him, or fetch the tennis ball, or make the shrill, ecstatic noise she’d always made when he cuddled her.

Then, one evening, Inky wouldn’t even get up for her food, and we knew something was badly wrong. We rushed her to the vet and as Ming, Anthony and I watched, he said, “She has a heart condition and is dehydrated. There is nothing I can do; I’ll have to put her to sleep.”

With tears in my eyes, I crouched down and explained to Ming that Inky was in pain and that the best thing to do would be to put her to sleep. He nodded, solemnly as the vet injected Inky.

As we took her little corpse – in a box the vet had given us – out to the car, Ming patted my hand. He’d noticed my emotion and said, “Doan worry, Mummy. Inky’s jus sleeping. Gimmee her to hold.”

That was when I realized that he didn’t understand that Inky was dead. So I got into the back seat with Ming and, as we pulled away, I tried to explain, in my clumsy adult way, that the little dog Ming was holding was not going to wake up.

The car seemed to get very cold. Then Ming’s silence broke and he started to sob and so did I, holding tightly to his little hand. Anthony said gentle words to us while he drove us home.

As we reached the farm gate, Ming had stopped crying and said, in a quiet, solemn little voice, “Hands up all the people what are sad.”

We all raised our hands.

Then, when we all got out of the car, Anthony wrapped us all in one of his gigantic hugs.

Animal Family LOVE STORY

58 Comments »
Sep 22

Avoidance

by jmgoyder

I have been avoiding talking about, thinking about and even visiting Anthony for the last couple of days because I am so sick of the sadness of his Parkinson’s Disease, sick of my own guilt at placing him in the nursing lodge and, yes, sick of the increasingly blank expression in his eyes.

Today, I organized the wheelchair taxi to get Anthony from the nursing lodge to a nearby restaurant because my mother and her old friend wanted to have lunch with us. My mother’s friend has recently moved into a nursing lodge in Perth (200 kms from here) so it was wonderful to see him and he kindly paid for our lunch. It all worked out fine with the only drawback being Anthony’s blankness, because he is now beginning to find it difficult to form thoughts into words, so the conversation tends to happen around him rather than with him. Contriving topics of conversation that will trigger memories and get Anthony talking is not my idea of fun.

Ah, you think, how selfish of me. Yes, I agree but while I am being so honest here I may as well also admit that I was absolutely dreading today’s lunch. What if the taxi didn’t arrive on time? What if Anthony didn’t feel well enough for the lunch? What if he’d somehow missed his medications? What if I couldn’t find the wheelchair entrance after the taxi arrived? What if he had to go to the loo and couldn’t walk? What if the taxi didn’t come to get him on time? What if he couldn’t manage his food? What if he got unhappy with me? What if he got nasty about going back to the nursing lodge?

Okay, luckily most of those things didn’t happen, but some did and, towards the end of our lunch, I caught myself looking at my watch, just wanting it to be over so I could come home and be free again. Yes, I wanted to be free of Anthony – there I’ve said it.

The weird thing is that after following the taxi back to the nursing lodge and wheeling Ants into his room, he suddenly became unblanked and, using his walker thing (you know those ones with wheels), he almost ran me back to the entrance with a nurse accompanying us. At the doorway, as I said goodbye to my beautiful husband who barely resembles who he used to be, he suddenly said to the nurse, “She’s avoiding me, you know.”

The nurse said, “C’mon, Tony, what do  you think it’s like for her? Stop making it so hard for her to leave.” (I wanted to hug that nurse!) But Anthony just kissed me reluctantly and turned his back on me as I exited, then said to this huggable nurse, “She wants her freedom.”

Yes.

Family LOVE STORY

61 Comments »
Sep 18

Indifference

by jmgoyder

I read once that the opposite of love is indifference, not hatred, and I think this makes a lot of sense. Indifference has a deceptive blandness to it, but is actually much more effective than hatred which, in my opinion, is a rather stupid emotion but does fuel a multiplicity of wars – within families, within countries, across history and geography. Hatred gobbles itself up in a futile way because it cannot forgive.

Indifference, on the other hand, is a wonderful emotional tool because you can use it to forgive and forget, and it is much gentler than hatred. The only problem with indifference is that, because it is so subtle, sometimes the indifferenced don’t  get it. I have learned these wisdoms from the antics of peafowl – ha!

Poor King. He keeps trying to impress Queenie but she just wants him to go away!

Family Wings

49 Comments »
Sep 13

Love story 94 – Fireworks

by jmgoyder

Oh how I love remembering the early years of my marriage to Anthony and the joy of our little Ming:

Ming was just a toddler when Anthony and I took him into Bunbury, the nearest town, to see the Australia Day fireworks. It would be his first time. We went in early in order to get a parking space at a place called Boulter’s Heights, where we knew we would be able to view the fireworks from up high and from a slight distance, rather than being in the midst of the throng of revellers down in the main street.

Ming found even the waiting-for-the-fiyaworks exciting (although of course he wasn’t quite sure what fireworks were, except that it needed to be dark). He played with the rapidly increasing group of other little children, while what was a small gathering of adults gradually became huge.

As dusk fell and the crowd of big and little children grew, I kept my eyes trained carefully on Ming in that instinctive “mother bear” way, making sure he wasn’t being bullied or feeling lost. Finally, I retrieved him from a barely visible group of kids and he was safely perched half on my knee and half on Anthony’s when the first fireworks exploded.

The brightness of that very first fireworks “taster” was much more intense – and much closer – than I had expected. Ming flung himself violently backwards against my chest at the visual impact. Silently shocked, he clutched at Anthony’s leg just before the second explosion of enormous light and colour. and the noise!

Ming’s silence made me wonder if perhaps this event was too scary for him. As kaboom followed kaboom, and with the colour, light and people’s shouts of glee surrounding us, I held tight to Ming’s trembling body. Oh no! Maybe he was too little to appreciate fireworks, I thought, as I bent my head into the crook of his neck to see if he was okay.

But I needn’t have worried. Yes, he was briefly mesmerised and frightened. But as the fireworks became more intense, so did the crowd’s pauses become longer and a communal bated breath replaced the noises of impatient anticipation.

It was into one of those pauses that Ming suddenly began to shout, over and over and over again, “DOYALUVITMUMMYDADDY???!!!” And then, “ANDONY, ANDONY, ANDONY!!!DONTCHALUVITMUMMYDADDY???!!!”

Each time Ming yelled this, it was in one of those hushed moments of awe immediately after a fireworks explosion. Within the relatively small hilltop crowd we’d formed, Ming’s exclamations seemed to ring out as clearly as the noise of the fireworks and the people around us started to laugh and clap at his contagious glee.

Eventually, Ming became quieter, disconcerted by the adult attention. Then he got off my lap and toddled awkwardly around me until he was behind me with his chubby little arms around my neck. As the last firework shone out lingeringly, Ming bent his face to my ear.

“DoyaluvitMummy?” he asked again, this time solemnly.

“I love it all right, Ming,” I said, squeezing his hands and grinning at Anthony.

“Mummy,” Ming whispered very softly, as if it were a very important secret. “My tummy is cubbling [cuddling] me!!”

I knew exactly what he meant!

The beautiful thing is that Ants remembers this night too, despite the PDD.

Family Friendship LOVE STORY Wings

28 Comments »
Sep 10

Sigh

by jmgoyder

Bubble: I miss the emus.

Seli: So do I.

Woodroffe: So do I.

Angelina: So do I.

King: So do I.

Okami: So do I.

Pearly: So do I.

Malay: So do I.

Phoenix 1: So do I.

Ming: Well I DON’T!

Animal Friendship Wings

32 Comments »
Sep 7

Just a moment

by jmgoyder

We had an appointment today in Perth (two hours north of here) for Ming to see the surgeon who operated on his scoliosis in February. After the usual X-rays and waiting room waiting, the surgeon said Ming’s spinal curve (Cobb’s angle – see below) had further reduced from 35% to 22%. Now I don’t understand the maths of this because I am not mathematically inclined, however, considering Ming’s curve was 75%/80% before surgery (depending on which radiologist was interpreting the X-ray) then I think 22% is beyond fantastic! I didn’t realize that his spine might straighten even more post-surgery.

http://www.e-radiography.net/radpath/c/cobbs-angle.htm

As we were leaving, I noticed a teenage girl who had tears in her eyes as she left the building with her parents so I told Ming to go and say something comforting to her while I went to the loo. When I came outside I found Ming talking in his loud, open, gesticulating way to the little family, and the girl’s eyes were no longer teary – they were shining. I said I was his mum and that we’d been a bit worried that she was upset. Then we all exchanged handshakes and wished each other well, all of us smiling.

We didn’t exchange names or contact details because it was all a bit ‘in the moment’ but that’s probably okay.

Family Friendship

33 Comments »
Sep 5

The argument

by jmgoyder

Tonight the argument escalated to a point where we are both terribly shaken at how ferocious we can be towards each other.

The Aga was off because we ran out of kerosene a few days ago so, instead, we filled the kitchen with the heat of our fury until words whimpered away, and our tears tore our anger into small shivers of hot shock.

My son and I looked at each other with black eyes, unblinking and hateful but then one of us blinked and we found comfort in the Chinese food I’d brought home.

I have just tucked him in – this Anthony clone, Ming – and he admitted that he is terrified of losing me in the same way he has lost Anthony, his father, to illness. My sprained ankle terrified and engraged him.

His rage was thunderous and his beautiful face was contorted into a thousand lines of teenage fear. “I can’t lose you too, Mum,” he said, shivering into the blankets I piled ontop of him.

He always starts ‘the argument’ but I don’t blame him at all for this – my fantastic son, Ming.

Family Friendship

43 Comments »
Sep 4

Love story 93 – Anthony’s 75th birthday party

by jmgoyder

Last year, before Anthony turned 75, I decided to throw him a huge party and invite every single one of his friends and relatives. I knew at the time that it would be our last opportunity to do this because of how rapidly Anthony’s health was deteriorating. The party was a resounding success with everyone here at the farm – over 100 people! One of the highlights was this poem, written by his friend, Eden, and read out by his nephew, Andrew. Eden had handwritten it and I now have it framed and on the wall in Anthony’s room at the nursing lodge. Every time I read it, it makes me laugh and cry and laugh again.

Goyder’s  Show

So long ago by just a chance

to town he came for drink and dance.

That’s how we met so long ago, and

set the future’s wonderful show.

From Balingup hills to Dardanup flats,

drinking, hard working and fast cars to bat.

Like the “G.T.” roaring from “Bythorne’s” gate,

only shortly after to meet its fate.

The “A9X” would do no such thing,

It was far too precious with all its bling.

The shake of his hand is a law to abide,

welcoming many to “come inside.”

The kitchen table like a rock to the land,

a tea or a beer always at hand.

The AGA sits with pride of place,

the warmth of its glow etched in his face.

Cows in the shed, calves on the chain,

Shorts, teeshirt ’n boots he’d tend to them for gain.

The hours long and days of repeat,

milk quota cheques made it ever so sweet.

The “Inkys and Docs” were to provide for a stash,

when times were hard and the beef market crash.

That’s breeding the dachshunds should you not know,

just another chapter in this wonderful show.

Loyal to his siblings, workers and friends,

Arthur and Ken, the incredible men.

Side by side, intuitively so, Anthony Goyder

would give them a go.

So many shared his trust and kind ways,

so many fortunate come what may.

Somewhere in the midst came a wife and a son,

a job in the waiting, which had to be done.

They’re the pride of his fleet and ultimate test

To his boyness manner and youthful zest.

A husband sincere and ‘King of the Dads’

Menzies his son, such a fortunate lad.

‘His Royal Highness’ of Paradise Road,

is always there to share the load

of a mind stressed or persons ill,

he’s always kind and full of will.

Not father, brother or simply friend

but something of each his curious blend.

This man would show the way of right

and steady the wrong of which I might.

These qualities not destined at birth,

but earnestly found as he treads the earth.

This bloke of endless humour and wit

has a soulful nature blended from grit.

Should a scrap of fight I had to go

I’d have Goyder on side and not as foe.

The hard hits he’d take for all his mob,

then wryly smile and say good job.

His humour and wit come to the fore

exclaiming “they missed the Goyder once more!”

A yell to his mates would be “grab us a beer,

let’s get out now with something to cheer!”

In 25 years it’s cheers we will,

the time going by like the ring of a till.

With Queen’s telegram he’ll calling us back,

for a drink and a yarn at the “Bythorne Shack.”

“A Queen’s telegram! I’m one hundred you know.”

I can’t wait for that in his wonderful show ….

Me on the left and Ants on the right as the poem was being read out.

Family Friendship LOVE STORY

32 Comments »
Sep 1

Spring has sprung

by jmgoyder

It’s the first day of Spring over here and I want my heart to gallop with excitement but it won’t cooperate. Yesterday afternoon Ming and I had one of our serious talks. These always resemble the kind of discussion a grandfather might have with a small child (Ming = the grandfather; Julie = the small child).

Now it’s not particularly pleasant to be scolded by your teenage son but after much to-ing and fro-ing of our discussion, Ming finally summarized things by saying, “Mum, I just want you back the way you were. I want us to have fun again, I want you to be happy again.” (This was after he told me my office was an appalling mess).

“Is it Dad or me who is stopping you?” Ming asked.

“It’s Anthony, Ming. I just can’t seem to adjust. Come on, give me a break – he’s only been in the nursing lodge for six months. Give me a chance to breathe my grief!”

“You’ve been doing that for too long already, Mum. Please stop. We have to get this place in order – you have to help me!”

“Oh you’re not going to say that dreadful word again are you?”

“Yes, Mum. Teamwork, teamwork, teamwork!”

“Poo, poo, poo!” I retaliated (Ming loathes that word).

Anyway that was yesterday and now it is today. I just saw a blue wren and I am going to vacuum the inside veranda and it’s raining but sunny and later on I will go see Anthony and I will not cry when I get home again because if I do I will have to suffer another Ming discussion.

It’s the first day of Spring here and my heart has begun to walk again. I hope Ming doesn’t get too much of a shock!

Animal Family Wings

59 Comments »
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