jmgoyder

wings and things

Lucky in love

I arranged for Anthony to be wheel-chair taxied home today for the third time this week. We are doing this so often lately that it is becoming the new norm. Anthony arrives here at 2pm and is taxied back to the nursing lodge at 4.30pm.

There have been numerous logistical glitches with this arrangement, but it’s getting smoother.

When Ants arrives, it takes awhile to get him out of the taxi, but once he is on the front veranda, it’s like the good old days – just the two of us.

Today, Ants saw Ming before milking, then we visited his nephew’s family, then we came back home to have a drink before the taxi arrived and, for the first time, Ants accepted he had to go back to the nursing lodge.

We hugged and kissed goodbye but there were no tears from either of us – phew.

Anthony was/is my first and only love. He continues to make my heart beat faster. I am so lucky!

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Ageism 2

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I feel compelled to write a follow-up to yesterday’s post due to the interesting comments that were made. There was even a little debate on my blog which has never happened before!

The ageism that Ming has admitted to is not directed at just Anthony; it is more generalized. He is easily annoyed with all things old – not just people. For example we live in a very old house where things are beginning to break down and wear out – old carpets, broken furniture, warped flyscreens, holes through which mice enter, old plumbing, electrical wiring etc. Similarly, we have problems outside with old lawnmowers, trees, sheds, hoses, water tanks etc.

This is all perfectly normal for an old farm and none of it is insurmountable, but getting things fixed is expensive and time-consuming and, for young Ming, a source of constant frustration.

Add to this old Anthony’s deterioration in health and we have a young Ming with an aversion to both the concept and reality of the word öld”.

If I were to define compassion, I would say it is equal parts sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is feeling sad FOR somebody else, whereas empathy is feeling sad LIKE somebody else. In general, the latter does not come easily to young people when dealing with old people.

I think that if Ming weren’t compassionate, he would not be worried about his lack of empathy for Anthony. He wants to be empathetic but he can’t feel it and I can’t make him feel it, so we accept it. His love for Anthony runs deep, but his liking of Anthony is problematic because Ants is now so old, frail and incapacitated that Ming avoids seeing him. Strangely, I am the one most hurt by this as Ants is more philosophical and remembers feeling the same aversion to his own father after his father had a stroke.

Yesterday’s post was not intended as a moan or a cry for help; I was just telling it like it is, warts and all!

When people ask Ming, “So, what are you doing these days?” Ming always replies proudly, Ï’m following in Dad’s footsteps.” I used to think Ming was referring to the fact that he is milking cows but now I think his statement means much more.

Oh yeah, and a bad day doesn’t mean a bad life. We are lucky.

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Ageism

Before I entered university life, I worked for around ten years in nursing homes. I felt an enormous affection for elderly people and began to understand the communication value of stories told by people who were in various stages of dementia.

I wrote a PhD, then a book, then articles – all published – and Anthony was so proud of me. We used to talk about the elderly people I’d met, their stories, my theories, and the various drawbacks of life in a nursing home. This was around the same time we got married – 20 years ago.

Little did I know then what would happen to us now, that Anthony would be in a nursing home, that Anthony would get Parkinon’s disease dementia (PDD), that Ming, our son, would become ageist.

Like many young people, Ming has an aversion to old age, but he never used to! He used to be compassionate and kind; now he is either horrified or indifferent.

We had a discussion about this last night and Ming actually admitted to ageism.
“It’s Dad’s fault,” he said.

I went outside and wept.

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To blog or not to blog….

Blogging presents many of us with private-versus-public predicaments. Some bloggers remain anonymous, some don’t.

Over the last few weeks, I have become more aware of how blogging can be quite risky because, whether you are anonymous or not, if you write something from your heart and someone doesn’t agree, it’s free for all.

Often family or friends may try to admonish you, shut you up, give you advice, even make fun of you. These kinds of responses usually come from people who either don’t understand blogging, or just don’t understand you.

Today I was upset to find that one of my blog friends is feeling compelled to shut her blog down due to family pressure. Her blog’s raw honesty has helped so many of us to understand what grief looks like and I, for one, am not afraid of grief any more.

Self-censorship is every writer’s/blogger’s burden but censorship from others is an affront. If someone tells you to shut up, yell louder!

Mmmm … to blog or not to blog.

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Changeling!

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Yesterday afternoon I made a sudden decision to put Gutsy9 outside for the night, so Ming and I took him out to the chookpen, where he has been spending most of the afternoons lately, and put him in the big cage with food and water.

At dusk I snuck out to see how he was coping and sat at a distance, so he couldn’t see me. He was trotting back and forth in the cage and making his little howling sound, but he was also eating and drinking.

Eventually, when I could see that he would cope, I went into the pen, sat on the ground next to his cage and poked my finger through to stroke his head and he made a little trilling sound – happy. And even when I left him, he didn’t howl. But I came back into the house a bit teary.

Well, he was absolutely fine this morning! As soon as I let him out, he galloped after me into the house, straight to my office, flew up onto my lap and went straight to sleep while I did some writing.

He’s outside again tonight, but he isn’t howling – phew! He is becoming a peacock finally and the adult peas have almost stopped pecking him.

Don’t look back, my little changeling.

(Note: the pic. is nearly 4 months ago – G9 is a big boy now!)

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“Playing” dead (don’t worry – he’s fine!)

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Gutsy9 (baby peacock for those who don’t know) likes playing dead and I keep getting a fright! Of course he is not really playing dead, he is just playing.

When Anthony was still living at home, he used to do this (not intentionally of course), and I would find him slumped in his chair, apparently asleep but looking as if he were dead. Sometimes I couldn’t wake him up but he would still be breathing. This happened at least once a day over the year preceding his admission to the nursing lodge. Since then, I have had to get the ambulance three times when this has happened on a home visit.

The cause? Advanced Parkinson’s disease. The cure? None.

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Dementia is confusing

Anthony’s encroaching dementia confuses both of us and sometimes I am more confused than he is. That’s why I am so glad we have such an honest way of talking with each other.

When Ants was home yesterday, and I mentioned that he had dementia and he winked at me, I was surprised for two reasons. Firstly, his Parkinsons disease prevents him from blinking, let alone winking, so that wink was weirdly wonderful. Secondly, when he and I talked about the dementia of his PD, and I laughed about the taxi mishap, Ants was fine – not distressed and quite okay with the fact that he has dementia now.

I’m confused.

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Anthony’s acceptance

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One of the most difficult things about Anthony moving into the nursing lodge has been accepting this dramatic change.

Ming (now 19) was the first to accept this change willingly, whereas it took me nearly a year and mine was an unwilling acceptance laced with grief and guilt.

Anthony’s own acceptance has taken longer but yesterday it just happened and I am so relieved. This is how:

I booked the wheelchair taxi to pick Ants up from the nursing lodge at 2pm, then I rang his nephew who lives around the corner, and left a message that Ants would be home for a few hours.

Then, at 2.30pm, the nephew rang to say Ants was at their place! Apparently Anthony had convinced the taxi driver that our address was wrong and directed him to go to the nephew’s!

By the time the rather flustered taxi driver arrived here (around 2.45pm) I was in such fits of laughter that I could hardly speak as he got Ants out of the taxi. I hugged Ants, still spluttering with hilarity, so much so that Ming took over wheeling Ants to the front veranda while I paid the taxi driver who was now laughing too.

Okay, frivolity aside, the bemused taxi driver left, Ming went to milk the cows and Ants and I shared a beer and some snacks I had painstakingly prepared (chips). Here is our conversation:

Ants: It’s good to be home.
Me: So why did you go to the nephew’s?
Ants: I got mixed up.
Me: Yeah, you have a bit of dementia now.
Ants: I thought so. Am I staying the night?
Me: No!
Ants: Why?
Me: Because, Ants, you are too sick, I can’t lift you, and you need nursing care. How many times do we have to have this discussion? You have to accept it Ants – please!
Ants: You’re right.
Me: What?
Ants: You’re right.
Me: Okay, so the wheelchair taxi is coming to take you back in a few hours. Are you okay with that?
Ants: Yes, Jules (winking).

We then shared another beer, laughed again about the taxi mishap (well, I laughed and Ants looked at me as if I were crazy), then he began to droop badly and agreed to get the taxi earlier.

Acceptance.

PS. I’m off on my bike to tackle the road now!

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I remember

I remember when you first winked at me
across the dining room table,
when your mother said I had overcooked the poached eggs.

You were 40 and I was a teenager
so the wink was just a wink of humour,
harmless and not flirtatious in the least

But that wink burrowed itself into my psyche,
made me ache for another wink….

If I hadn’t boiled the grapefruit marmalade all over the Aga,
a second wink might have happened sooner.
Oh well.

I remember when you first hugged me.
It was a week after my father died suddenly and I will never forget
the hesitation of that first hug,
your delight and nervousness,
your big, muscled arms,
my tears on your shoulder.

I remember the evening when you first understood me
as we bantered philosophical conundrums across the kitchen table
while your mother snored gently in the next room.

You don’t remember much of this, your eyes have forgotten how to wink, I banter as you snooze, and your arms no longer have the strength to hug me.

The time may come when you don’t remember who I am,
but I will never forget who you are,
my rock,
my light,
my reason,
my love,
my laughter.

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Difficult decision

Before I even took Gutsy9 to the vet today, I did a bit of research and discovered that his feet are slightly splayed, especially one, mostly due to being brought up inside rather than outside. The injury to his toe is insignificant in comparison to the structural damage caused by him mostly walking on a floor instead of grass and dirt.

The vet gave me some calcium mix for Gutsy9 (which of course he won’t eat!) but she and her consultant seemed to think his legs might never be normal. The photo I posted of Gutsy9 on the table was taken a few weeks ago. Since then, all of his toes have gradually become crooked and one leg goes backwards instead of forwards. It is possible, that he was born with a defect but I don’t know.

What I do know, however, is that he is unlikely to ever be able to survive outside. I took him out for 3 hours this afternoon and, if I hadn’t been watching, he would have been pecked to death by the adult peas and the gang, he would have drowned in the pond, or he would have been taken by a crow.

He is sitting on my lap now, nearly asleep, but cheeping more than usual. His legs don’t seem strong enough to hold his growing body and I am worried that he might be in pain.

Ming and I will decide tomorrow. I think we will have to put Gutsy9 down.

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