jmgoyder

wings and things

And on a lighter note!

Last week Ming got his driver’s licence back. He had to do a written and a practical driving test and the very next day we went up to Perth to collect the little second-hand Toyota Yaris (he has christened it “Fran”) that he had arranged to buy with his savings. Obviously our insurance claim on his ute/truck didn’t pay, but even if it had, Ming never wants another ute again so someone bought it for parts and towed it away earlier in the month. The sight of it out in the back yard, for all of these past months, is not something I will miss although it still has a kind of ghostly presence there, slowly fading.

Ming felt there was one last thing he had to do (to move on, I guess) and that was to go back to the site of the accident and remove his P-plate from the tree he’d crashed into. After the accident it had been stuck up high on the tree and we were never sure if the police or insurance people did this to mark the spot for further investigation, or if it was just someone being nasty. In any case, yesterday, Ming took our old ute and a ladder up there and removed the P-plate. He also found bits of debris from the crash so he removed those too and brought them home to be taken to the dump.

Having regained his independence, the angry Ming of the last few months seems to have disappeared and the angelic Ming has returned – haha! In a way I guess we have now come full circle in the sense that he was a newly licenced driver when the accident occurred and now he is again a newly licenced driver but with an older head on his shoulders. So that is that. Or is it?

Naively, I had thought that once Ming got a car and his independence back, there would somehow be a feeling of closure (for me, I mean), but I relapsed last week into some of the feelings described in the last two posts. The closest I can get to describing this is to liken it to waking up just before a nightmare has come to its conclusion, so you never get to “The End”, and you don’t get that phew of relief that it was only a nightmare. Perhaps the notion of closure is a myth we have invented in order to make things neat and tidy again after a traumatic experience. Perhaps it is living with and beyond the absence of closure that makes people stronger, wiser, even kinder. I don’t know.

What I do know, however, is that I have never seen anything as funny as big, tall Ming folding himself into little, tiny “Fran”!

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From listless to listful

Over the last few weeks I have discovered something wonderful about lists. You know, the kinds of lists that read like this:

Monday:
– pay bills
– ride bike
– groceries (don’t forget toilet paper!)
– change bedsheets and do the washing
– vacuum house
– write 1,000 words of new book
– ring plumber
– buy new hoses to replace leaky ones
– see Anthony
– cook a healthy meal
– catch up with other people’s blogs
– wash car
– plan next week with Ming
– ring Mother to arrange lunch
– start new filing system
– get prescriptions from chemist
– book lawnmowing people
– do tax
– return library books
– start taking photos again
– start praying again
– make soup
– make a cake for Anthony and Ming
– go to bed earlier and get up earlier
– do a cull of clothes
– sort out rubbish to take to the dump
– do tomorrow’s list

Okay so, despite the fact that none of the above tasks is, in itself, onerous, it was this kind of list, that rendered me listless. (Interestingly, the word ‘list’ derives from the Middle English word, ‘pleasure’). I would only ever be able to accomplish a few of my listed tasks, I would then feel like a failure….

Eventually, I realized that this kind of list-making was making me extremely unhappy, so much so that I could hardly face each and every day. I resented each and every task I didn’t get done and each and every goal that went by the wayside.

Nevertheless, every night I would make another list for the following day. Energized by a pre-midnight spark of incentive, I would make more do-able lists. But with no job to go to, with no Anthony at home to care for, and with Ming out of school, there was rarely anything on my lists that couldn’t wait, so it felt as if I were continually failing myself.

As a result, the familiar depression curled itself into a small bundle of rock-hard heartburn that only left me alone when I was asleep. So I slept away many days in June until, on the 29th, I woke up with a new idea; I would write my daily lists differently; I would write them backwards instead of forwards; I would write what I had done every day instead of what I should do.

Monday:
– paid all of the bills
– communed with dogs
– did all folding and put a load of washing on
– cleaned kitchen meticulously
– made a cake!
– saw Anthony from 1 – 4.30
– bought a bunch of coriander for the first time in my life
– made a curry from scratch
– washed hair
– communed with birds
– watched a show with Ming
– began reading a library book

To have done even some of the things I had listed as to-do for weeks (but not done), catapulted me out of my fug and into a fantastically different way of seeing each day. Now, with my listful notebook always handy, I list every single little thing I do on every single day – everything from washing my hair to planting strawberries; everything from poaching eggs to making friends with a new resident at the nursing home; everything from catching up with long-lost relatives to picking camellias for Anthony’s room.

This new listful method has also evolved into a better daily routine whereby I am in the nursing home every afternoon, seeing Anthony, doing the volunteering, seeing Anthony again and usually getting home by 6pm.

It is so wonderful to NOT be listless!

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Volunteering 2

Ev, the Events Coordinator at Anthony’s nursing home, doesn’t work on the weekends usually, so I asked her if I could do some of my volunteer work in the Dementia wing and she said yes! She told me that they have activities between 3 and 6pm and I could join in any time, so today I had my first taste of what this would be like. I knocked on the main door (it’s a locked section) and I got a nice surprise when the staff member who opened the door was Jill, who I already know because she brings three women residents for a walk around the nursing home every day at about 3pm and they pass by Anthony’s room where we all exchange waves and hellos. Once I explained I was now a volunteer, she was delighted and asked me to come for the walk. I was thrilled.

Jill always holds 91-year-old Wilma’s hand as they walk; Beryl (80s) usually walks by herself; and Meg (80s) holds her daughter, Cheryl’s hand. All three women residents are extremely mobile, cheerful and vocal (including singing as they walk) and all three also have dementia. Towards the end of the walk, Beryl put her left hand lightly around my right elbow and I felt a pang of joy as she asked me again what my name was. Back in the dementia wing, we all sat outside in a lovely patio and Jill organised some memory games. At 4pm, my hour was up so I excused myself and thanked the staff and residents for having me. Beryl squeezed my hand and said goodbye.

On the way back to Anthony’s section of the nursing home, I felt a sense of happy nostalgia for the years I worked in nursing homes, the years I wrote about dementia in my PhD and a subsequent book. I also felt a bit of melancholy nostalgia for the years of writing during which Anthony would help me fine-tune my argument which was about the importance of listening to, and conversing with, people with dementia, regardless of how the conversation might meander between memory, fantasy, lucidity, sense and nonsense.

It was amazing today to see staff and residents so compatible and cheerful but what really got to me was the mutual respect shown. I worked in several nursing homes in the late 1980s to 1990s and I never once saw what I saw today: staff and residents having fun together in a prolonged way!

Rushing into Anthony’s room so I could tell him all about it, I found him still asleep in his chair the way I’d left him an hour previous. I sat down in the chair I always position next to his and put a favourite DVD of ours into the player I only bought a few days ago The IT Crowd. Ants kept sleeping while I watched a few episodes but, every time I guffawed, he would open his eyes and smile, then tell me to turn the hoses off.

[To blog-friends, I’ve decided to post on weekends and do comments and read blogs during week now. I feel a bit out of touch!]

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Volunteering 1

It has taken several weeks to sort out the red tape of me volunteering at Anthony’s nursing home. Okay, let me explain: I will now get paid a small allowance if I do 15 hours of volunteer work per week at a not-for-profit organization.

As it happens, Anthony’s nursing home is not-for-profit so last week the Events Coordinator, Ev, showed me the ropes and suggested things like playing cards with Nat, an 83-year-old woman with Parkinson’s Disease and numerous other afflictions, who is in a wheelchair. Then Ev said, “You can always bring Anthony to sit and watch.” My heart did a somersault.

Well, since I already know Nat, it wasn’t exactly difficult to break the ice on Monday, but I was still nervous. I got to the nursing home before noon and helped Ants with his lunch and explained the volunteer thing then I left my bag and scarf in his room, so he would know I was coming back. Then I went to find Ev who wheeled Nat up to the dining room so we could sit at a table for the most complicated card game I have ever played! [more about that tomorrow]

Nat: At a loose end are you, love?
Me: No! I’ve become a volunteer here and you are my first victim, Nat.

Nat cracked up laughing. She is quite famous for her huge, loud, beautiful laugh. Then she said, “Go and get Anthony.”

So I did.

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My second home

Anthony

In my last post, I wrote a bit about how, instead of taking Anthony out for drives or bringing him home for the day, I have begun to make myself home in his room in the nursing home. For those who don’t know, Ants has advanced Parkinson’s disease with encroaching dementia, advanced prostate cancer and several other conditions. He is 78 and has been in the nursing home for nearly two and a half years. I have already blogged about the heartbreak of that mutual decision, and written about the ongoing ups and downs since then.

Several weeks ago, I realized that I had to stop getting Anthony up and out, and back home, and visiting friends and relatives, and going to restaurants etc. because I could no longer lift him in and out of the car, wheelchair etc. Well I could actually, but the physical strain and emotional stress of all of this maneuvering was taxing for both of us, and Ming too of course.

You see, all of the above jobs were infused with a panicky anxiety. Will the pills work today? What if I can’t get Ants to the toilet in time? Will he try to walk around the farm/restaurant and fall again? What if I have to get the ambulance out to the farm? Will he be too cold and insist that every heater is on? Will Ming cope? Will I cope? Will Anthony cope with going back to the nursing home after being out and about? Will there be more tears than we have already cried?

So, almost as an experiment I guess, I began to spend more time in the nursing home, something I couldn’t have done even a year ago – too boring, too sad, too scary, too confined, too uncertain – I hated it. But gradually, over many weeks now, this has become the norm and the fact that I am spending several hours a day with Ants in the nursing home means that he is no longer so desperate to come home and often, by late afternoon, he thinks he is home.

I keep long-lasting stuff, wine and snacks in one of Anthony’s cupboards, bring a favourite food every day (blue cheese, chocolate, olives etc.) and sometimes it’s a little bit like a party. If the heater isn’t on, I turn it on, put a blanket on Anthony’s legs and do up his jacket up (he is always cold). Then I turn the television on to whatever our program is for the day (Master Chef, Midsomer Murders, Neighours). During the commercial breaks, I mute the TV so we can talk but lately Ants is having a bit of trouble with speech so I have to help a bit. Yesterday he couldn’t get the sentence he wanted to say out so I told him I could read his mind and not to worry. And I can read his mind.

But then his words came out:

ANTS: You make me nervous, Jules.
ME: Why?
ANTS: I’ve fallen in love with you again.
ME: Hell, Ants, we’ve already done that!

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‘At home’

It is several weeks now since I began the routine of making myself at home in Anthony’s room at the nursing home. Sometimes I am there from noon to 5pm, but mostly from 2-5pm. The fact that I am always there at sundown has been a plus, and sometimes Ants thinks he is at home. My mother visits him at least once a week and told me that I had made a little ‘Bythorne’ there (that’s the name of our farm). I now write everything Anthony says to me in a notebook because I am fascinated at how someone with encroaching dementia can to-and-fro from past to present, from memory to imagination, from anxiety to exhilaration. But his grief when I leave to go home can be very upsetting because I have to explain that I am going back to Bythorne and he has to stay in the nursing home. Anthony doesn’t always understand this and thinks I am abandoning him so it is always a difficult ‘goodbye’ but I think I have figured out how to make it easier with a bit of banter – not sure yet.

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Smiling

This afternoon Anthony was, as is usual now, in his armchair in his room at the nursing home and a bit confused. I put the heater on, zipped up his jacket, put a rug from home on him and changed the TV station to “Neighbours”. Anthony’s hands were cold, so I took the heat bag my friend Jen made and microwaved it for 4 minutes in the kitchen (staff let me come and go from kitchen area now), took it back and put it on his lap, placed his hands on it and put the rug on top.

Anthony was really drowsy – has been all week – but at one point I was able to rouse him (by punching him gently in the shoulder). His eyes were blank until they met mine and I said, “Ants, I love you more than anyone in the world.” Suddenly my eyes filled up with tears.

There wasn’t much response so I tried again, more shoutingly, “Anthony, I just told you that I love you more than anyone in the world, and my eyes filled with tears, and you ignored me!”

Anthony looked into my wet eyes, and his drooping mouth (caused by Parkinson’s disease) curved upwards into a smile. I realize that doesn’t sound like much but to get a smile from this previously jovial person who is now so disabled, is a small miracle. The only thing that annoys me about this smiling scenario is that I have to work very hard to get a smile out of Anthony whereas Ming just has to walk into his room and shake his hand and – BINGO – Anthony smiles – grr!

I’m so grateful for the decades of smiling we did before smiling became an effort for Anthony – not because of sadness but because of how PD affects the muscles of the face. So nowadays I come into his room with a huge smile every single day.

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Ming was successful in his audition!

For those who don’t know, Ming has been doing ‘extra’ work over the last couple of weeks but last week he had to properly audition for a more serious role and he got the part! It’s only for a trailer for a film/TV series pitch so it is very early days but of course I am already seeing his name in lights haha! He is the main supporting role in what looks like a political drama comedy and he will play the part of a rather arrogant young up-and-coming politician.

As the rehearsals and filming will take part in Perth (2 hours away), he will be staying with friends and family as he has done for the last couple of weeks. I told him to increase the list of possibilities so that people wouldn’t get sick of him, but he just said, “Mum, who could ever get sick of me?” I decided not to answer that question.

So exciting!

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Ten years ago!

I just found this email draft in my files. I wrote it to Anthony’s doctor and specialist at the time, but I never sent it because I was too shy to be this upfront and personal and, also, neither of them were emailable back then. It gave me a bit of a shock to read my perspective of what was happening to Anthony in 2004, from my new perspective in 2014, mainly because I had lost track of how long Parkinson’s Disease has been part of our lives:

Feb. 2004

[Notes for Drs re Anthony Goyder’s Parkinson’s]

Hello Mike and Robert,

I want to document Anthony’s “condition” before I get so used to it I think it’s normal, whatever the hell normal is. So I am writing to you without Anthony’s knowledge because, from past experience, I have learned that to say this sort of thing in front of him only makes things worse. So this is confidential between you and me. I would hate for him to know that I am this worried and this pissed off.

He presents fairly well to you guys (bravado and all that), then, when we get home and he is back to ‘normal’, he just slumps again. I am struggling with the dilemma of whether to push him to make more of an effort, or to just let him be – ie. I am not sure anymore whether his lassitude, lethargy, lack-lustreness etc. are symptomatic of the Parkinson’s in a physical sense, or if this is a psychological thing – or if this is a side effect of the sinemet.

THINGS I AM NOTICING ABOUT ANTHONY SINCE PARKINSON’S DIAGNOSIS

He has an increased stoop, so much so that he seems to fill more space than he did before and, from behind, he is so bent over that it looks as if he is headless;
His movements are slower – terribly slow; his ability to grasp, pour, reach for, use cutlery, walk etc. – all of these are drastically reduced.
He is exhausted most of the time. He does chores like emptying rubbish into incinerator and long hours of watering garden (switching hoses etc.) but has to sit down often in between all of this. Sometimes he stands for minutes on end outside, looking at the ground. I don’t know what he is thinking.
He seems badly depressed but I’m not sure about this because we still do have a few laughs and great conversations. The main reason I think he might be depressed to the point of needing medication is that he has no energy or incentive or excitement about anything and will not come to watch Ming (our 10 year old) play basketball etc. In fact, Anthony will not go anywhere anymore except extremely reluctantly.
He often doesn’t shave, even if visitors are coming. He wears raggy clothes and he can’t pull his shirts down or his shorts up and doesn’t seem to care. He lies down a lot. He appears morose a lot – I do realise this lack of facial expression is yet another symptom, but sometimes it seems like real moroseness.
He can’t keep up verbally or cognitively with what is going on when Ming and I are having a conversation and he often misses the point of something that is said. This is not terribly noticeable except to Ming and to me. Anthony kind of goes a bit blank or preoccupied and I sometimes have to “translate” what Ming says to him.
Sometimes I may be doing something really mundane like cutting up vegemite sandwiches and he says something bizarre like, “What’s that? Is it meat?” when I’ve only just told him what I’m doing. I do realise this could be an eyesight thing and he refuses to wear glasses, so maybe I’m overreacting – ha.
He has become extremely self-conscious about his appearance (old, bent over etc. – his words, not mine) and avoids all social events.
He will not/cannot drive anymore, except to take Ming to school and pick him up on the days I am at work. The weird and worrying thing about this for me is that he was always car crazy and loved driving but he doesn’t seem to care that he’s lost this. If this is acceptance, fine, but it seems to me that this is a kind of resignation thing. I am not criticizing him – I am worried.
He is ultra dependent on me – my company, my presence. Whenever I go out (except when I go to work), I feel guilty about leaving him.
The drooling thing has nearly stopped, but is still there occasionally. I have always pretended not to notice, of course.

I confronted Anthony about some of these things during our recent row (not really a row, just me upset and him defeated) and his attitude was a silence of sorts – an inability to voice what he must be suffering. Ok, fine, and – yes – I do have empathy and 99% of the time I’m fine with this whole situation. But….

Anthony is worse, in most of the above ways, than when he was diagnosed. To me, this indicates that the sinemet is not quite keeping up with the progression of the disease. He is terribly reluctant to take more pills so it would be great if there were a pill with a higher mg content so he wouldn’t feel as if he were taking heaps. Someone has scared him re the fact that eventually he will become resistant to the drugs.

Once again, I do not want him to know I have said all this to you. It is very important that I seem calm and cool to him and I very much regret being upset and nasty with him the other day. Anthony is not a fighter, once attacked. He is strong, he is resilient, but he seems to crumple in the face of adversity. I do not want him to know any of the bad stuff that may be coming, so please don’t tell him.

Thanks

Julie G

It just feels like yesterday….

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True love

My young friend found this the other day. It was created by her brother Nick when he and Ming were little.

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