jmgoyder

wings and things

Home is where the humour is!

After posting that boring boredom post yesterday, and in thinking about writing more seriously again, I made a couple of simple decisions.

1. Persevere with the idea of writing a book about Parkinson’s Disease (utilising various blogposts over the last few years), with the working title of Anthony’s Smile; and

2. Concentrate on blogging my conversations with Anthony, not just the current ones but the past ones. I have already blogged some of these but I have also made notes over the years so I will have to transcribe these.

The reason I want to write this book (which has almost written itself via my blog) is mostly to demystify the nursing home experience – to make it less frightening for both relatives and prospective residents.

Of course there are other reasons to write this book, i.e. I wish I’d known about the UN-stereotypical symptoms of impending Parkinson’s Disease (inability to blink, blank face, constipation, hallucinations, strange behaviours, weird wordage etc. etc.) before we got Anthony’s diagnosis all those years ago.

So my focus over the next few weeks will be on dialogue – mostly Anthony’s and mine with a bit of Ming thrown in. I think that these dialogues are an important way of recording/remembering all of the words that are so easily forgotten, or dismissed as nonsense.

For example:

Me: Ants, you’re so skinny! (patting his absence of a tummy). Are you doing sit-ups?

Anthony: Yes (looking at me in a sneaky way).

Me: So, when exactly do you do these sit-ups?

Anthony: When they need doing.

He makes me laugh more than he makes me cry, this fantastically funny husband of mine!

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Happy hours

Anthony’s increasing ability to smile again continues to flabbergast me. This afternoon, I arrived at the nursing home and, on entering his room, saw that two of our best friends (a husband, F, and wife, J) were already there. J whispered to me that Anthony’s face always lights up when I come into the room. They are frequent visitors to Anthony, so they often see this but the fact that J said this to me really made my day.

J has a sense of humour that is slicingly clever and she has this ability to get straight to the point with a unique mixture of irony and kindness. When she invited Anthony to the movie she and F were going to see – about euthanasia – Anthony politely declined and I guffawed.

F (an old school friend of Anthony’s) constantly teases him about past girlfriends but this afternoon Anthony managed to eke out a couple of eloquent retorts and the mutual banter was a delight. I poured a couple of small glasses of wine (it’s Sunday!) then F and J left to go and see the euthanasia movie.

It was such a happy hour and I am so grateful for these friends who help to normalise the situation. J told me that when they arrived and asked Anthony where I was he told them I was hanging out the washing! I think this means that perhaps my presence in his room every afternoon (well, mostly) explains my absence in the mornings and nights. It is possible that he thinks I am doing chores, cooking dinner, possibly even gardening!

Now that I am over the whole tragedy-of-husband-going-into-nursing home, and now that Anthony, too, accepts the status quo and often thinks we are at home anyway, our afternoons are happy.

I usually sit on the side of Anthony’s armchair and we watch another episode of whatever television series I’ve acquired; he often sleeps the afternoon away; I sometimes socialise with the staff and other residents; cups of tea + cake are delivered; his pills are dispersed by his favourite nurse, D, who Ants calls his girlfriend.

When I was unwell last week my wonderful mother substituted for me and sat next to Anthony in his room, knitting, until he suddenly said “Are you going yet?” Hilarious.

And Dina, my decluttering friend, visited Ants on a day when she and I were supposed to be having brunch (but I was still bilious). What an incredibly kind person to do this for me!

The funniest of these many happy hours, though, are Ming’s visits to Anthony. Big, loud and assertive, he goes into Anthony’s room and, if Ants is asleep in his chair, Ming doesn’t wake him. But if Anthony is awake, Ming will lie on the bed and they will have a chat. It’s probably quite alarming for staff to come into Anthony’s room and see this great big hairy-legged boy-man-creature lying on Anthony’s bed with no care whatsoever about protocol or the cleanliness of linen.

Sometimes, when Ming’s and my visits to Anthony coincide, there is friction between Ming and me. I’m not quite sure why this is but he seems to relate better to Ants when I’m not there. And vice versa. Nevertheless, Anthony’s pride in Ming is overwhelmingly evident and he often ‘sees’ Ming in the corner of the room (hallucinations).

I’ve begun to appreciate every single hour, especially the happy ones. These hours more than make up for the desolate ones.

[Note to blogger friends: I am a bit preoccupied with above so haven’t been reading – sorry]

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Nonsense!

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Not long after one of Anthony’s nephews had visited us the other day (at the nursing home), during which we all shared a lucid conversation, Ants suddenly said ….

Anthony: I need a dressmaker.

Me: WHAT?

Anthony: A dressmaker. I want to make a dress.

Me: But I don’t wear dresses! I’d rather eat a raw egg than wear a dress! I HATE dresses!

Anthony: Not for you.

Me: So who do you want to make a dress for?

Anthony: For Stuart [this is not the real name of the nephew].

Me: Why the hell would Stuart want a dress?

Anthony: I just want to make him one.

Me: Anthony, are you kidding around or are you really crazy?

Anthony: Just find me a dressmaker, Jules.

Me: Okay, if you say so.

By then I could no longer contain my laughter at the image of Stuart in a dress that Anthony had somehow made for him. I hugged Anthony tight, guffawing, then told him I still loved him even though he was stark, raving mad – and he gave me one of his wonderful smiles.

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This is, by far, the most bizarre conversation I have ever had with Anthony because I couldn’t find a reference point for it. I am wondering today if it could be the outfits worn by the cast of The Good Wife (a series we are watching), but that still wouldn’t explain why Anthony would want to make a dress for his nephew!

One of the things I have decided to stop doing, though, is to try to make sense of nonsense. And I am not being disparaging of Anthony when I say that he often talks nonsense because this is a fact.

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Okay so I tease him a bit when he talks nonsense but that’s all part of the fun really. In fact, I actually find our nonsense conversations absolutely fascinating and much more pleasant than these …..

Anthony: When are you taking me home?

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Me: I can’t. You’re too heavy. Stop asking me to do the impossible.

Anthony: I’m sorry I’m such a disaster.

Me: You’re not a disaster. You have Parkinson’s disease.

Now those no-nonsense conversations are the ones that are heartbreaking.

I prefer nonsense!

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Note: I took a whole lot of photos yesterday to show Anthony today in the hope that he will feel as if he has been home.

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“I’m gonna love you like I’m gonna lose you….”

There are many lines in this song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DC8FsIdVi9Y that echo one of my many recurring dreams about Anthony and me.

When I last posted, I described a dream where Ants had miraculously recovered; now that is definitely a beautiful dream.

A less beautiful, recurring dream is the one about death. In this dream, Anthony is dead and my dream-self is grief-stricken. But then my real-self wakes up from the dream and realises that he is alive after all. Many of the lyrics of the this song really got to me and are as follows:

I found myself dreaming…
Split second and you disappeared…
Wake up in tears with you by my side…
Breath of relief when I realised…
Whenever we’re standing…
No, we’re not promised tomorrow

Ming of course is not at all keen on either listening to, or reading, the lyrics of this song and, now that he has become musically superior to me, he likes to throw me his opinions:

It’s soooo repetitive, Mum!
It’s so cliched – oh, Mum, you can’t possibly like this song!
NO I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR ROMANCE!
Yes, let’s have a chat about love … I like this girl who….
NO I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR HEARTBREAK!
I’m off to my shed now, Mum. Love you!

I think I might just listen to the song one more time before I go to bed because I don’t care what the Ming says, this has become my song for Anthony.

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Photos

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I have now brought almost all of the photos from this house (in frames, albums, and boxes) into Anthony’s room at the nursing home, to sort through. I began to scan some of these about a year ago but then lost the impetus. Well, the impetus is back! It will be so great to scan photos into my computer and get rid of the bulk!

A few photos, taken recently, will take precedence in a possible photo book. Thanks, Ashtyn and Gordon, for letting us hold your beautiful baby boy!

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Home away from home

I wake up every morning, alone in this old, cold, quiet farm house, and smile into the memories of when it was full of warmth, people, noise. I know I should light the Aga, get the fireplace blazing, turn the radio on loud, make scrambled eggs, but Ming has already gone to work and I’m not hungry.

So I get showered and dressed fast, so I can go to the nursing home to be with Anthony for the day. His room has now become my home-away-from-home so much so that I want to be there more than I want to be here.

I like to get there at around 11am but sometimes it’s not until the early afternoon (depending on other various commitments). This daily reunion is fantastic:

Me: DAAAAAAARLING!
Anthony: How do you always know where to find me?
Me: I’m a genius!

Then, after a hug/kiss embrace, I proceed to tidy the room a bit, move his chair so I can put my chair beside his, turn the heater on (it should always be on but sometimes isn’t), put a blanket on his knees, have a chat, help him with lunch or afternoon tea.

Once settled, we watch whatever series I have on hand. House of Cards is our current choice and Ants loves the Britishness of this and I love the plot!

So, in this home-away-from home nursing home room, I put my feet up onto Anthony’s lap and we are together.

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Still Anthony

A couple of years ago I read Lisa Genova’s novel, Still Alice and, over the last couple of days, Anthony and I watched the movie. For those who haven’t seen or read the story, Still Alice is about how a linguistics professor, Alice, is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s disease at the age of 50 and how she and the family cope.

I suppose it was a strange choice of film to watch with a husband who has Parkinson’s disease dementia (and was probably a contributing factor in the grief I felt the other evening). But yesterday, as he and I watched the final scenes, he suddenly became quite engaged in Alice’s deterioration, and asked me what was wrong with her. I keep the dvd controller close so I can pause whatever we are watching whenever Anthony says anything.

Me: She has Alzheimer’s disease.
Anthony: It’s worse now, isn’t it.
Me: Yes.

I had paused the film at a particularly stark close-up of Alice’s confused expression (Julianne Moore is brilliant as the character Alice). Anthony and I both looked at her face for a few moments then I hit the play button again and we watched silently as the movie came to an end.

Unlike Alice, Anthony has not had to experience the creeping horror of knowing he has dementia. He still doesn’t know and I don’t tell him because I don’t want him to be afraid or embarrassed. So, when he asks where his mother is, or how she is (this is a frequent question) I just say that she is fine.

Anthony: Is she at home?
Me: Yes.
Anthony: Is Ming there too?
Me: Yes, and they’re both fine.
Anthony: So when are we going to Golden Valley?
Me: When the weather gets warmer, Ants. It’s too cold today.

Anthony’s mother died over 30 years ago and Golden Valley was his childhood home so the only ‘real’ aspect to these conversations is Ming.

I’ve recovered from my grief episode of the other evening and, since watching Still Alice, realise how lucky we are that Anthony has never had to go through that fear-of-dementia experience because it has just happened, insidiously, slowly, kindly even. He doesn’t know he has dementia; he still recognises all of us; there is still a lot of laughter and Anthony’s one-liners are hilarious.

Anthony: You need to brush your hair.
Me: I just did!
Anthony: Do it again, it’s not right.
Me: I’ll shave your head if you keep hassling me!
Anthony: Feisty!

Still Anthony.

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Grief

Tonight I am in a state of such grief about Anthony that it is as if my eyes are inventing tears over and over again. I know he is cared for, and popular with staff, and I know he has gotten over his terrible fear of the hoist but of course I still worry.

Mostly I can manage the grief, but sometimes I just have to succumb to it by crying and crying and crying until I, once again, reach a point of acceptance, and the anticipation of tomorrow when I will see Anthony again.

Ming and I talked about it tonight – this grief thing – but we were unable to come to an agreement about how to cope. We both love Anthony so much; we both feel guilty to have placed him in the nursing home; but we are also happy that neither of us has the burden of care anymore.

We can just love Anthony now and that’s what I said to Ming tonight. But the grief is potent and present and debilitating.

I just hope that Anthony knows how much I love him, even when he forgets who I am.

Grief has gutted me lately, but it’s not going to win!

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Paperwork phobia

I have a bit of a paperwork phobia.

I don’t go to the post office anymore because it is too scary. Ming usually collects the mail on his way home and brings it to me in my writing room. I politely thank him or else say:

TAKE IT AWAY, TAKE IT AWAY, TAKE IT AWAY – JUST EAT IT!

I don’t quite know why I have this phobia because most of these letters are relatively harmless, even innocuous, and I pay most of the bills online because I don’t have an email phobia (luckily). It would be good to admit that my paperwork phobia was due to my objection to so many trees being cut down to create all of this mail but, even though I agree with myself here, it’s not that. It’s more to do with the envelopes and what might be inside them.

So the letter(s) sit on my desk briefly, threateningly, until I throw carefully place them, unopened, into the box of things-to-do.

Once the box is full, I take it to the nursing home and place it on Anthony’s bed. We hug and I explain it is a ‘paperwork day’ and that I need his moral support. It is only then that I have the courage to open all of the envelopes, file anything important and trash the rest. This usually takes about 10 minutes.

Okay so this is a bit tongue-in-cheek but also very true. I literally can’t seem to do the paperwork unless Anthony is by my side and, once it’s done, I am so happy that I get a bit frolicky and this gets a smile.

I also have a bit of a phone phobia ….

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Anthony’s room

Every day I look forward to going in to the nursing home to be with Anthony. His room has now become home to me; Ming throws his big self onto the bed, my mother knits, friends and relatives visit us here, and staff are welcoming with cups of tea and jokes. I love being in this room.

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