jmgoyder

wings and things

Contentment

I think that contentment is underrated. Anthony has always had it, and Ming has it too, whereas I have always struggled.

Lately, Anthony makes me feel the most wonderful calm; he is so accepting of what is (a huge lesson to me). Ming drops in between restaurant shifts and we all have a bit of a laugh at whatever show is on TV.

Today, after Ming left, this was my conversation with Anthony:

Me: We are all so lucky in our relationship with each other, Ants!

Anthony: Yes, we don’t seem to be losing any hours.

When I think about his words, I feel content.

 

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If the shoe doesn’t fit

When we first entered the nursing home world, Anthony had a pair of lovely R@M Williams boots, which he loved wearing, and some ugg boots for the winter. The former boots were almost impossible to get on and the ugg boots were impractical in the summer. So I was asked to get him some velcro slippers – the kind that can be undone at the front and back for easy fitting. So far he has now gone through three pairs of these and last week I found the final pair in a bag labelled “Unsafe”.

After talking to a couple of the occupational therapy staff, it was suggested that I get him running shoes that have more support in the heel area. This is because Anthony’s feet, especially his heels, were slipping inside the slippers and this was making it difficult for staff to get him up to transfer to the shower or to walk etc. His feet won’t do what he wants them to do and one of them in particular just keeps kind of folding in on itself.

So, after several days of looking for suitable shoes and bringing two pairs in (neither of which were suitable) I have decided that I will have to fork out the $189 for the homipeds. In the meantime he is in his ugg boots.

One of the carers and I tried to get my recent shoe purchase onto Anthony’s feet today and it was absolutely impossible, so tomorrow I will go and get those homipeds and hope for the best.

Me: Ants, I have some different shoes and they’re two sizes too big so I should be able to get them on.

ONE MINUTE LATER

Me: Just push your foot in!

TWO MINUTES LATER

ME: You’re not even trying, Ants!

Anthony: Yes I am.

Me: Argh – this is ridiculous. Here’s the shoe and here’s your foot and it’s a perfect match. OMG I am sweating! Okay, let’s try the other foot.

THREE MINUTES LATER

Anthony: You should have a bit of a rest, Jules.

Me: These shoes are definitely NOT going to work because if the nurses have to spend this long getting the stupid things on your stupid feet we’ll be blacklisted for shoe negligence.

Anthony: But my hands are okay, so don’t worry.

It is things like this that sometimes get me down.

 

 

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Age

Anthony has always had a wicked sense of humour so the other day, when I asked him if he knew how old he was, I thought he was joking at first.

Me: How old do you think you are?

Anthony: 16.

Me: Are you serious or having a laugh?

Anthony: Serious. We just came to the farm.

Me: I thought you were 23 when you came to the farm.

Anthony: No, I was 16.

Me: So how old am I?

Anthony: 52?

Me: So how can I be 52 if you are only 16?

Anthony: I’m young.

Me: Sorry to have to break this to you, Ants, but you are actually 80.

LONG PAUSE

Anthony: What rubbish!

Me: No, you really are 80, Ants!

LONGER PAUSE

Me: Have I upset you?

Anthony: A bit.

Me: Oh, Ants, I’m sorry but you really truly are 80.

Anthony: I think you mean 60?

Me: Well you only look 60. You don’t have any wrinkles.

Anthony: I’m not like those old men in the ballroom.

Me: Not at all.

Anthony: I’ve never felt so fit! Look [patting his flat tummy].

Me: That’s why I’m so proud to be your wife.

Anthony: Well so you should be.

 

 

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Love and laughter

I think if I had to choose between love and laughter in a relationship, I would choose laughter. Obviously, having both is ideal but love can be so heavy sometimes, whereas laughter is light.

Today, Anthony was in great form and when I arrived he was participating in a game of coits during “gentle gym”. I joined the game by his side and Kaye (pseudonym), one of the OTs, was running things and she is such a fun-loving compassionate person, she made Anthony feel good about himself despite his bad score! Many of the residents were, like Ants, wheelchair-bound, and couldn’t really throw the coits but it was still fun and there were a lot of laughs. I think I will make a point of going to these sessions regularly because it was obvious that Ants was thrilled I was there.

Later, in his room, once he was settled back into his armchair, we had the following conversation (he has been extremely vocal lately – just when I was getting used to his silence).

Ants: I haven’t seen you for awhile.
Me: What a lot of rubbish! I saw you the day before yesterday!
Ants: No, it was the day before the day before yesterday [accurate!]
Me: So are we heading for an argument?
Ants: No, but sometimes I think you have run off with another man.
Me: How ridiculous! Why would I do that when I adore you so much?
Ants: I’m not sure you do anymore.
Me: Okay now listen to me, you idiot. It’s not all about you. Sometimes I need a break and sometimes I need to do other stuff.
Ants: Like what?
Me: Laundry, housework, cooking, Ming.
Ants: So where will you be tonight?
Me: At home of course.
Ants: Where is that?
Me: Bythorne [the name of our farm]
Ants: Bythorne? [looking very surprised]
Me: Yes, silly!

The conversation meandered over the few hours I was there, but here is another excerpt in response to a cooking show on television:

Me: Look at that roast duck!
Ants: Beautiful.
Me: That guy has cooked it slowly for over three hours.
Ants: Too long.
Me: Yeah, but it looks perfect, Ants!
Ants: You have a point. When are you going to cook it?
Me: Actually, that’s a great idea but I need to get the Aga going first.
Ants: I lit it the other day but we need more kerosene.
Me: I am ordering some next week.
Ants: Isn’t the grass green [looking at the wall]
Me: Yes, it’s wonderful.
Ants: Do you want me to light the fireplace? [trying to get up – impossible]
Me: No, Ming’s already done it.
Ants: He’s a good son isn’t he.
Me: He’s a great son.

And, as I was leaving:

Me: I have to go now to get some groceries.
Ants: But every time I let you go, you don’t come back until the next day.
Me: But I do come back! I love you so much, Ants.
Ants: I don’t love you as much now.
Me: What? Why? How dare you! [tickling him]
Ants: Because you keep leaving me and I don’t know where Mum is.
Me: Argh! Ants, we are in a nursing home and you are in good hands. You have Parkinson’s disease and I have to go and get some groceries! Get with it! I’ll see you tomorrow.

Okay, so all of the above was love-driven but it was the hilarious laughter and smiles we both shared that made these poignant and bittersweet conversations absolutely wonderful. It was one of the best days Ants and I have had for ages.

The love hurts, but the laughter heals.

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Bump on the head!

A few days ago, I bumped my head rather dramatically. I’d stooped to pick up some clothes from the bathroom floor and stood up suddenly, forgetting to avoid the corner of the towel cupboard which is positioned above the sink. SMASH!

The lump on my head was massive to begin with, literally the size of a goose egg, but it has now shrunk to the size of a golf ball. When I had my hair cut the other day, my hairdresser was extremely impressed. She showed me the lump in a mirror and  described the bruising around the lump in rather gruesome detail. Obviously, she had to be really careful attending to my hair.

Yesterday I must have been having one of those attention-seeking days because I kept getting the nursing staff to feel my lump. I did the same thing this morning and got the same ‘ooh-ahh!’ response from various staff which was, of course, very satisfying.

The only two people who were unfazed (and remarkably unsympathetic) were Ants and Ming.

Ming: Get over it, Mum; it’s just a bump on the head!

Anthony: You need to be careful, Jules, you’re not a spring chicken anymore.

Anyway, since bumping my head, I have been really slack with both the writing and the reading of blog posts. I have also become  quite slack with cooking, cleaning, gardening, anythinging, but have also become adept at sleeping and watching netflix. Having armed myself with a fitbit a couple of weeks ago (between the asthma and the head bumping) it has been a bit discouraging to find that I have only walked about eight kilometres in as many days.

Once the lump from the bump subsides, I hope to become a more active blogger again but, in the meantime, I have a bit of a headache.

 

 

 

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Common sense!

A few weeks ago Ming and I were having one of our on-the-front-veranda- philosophical discussions. I think it was nearly dusk but the sunset was around the corner of the house so I could only see it at an angle. This kind of experience reminds me of when my mother used to take us outside at dusk to look at the stars when my brothers and I were little.

I don’t look up enough into the sky’s various renditions; instead, I watch the loop of my internet feed, the news, blogs, my own constantly-halting story about Anthony’s Parkinson’s disease. Sometimes I feel inept, indolent; sometimes I feel an almost volcanic eruption joy after just sitting with Anthony for hours, holding his hand, stroking his head – just being with him.

Anyway, during the philosophical discussion mentioned above, I cry-laughed the story of how hurt I was by various situations and people over the last few months. “But do any of these things/people matter to you anymore, Mum?” Ming asked.

And all of a sudden, I realised that I was unnecessarily worrying about stuff/people/situations that, despite being an intractable part of the past, simply didn’t matter to me anymore. It was a revelation!

As Ming’s wisdom permeated my rather dusty psyche, I felt an enormous sense of relief and gratitude for the things/people and situations that DO matter to me.

Okay this is my last sentimental post about Ming for the time being, but he really is the most amazing person. Today this was our conversation:

Me: You are the best person I have ever met, Ming.

Ming: You didn’t meet me, Mum, you created me!

It’s nearing dusk and I am going outside to look at the sky.

 

 

 

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Asthma 2

Okay so  six days ago I found the prednisolone  tablets I had last taken in 2013. Back then, I wrote some notes about how to combat an asthma attack with what is sometimes called a “steroid burst.” My instructions to myself were to take 100 mgs per day for five days then stop so that my body’s immunity could kick in. It is now day 6 and I know that in a couple of days I will be okay again; in fact I already feel okay – phew!

My instructions to myself also included things about not panicking, not re-living my childhood asthma, not worrying my friends and family unduly, not giving into fear and, importantly, getting fit and healthy again.

When Ming said to me the other day, “when will we not be sad, Mum?” I didn’t have an answer. I scrambled in my mind for an answer but couldn’t find one. I suddenly realised how my sorrow and grief about Anthony’s slow demise was affecting Ming. And I stopped breathing normally; hence the asthma?

This 22-year-old son of ours is the reason I am once again breathing normally; the asthma is gone; we have talked things through. I no longer need the prednisolone ….

I just need Ming.

 

 

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Asthma

As a child, growing up in Sydney, Australia, and then Toronto, Canada, I was a chronic asthmatic. I remember my mother holding my toe through an oxygen tent, my dad rushing me to hospital from a camping trip, and our first day in Papua New Guinnea – a terrible asthma attack.

And then it stopped, just like that, for decades! Of course I always had an inhaler on hand just in case but the asthma pretty much left me alone until a few years ago. It was about a year before Anthony went into the nursing home. I was working at the university and up and down every night attending to Ants, and trying very hard to maintain a happy household for little Ming.

The ‘whoosh’ of an asthma attack is terrifying but, when it happened a few years ago, I didn’t recognise it because it had been so long since I’d experienced it. It was only when I saw my own blue face in the mirror of the hospital bathroom that I realised something had to change. So I gave up my job.

Now – today – this week I am having an asthma attack. I found the prednisolone from 2013 and am dosing myself wisely. It is day 4 and I am not scared because by day 5 it will hopefully pass. In the meantime my amazing mother is giving Ants his lunch.

Whenever I am sick like this I feel so much empathy for my friends who suffer chronic, ongoing diseases. I don’t cope well with my own suffering; I am pathetic! But I do care.

I can breathe.

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Once upon a time 7

He took me out for dinner. This had never happened to me before – this ‘out for dinner’ thing. It was at a place called Eagle Towers (which was, a decade-or-so later, the venue we chose for our small wedding reception).

I don’t quite remember which ‘goodbye’ this was but I think it must have been the first because I was so shy and ecstatic that this gorgeous man was taking me on a ‘date’! I was about to go somewhere; I think it was Sydney, but it might have been up north, or Europe.

We had a beautiful meal and he ordered a half bottle of champagne. I was shy, overjoyed, transparently in love; he was funny, loving, respectful of my youth, encouraging of my adolescent ambitions.

I wanted him to ask me to stay. I wanted him to say “please don’t go, Jules” and maybe he would have said this if it hadn’t been for the fact that he didn’t have enough money to pay for our dinner.

It was $42 and he only had $41 (I remember this so vividly!)

He drove me back to my parents’ house, walked me to the back door, hugged me fiercely and said, “Why do you have to go, Jules?”

 

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Food, glorious food

One of the things I often say to Anthony, when I am leaving him to come home, is that I am going grocery shopping. As he was, and still is, a great lover of food, our grocery conversations often flow like this:

Me: I need to go to the butcher shop before they close. Do you want me to get some steak?

Anthony: Yes but not, not ….

Me: Not T-Bone?

Anthony: Fillet.

Me: But I love T-Bone! Why do you always insist on fillet?

Anthony: Better value.

Way back when Ants was home and still fit, his method of cooking steak on the barbecue was absolutely brilliant. He had it down to a fine art and wouldn’t let anyone help. The steak was always absolutely mouthwateringly delicious (as were my accompanying salads of course!) Apart from our many merry guests over the years, the only additional accoutrement was hot English mustard; wine and beer were a given.

Oh how I miss those days!

Anthony’s dementia means he is spared from the kind of nostalgia I feel because ‘those days’ are still here somehow and this afternoon he happily sent me off to the butcher’s for tonight’s steak.

He doesn’t know that, while one of the wonderful carers is feeding him his dinner right now, I am home, steak-less but smiling with these very happy food memories….

And eating yesterday’s popcorn!

 

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