jmgoyder

wings and things

The girl with the bleeding eye

About twice a week, during the night, Husband used to see the girl with the bleeding eye. She was always lying on her back in the single bed adjacent to his, even though that’s where I sleep now. Her left eye spurted blood in a projectile way, up towards the ceiling, then – like a waterfall in slow motion – fell, the droplets somehow evaporating before they reached the white counterpane underneath which she lay silently.

Husband used to say that this particular hallucination didn’t bother him because he knew that the girl with the bleeding eye wasn’t really there.

“What do you do when you see her?”

“I say hello.”

“What does she do?”

“She just smiles and the bleeding stops.”

BTW hallucinations are often a symptom of Parkinson’s disease and/or (paradoxically) the medications used to treat this condition. Husband has developed an heroic ability to dismiss his hallucinations as hallucinations. He’s become clever at telling the difference.

Husband also knew, from when we first got him, that Tina Turner was not a hen, but a rooster!

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Paradoxitis

Paradoxitis: def. Being very happy and very sad at the same time.

A tentative mutual decision was made the other day about how best to manage Husband’s Parkinson’s disease. When Son was little, we all used to sing a variation of the song The two of us. We would press our three noses together and sing, “The three of us, we’ll always be together just the three of us, walking along, singing a song, lalala” at the top of our lungs. Now, for the three of us, this is no longer a physical possiblility as the room Husband is in at the nursing lodge has become available permanently.

When I got home from visiting him yesterday I was overwhelmed by an attack of paradoxitis so I went to get my camera and sat outside for awhile. I was in a bit of a daze and the camera fell off my lap and took a picture all by itself – of the way things are. The world has tilted.

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‘Duuuuuuh’ moments

This morning I took Son to an outdoor concert where he is helping set up for the various bands. He would love to be performing himself, but these are professional bands and Son is still a novice, having only done three gigs so far. I reckon he looks the part though!

When I dropped him off, I asked him if there might be a slight chance he could perform, he said, “Mum, I have already told you a million times – NO! Sometimes you are really slow on the uptake!” He then pointed to his own big head and twirled his fingers to indicate the ‘duuuuuh’ sign. Yes, well….

Then I went to pick Husband up from the nursing lodge, to come home for the day. I stopped at the town’s farmers’ market to buy some cabbages (I usually get around ten at a time) and lettuces. On my way through the checkout, the girl serving me asked, “Where is your restaurant?” which, because of my slow mental reflexes, I thought was rather a strange question until she pointed to the mountain of cabbages.

“Oh,” I said, “no, these are just for my birds.”

“How many chooks do you have?” she asked, interested.

“This is actually for the emus,” I said.

When she laughed her head off, I realized she thought I was joking but, because Husband was waiting in the car, I didn’t bother to clarify.

“About five chooks,” I said.

“Wow, they must eat a lot,” she said, still laughing.

Another ‘duuuh’ moment.

Husband’s reunion with home and the dogs was lovely. I let them inside for awhile. Don’t be fooled by Husband’s lack of expression; that’s just the Parkinson’s disease. Doc is the one on his lap and Jack is our Irish Terrier. Blaze (Doc’s son) tends to cower when he is excited, so he isn’t in the picture because he stayed under one of the chairs (he and Doc have a fractious father/son relationship).

And then, all of a sudden, before the kettle had even boiled, the power went off – and stayed off for a couple of hours. So, no television, no airconditioning (it’s over 30 degrees and humid today), no water, no telephone. I plugged in the old telephone that doesn’t rely on electricity and rang the power emergency line and was put on hold, hold, hold, until I gave up and went back into the sitting room with Husband who suggested we have a beer! Okay, so we did that, had a chat about the future and then I said, “Okay I’m going to ring them again now.”

“Why?” Husband asked.

“Because I’m sick of this!” I said, impatiently. “We need electricity – this is ridiculous, waiting all this time.”

“But it’s fine,” Husband said, a strange look on his face.

“What?” I said. “Wait, I can’t hear you; the television is too loud.”

And, bingo, that’s when I realized that the power had come back on during our serious talk about the future and I hadn’t even noticed.

We both cracked up laughing after which Husband said he needed to have a lie down (laughter can be exhausting!)

And I am still laughing while I am writing about my third ‘duuuh’ moment in a single day – argh!

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Now … and then

Now that King peacock has shed all of his tail feathers he has become much less confident and, instead of being somewhat aloof, he follows me around constantly in a needy sort of way, and hangs around the back door. King doesn’t realise, of course, that those tail feather will grow back in a few months. This is what he looks like now:

Husband and I had to endure an appointment with a new Parkinson’s specialist today which took nearly four hours (because it included multiple assessments via a physiotherapist, occupational therapist, speech therapist and nurse). By the time it was nearly over and we had finally seen the specialist, Husband was exhausted, so when he was asked one of the ‘trick’ questions to test his memory, i.e. “What country do you live in?” Husband said, cupping his chin in the palm of his hand, “I don’t think I know that.” The specialist then made a note.

A bit later, in the car, I asked Husband nervously, “What country do you live in?” and he said, “Australia, of course; is there something wrong with you?”

This is what King peacock looked like way back then….

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Blog conundrums

Husband loves the blog because he has always been proud of anything I’ve written (even though, like Son, he doesn’t like reading!)

From time to time, I have shown Husband various posts in which his health situation has taken precedence over the topic of birds and he has been fascinated to see himself, pictured and written about. I was so worried that he would object to his/our story being made so public but, as we have always been very honest with each other, I felt I needed his permission to continue.

He gave this permission unreservedly, we wept together about a couple of the sad stories and he hugged me. “Keep writing, Jules. This is good.”

Phew!

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Breaking

Yesterday, Son and I broke the news to Husband that his two weeks in the nursing home lodge might need to be extended, might even be indefinite and that this has been recommended by three of his doctors. Son reinforced this by starting a verbal sparring match:

Son: We can’t look after you anymore, Dad!

Husband: Well, you’re not much of a son, are you!

Me: C’mon, guys, give it a rest.

Son: Dad, can’t you see you need nursing care?

Husband: I’ll get better – wait and see. Don’t give up on me. Where’s my wife?

Son: Her name is Julie, Dad, and she’s crying in the bathroom as usual.

Husband: What the hell is she doing that for?

Me: Sorry, just had to go to the loo.

Husband: Are you okay? You look terrible. You really need a haircut.

Me: I know.

Son: Argh – I’ll meet you out in the car, Mum. Bye, Dad.

Husband: Wait – give me a hug.

Me: He’s okay; he’s a teenager.

Husband: Why is he so ….?

Me: He’s angry.

Husband: I love you two more than life.

Me: Us too.

Husband: You better go.

Me: Yeah, the brat’s waiting – give me a hug.

Husband: See you tomorrow?

Me: See you tomorrow.

Breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking, breaking…. br

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About birds, wings and other things

I have just altered the tagline (subtitle) to my blog fromfeeding the birds’ (I think that’s what it was!) to about birds, wings and other things’.

Apart from the fact that this little tagline rhymes, I thought it might better describe why my subject matter has transmogrified (sorry, I love that word!) into mini-articles/stories that are sometimes about things other than birds….

For example, in my cramped little office at the end of the enclosed veranda that Wantok dominated for a time, there is a wasp hovering around my head wanting very much to sting me, and, in a couple of hours, I will see the mouse I’ve been trying to trap for several days nibbling at my pile of papers.

Also, despite the comfort and beauty of our birds, Husband’s illness and Son’s adolescence have begun to preoccupy me much more than the birds. And another ‘also’: now that I’ve discovered so many fantastic blogs and bloggers, I would like to be able to ‘reblog’ (if I can figure out how!) etc. I guess I’m still on P-plates!

In other words – and I don’t particularly like cliches, but this one is apt – the sky is the limit!

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Unblinking

Some people think that birds don’t blink so I have just done some extensive research (two minutes of googling) to discover that, in fact, they do blink, but only every few minutes or so. As I now have several birding readers, I’m hoping to become more enlightened here.

 Look at Phoenix 2’s eye!

 Check out Whitey’s eye!

Several years ago, Husband began to seem very grumpy all the time and it wasn’t until he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease that I learned that one of the many symptoms can include the inability to blink. Until I found that out, I just thought he was becoming a bad-tempered old grouch. Unblinking can give the appearance of permanent displeasure or sternness. Here is a sample conversation before I realised any of this:

Me: Why are you always so moody? (shouting)

Husband: I’m not – I’m fine (said with expressionless face)

Me: Are you mad at me or something? (teary)

Husband: Of course not. What’s wrong? Why are you so upset? (said with expressionless face)

Me: It’s just that you always look daggers at me.

Husband: I don’t mean to, Jules, honestly. I’m fine.

Me: So why don’t you show it? Why don’t you smile anymore? (shouting again).

The very day Husband and I had this conversation (luckily Son was at school), Husband happened to have a doctor’s appointment anyway, to check on his diabetes. Since I was already in an argumentative mood, the trip in to the closest town wasn’t pleasant:

Me: Why do you always want me to drive these days? Why can’t you drive yourself? (shouting again)

Husband: I just like your company (said with attempted smile).

Long story short – within a week it was discovered that Husband had Parkinson’s disease and the specialist who our doctor referred us to said that unblinking was a symptom, and so was unsmiling, because the muscles in the face could stop working.

‘My bad’ is an understatement of how I felt when we were told this, and all of the heartache that followed this diagnosis is best left unsaid.

Suffice it to say, however, that I now ‘get’ that the unblinking appearance of birds does not mean that they don’t feel:

love

loss

courage

fear

generosity

greed

peace

conflict

love

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A prelude to grief

 

A musty eiderdown

A broken rose tree

An unkept house

Even the golden pheasant seems forlorn

Tomorrow morning will be the first of fourteen:

How are you, dearie?

Good man, that’s the way.

We’ll just go to the toilet now.

Didn’t you bring any soap?

Cup of tea, darlin’?

Yes, she just rang and she’s coming in soon.

You’ve just had a little fall – everything is fine now.

Your son? Yes, he’ll be here soon too.

The bathroom is just over there.

Ring this bell if you need us.

Yes, they’re coming in to see you soon ….

A dry-cleaned eiderdown

A new rose tree

A clean house

A longed-for homecoming

Improbable

Unlikely

A wrenched, beating-too-fast heart

A bird hit by a car going too fast

A flock of crows

A bitten lip

A screaming child

Sunglasses keep fogging up in the car and I can’t see properly

Broken wings now an inadequate metaphor

I can’t see

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Lean on me

                                                                           [Photo taken at Husband’s 75th last Feb.]

When I was a kid, one of my favourite songs was Lean on Me by Bill Withers. It’s still one of my favourite songs.

Today our little family will be experiencing a transition of sorts as Husband ‘tests out’ the place that isn’t a hospital and that isn’t a home – our home I mean.

During my many conversations with Husband over the last week, I have, without realising it, been leaning on him, and his wide shoulders have borne the weight of my distress unflinchingly. This leaning thing has been reciprocal, and contagious, as Son is now leaning on me and I am leaning on him.

And, since Wantok has gone, Buttons is also doing quite a bit of leaning, which is all very sweet except that she keeps pooping on my shoulder!

I think that is taking the leaning-on-me thing way too far, don’t you?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QPoTGyWT0Cg

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