jmgoyder

wings and things

Imagined conversation 28

Me: You know that guy I was telling you about – the one in the nursing home who reminds me of you?

Anthony: You mean my nursing home?

Me: No, I can’t bring myself to go back there – yet. I’m talking about the nursing home where I volunteer.

Anthony: So who’s the guy?

Me: His name is K. and I thought he was around your age but one of the nurses told me he was 97!

Anthony: And he reminds you of me?

Me: Yes. It’s uncanny!

Anthony: Thanks a lot. Such a wonderful compliment – not.

Me: Well he doesn’t look a day over 81, Ants. Sorry. He’s got the same starey eyes and the same slow smile; he even seems to have a wittiness like yours. When I asked him how he was the other day, he said he was 150 years old. It was just like the kind of thing you used to say – so funny.

Anthony: Is he sexy like me?

Me: No, for God’s sake, Anthony. Don’t be so ridiculous!

Anthony: Well, I was just wondering.

Me: He’s crazy about Pip.

Anthony: That’s all right – as long as he isn’t crazy about you.

Me: I told him about you dying and he said his wife had died too and we had a bit of a sad moment.

Anthony: You do realise that I’m not 81 anymore, don’t you.

Me: How does that work?

Anthony: Not sure but I feel extraordinary well.

Me: That makes my heart get all warm and toasty. Remember how you used to say that?

Anthony: Plagiarism!

Me: The other day, P. said I should find another beau.

Anthony: What?

Me: Don’t worry, I told him that I’d had the best and there was no topping that.

Anthony: You can tell P. from me to bugger off.

Me: I’ll be more polite.

Anthony: You can quote me on that, Jules, with my blessing.

Me: Oh, so I say, “By the way, P., Anthony told me to tell you to bugger off with his blessing.”

Anthony: That sounds about right.

Me: He won’t believe that I was talking with you.

Anthony: That’s his problem. Anyway back to the old chap, K., if he’s 97 he must be pretty close to the end.

Me: Yeah, he doesn’t look so wonderful.

Anthony: Shake his hand for me.

Me: Why?

Anthony: It seems like a reasonable thing to do.

Me: Okay, I’ll do that. I think he’ll understand.

Anthony: He will. Tell him I’ll keep an eye out for him when the time comes.

Me: Wow, that’s nice of you.

Anthony: You seem to have forgotten what a splendidly marvellous person I am.

Me: I haven’t forgotten.

Anthony: That’s good then.

Me: G’night, Ants.

Anthony: G’night, Jules.

Me: I adore you.

Anthony: Perfectly understandable.

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Imagined conversation 20

Anthony: Who are all of these men you keep thinking about?

Me: Will you please STOP reading my mind like that; it’s so disconcerting!

Anthony: Well, who are they?

Me: If you can read my mind, surely you know who they are.

Anthony: But I want to hear it from you, Jules.

Me: Okay, they are just a bunch of CEOs, film executives, producers and….

Anthony: I don’t like it.

Me: What? I thought you’d be proud of me!

Anthony: [potent silence]

Me: Oh. My. God. Are you actually jealous? I can’t believe it. Yes, you are jealous, aren’t you!

Anthony: Well I am a bit, actually. I don’t want you to want them to like you; it doesn’t feel right.

Me: Ants, there is absolutely nothing romantic going on, I can assure you. It’s you I want them to like, not me!

Anthony: That’s good then.

Me: So are we clear now?

Anthony: Sorry, Jules. I just don’t want to lose you.

Me: You couldn’t lose me even if you wanted to, Ants.

Anthony: So what do all of those guys think of me?

Me: They think you are wonderful, Ants – absolutely wonderful! Star material!

Anthony: You are so full of BS Jules.

Me: I’m meeting one of them tonight for cocktails because….

Anthony: For God’s sake, Jules – don’t do anything stupid.

Me: Gotcha!

 

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Pip, the therapy dog

Recently, I have been at a bit of a loss for words, not for any particular reason, just feeling quiet. Also I have been quite preoccupied with Pip, our four-and-a-half-months-old miniature schnauzer.

I am training Pip to be a therapy dog and we are now a few weeks into “puppy pre-school.” So far, she is very good at sitting for food but not very good at obeying any other commands although she is house-trained simply because she is an inside/outside dog; and luckily she chooses outside to do her business.

Pip is already relatively well-behaved in the three nursing homes I take her to, including Anthony’s. For the most part, I keep her on a leash but in Anthony’s room she will now settle on her own pillow on the floor near his armchair for a good couple of hours. I keep her pillow, a container of dog biscuits and a water bowl in one of Anthony’s cupboards. In the other two nursing homes, the joy I see on some of the residents’ faces, when they see, pat or even hold Pip, is beautiful.

Anthony smiles at the way I fuss over Pip and I keep hearing myself sounding like an old woman with a little dog (ha!) But, despite his initial reaction to her puppyhood “It’s just a dog, Jules”, he and she have now bonded.

Me: Do you love her, Ants?

Anthony: Well who wouldn’t, Jules.

At home, Pip is now a hurricane of energy; she races in and out of the house and terrorises Jack, our Irish terrier who is still so in awe of her that he stands back when I feed them both and only eats Pip’s leftovers!

Every morning, I am greeted first thing with a deep growl from Pip, which is her rude way of asking me for breakfast. The closer I get to the refrigerator, the deeper the growl. Ming and I are getting a lot of laughs out of this hilarious new addition to the family.

Apparently I can register Pip as a therapy dog once she has undertaken further training so I am looking into this.

So, even though I’ve gone a bit quiet lately, it’s an accepting kind of quietness. I found out the other day that Anthony is now a ‘full hoist’ which means he is unable to walk at all. I had assumed that he was still maybe able to walk, using the walker, in the mornings, but I guess I was a bit nervous to ask the question because I didn’t want to know(?)

Oh how much I wish I had made more of the last time I saw Anthony walk using his walker – that shuffle-sprint-stall that I have known for nearly a decade. It seems impossible that he would now be more or less bed-ridden but I am an idiot to not have seen this coming.

And, as I contemplate whether to cry or not, I see from the front window of what used to be Anthony’s mother’s bedroom – now my study – a black fur-ball of absolute joy racing towards the front door.

Yipping with delight, Pip enters the quiet.

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Dementia and Depression

The title of this post is a bit misleading (intentionally) because it implies that Depression is an off-shoot of Dementia and, yes, sometimes this is the case.

Anthony, who recently turned 81, has Parkinson’s Disease Dementia but, even after having been in the high-care section of a nursing home for five years, he is rarely depressed.

Julie (that’s me), who recently turned 58, has Depression in the clinical sense – i.e. she has a disease in much the same way that Anthony has a disease. But, like Anthony, she is rarely depressed. There is a rather wonderful irony here.

I am not quite sure why I wrote the above paragraph in the third person except for the fact that I have been so deeply embarrassed by my diagnosis for so many years now that I find it difficult to admit. Admitting it now is my way of combatting the stigma that still exists, and rejoicing in the fact that there are treatments; that I have been helped by these treatments (medicinal and psychological); and that I have become sensitive to others who suffer like I used to.

In recent weeks I have had the most ghastly outbreak of Depression and yet, paradoxically, I have been able to function normally whilst visiting Anthony, looking after the new puppy, and interacting with friends and family. Ming is, of course, my priority, my favourite person, my rock but also, perhaps, my downfall in the sense that I feel I have failed him in so many ways.

There is a huge difference between Depression and being depressed; the former is a condition and the latter is a temporary mood. Obviously this is up for debate and I would appreciate feedback.

Dementia, on the other hand is, at least for Anthony, irreversible and ongoing/worsening. And yet he has the most amazing ability to comfort me, and to be so accepting when I leave him to ‘go to work’ (my latest ruse).

Me: I have to go to work. Will you be okay?

Anthony: Well, I’ll have to be, won’t I.

Me: So what would you rather have – me here with you or me making money?

Anthony: The money.

This has been a bit difficult to write so thanks for listening x

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Green juice adventures

I am a lover of green juice – a devotee, a fan, an advocate! The idea of green juice is what wakes me up in the morning, what keeps me going during the day and what EXHAUSTS me in the afternoon/early evening. Why the latter? Because I make it myself.

Let me explain the process in detail. I’ll even include a timeline.

3pm: Go out to your luscious vegetable garden and try to ignore the 35 degree heat.

3.05pm: Go back to the house to get a hat, a sweat band, and a container into which you can place your freshly harvested greens, and try to ignore the flies in your nostrils, the ants between your toes, and the possibility of a snake in your vegetable forest.

3.10pm: Once you have found your garden scissors (this may take awhile, so try to remember to remind yourself to always put them in the same place so that you don’t have to dig the entire garden up looking for them), begin to harvest your amazing produce.

3.30pm: Try not be too alarmed by the fact that all of your spinach and all of your celery plants have somehow become trees. This is because you haven’t been out to the garden for some time, but don’t feel guilty; after all, it’s hot, dirty and insecty out there. Just cut a few branches off the spinach and celery trees.

4.15pm: Take your container of beautiful green vegetables to the wash house and plunge them into a sink of cold water. If they won’t all fit, take some of the smaller greens into the kitchen and do the same. Have a little rest.

4.30pm: Cut up some apples and carrots and a bit of ginger. Put these into a big bowl with the washed greens from the kitchen sink. Make sure your wonderful cold press juicer is responding to electricity and BEGIN juicing!

5pm: Don’t be upset if you forgot to change out of your white shirt; green is a lovely colour!

5.05pm: Pour the results of this exciting process into the bottles you have waiting-and-ready for the wonderfulness of this green juice and put them straight into the refrigerator. Try not to think about the recent theory that if you don’t drink freshly pressed juice immediately, it won’t ‘work’. Allow yourself a few sips of the elixir and feel the surge of energy this provides you with. You will need this energy because now you have to clean the juicer.

6pm: Now that you have washed and rinsed the many parts of the amazing juicer you bought online, have a little rest again. You may indulge in a little green juice (delicious!)

6.30pm: If you are struggling to reassemble the juicer for tomorrow, you may open a bottle of wine. A single glass of this kind of juice can help immensely as you perform this semi-final task. Try not to panic if the top bit doesn’t quite screw into the middle bit of the bottom bit of the juicer. Instead, use this experience as a kind of meditation. If moments become minutes and minutes become, well, hours, you can either call on someone to help you, or just do that whole breathing thing until the juicer is ready for use again. Do NOT swear at the various parts of the juicer that won’t cooperate immediately; do NOT send an angry email to the manufacturers (because they did their very best and, after all, this is a very superior juicer); and, above all, do not give up on loving the green juice!

7pm: The last stage of this green juice adventure is the most challenging; force your son and husband to drink it. If your son says that there is a bit of grit in it, just smile calmly; if your husband spits it out, try not to be offended. You did your best.

And all of that leftover green juice is yours!

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An ‘aha’ realisation

Today I did some volunteering at another nursing home before going to see Anthony. I told him I had just come from work (I call the volunteering ‘work’ because Anthony’s lifelong concerns about money are still a big part of his psyche).

Anthony: So how much money is in the bank?

Me: Thousands!

Anthony: How many?

Me: (pulling a fictitious figure out of the air) $35,000!

Anthony: That’s not bad.

Me: What do you mean ‘not bad’? My job is making us rich! You should be proud of me!

Anthony: I am, Jules.

Me: Ants, the reason we are so wealthy is due to all of your shares and your hard work. We don’t ever have to worry about money again because you are such a good provider!

Anthony: But did you turn the pump off?

Me: Ming does all of that now.

Anthony: What about the calves?

Me: All safe, tethered and beautiful. You should be proud!

Anthony: I fixed that fence this morning.

Me: I know – thank you. Everything is fine now.

Anthony: But what about Mum?

Me: Ming is with her – she’s fine.

Anthony: Okay.

Me: I have to go back to work now – will you be alright?

This was our conversation at about 4pm today and I used ‘work’ as a way to leave him with the assurance that I would be back soon. As I’ve said before on this blog, telling Anthony that I am going home often distresses him because he wants to come home too – of course!

I have been naming the above such conversations as “Dementia dialogues” and I sometimes worry that this title may be construed as demeaning or patronising to Ants and other people with Dementia. This is certainly not my intention.

As I was leaving, we had this conversation:

Anthony: You don’t have much of a life do you.

Me: What are you talking about, Ants? I have you and Ming – what more do I need?

Anthony: But we’re all split apart.

I was so shocked by the lucid poignancy of this statement that my heart felt like it did a somersault. Anthony said this without a flicker of unhappiness and I remembered how factual he used to be – how pragmatic.

And then, just now, before I began to write this post, I realised that Dementia might affect, and sometimes kill, physical and cognitive memory, but it doesn’t necessarily affect emotional memory.

I told Ming what Anthony said today and he punched his heart softly.

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Dementia Dialogues 21

Me: I’m a bit upset about these wrinkles on my cheeks that I’ve just noticed, Ants – see?

Anthony: Yes.

Me: What do you mean by ‘yes’? You’re supposed to say that you can’t see any wrinkles!

Anthony: But I can [and, OMG, he puts a finger into one of the many new little grooves of my left cheek!]

Me: I’m not happy about this, Ants, and, by the way, the only reason you don’t have wrinkles on your face is because the Parkinson’s Disease has made your face expressionless!

Anthony: That was not my intention.

Me: What? What!

Anthony: You look beautiful, Jules.

Me: Okay, but do I have wrinkles?

Anthony: Just the nice flavour.

I tried to laugh without further crinkling my face….

 

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Dementia dialogues 9/10

Me: How come there’s water all over the floor? Did you tip your drink out again?

Anthony: Yes, because everybody is dead.

Me: What?

Anthony: This is a funeral home.

Me: No way! This is a nursing home – remember?

Anthony: All of the kids ….

Me: Are they still bothering you?

Anthony: I had to fight one last night.

Me: Did you win?

Anthony: Half and a quarter….

Me: Good on you, Ants! They won’t be bothering you again, I’m sure.

…………..

Anthony: Well come on, Jules – let’s go.

Me: Where?

Anthony: Around the block.

Me: Which block? The farm or the nursing home?

Anthony: The rose garden.

Me: What rose garden?

Anthony: Along the driveway!

Me: It’s too rainy and cold, Ants – sorry. Maybe tomorrow?

……………

The last several weeks have been a bit of a challenge for me because my anxious/depressive tendencies roared into my brain – WHAMMO! – when I mistakenly thought Ants was on the brink of death. I don’t want the knife edge of that grief again and am hoping that I am now better prepared.

Me: I saw an advertisement on TV the other day about cremation versus burial. What do you reckon? You know what I mean? For both of us of course.

Anthony: It’s far too early to think about that.

Me: Okay, Ants.

Anthony: There’s something ….

Me: Is it to do with my exquisite face?

Anthony: I wouldn’t go that far.

Me: What?

Anthony: But it’s quite nice, I suppose.

Me: Harrumph!

 

 

 

 

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Incoherence

Anthony can’t find or utter the words any more and this is terribly frustrating for him, and for Ming and me. He was much more awake today than he has been for the last week, so I felt a bit silly to have thought/written that he might be on the brink of death. Last year I was terribly angry with a relative who suggested this and now it’s me thinking the same thing, almost a year later.

I am shocked at how, within the space of a week, Anthony has developed dysphagia to the extent that he has difficulty in swallowing even vitamised food, and can hardly speak any more. It is the latter that is most upsetting for me because of how much I have always enjoyed our conversations, no matter how bizarre.

If Anthony stops speaking altogether, I will have to become more creative in what I say to him. The blog will help, photos of the farm will help, Ming references will help, memories will help.

I know that Anthony’s incoherence will soon become a silence that I may not know how to read and this worries me.

Me: I love you, Ants.

Anthony: ….

Me: You’re supposed to say it back!

Anthony: I love you, Jules.

 

 

 

 

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WordPress ‘like’ problems

Whenever I read posts, I can make comments but there is no facility to simply ‘like’. Is anyone else having this problem?

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