writing | jmgoyder

Anthony book 1: Three years

by jmgoyder

January 9, 2015

This week marks the third year that Anthony was admitted into the nursing home for respite and never came home again.

Except to visit. The shock of it.

This is what I wrote in my blog at the time:

Jan 11 2012 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

Perhaps it is this strange anniversary of almost unbearable emotional pain that has rendered me numbly bleak (bleakly numb?) over the last few days.

Lately, the shiny wonder of having discovered different ways of happily being in the nursing home for so many hours per day with Anthony has begun to show its first lace-like signs of rust.

I AM SO BORED!

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Up hill and down dale

by jmgoyder

One of the things I do during my afternoon shifts at the nursing home is to take wheelchair-bound residents for a ‘stroll’ around the grounds or, if it’s too hot, through the facility, or both. Until I got this job, and before volunteering, I wasn’t familiar with the layout but now I am; there are four ‘houses’ each with its own name, but all almost identical in design (kitchen and dining room in the centre, living rooms x 2, patio area and garden, and bedrooms all private and each with an ensuite, at the opposite ends of a hallway.)

Anthony is in the ‘high care’ section at the centre of the facility and this is more hospital-like in terms of design.

The ‘Dementia house’ (obviously not called that, and named after a significant person, but, for the sake of privacy, let’s call it ‘The Lodge’) has ten permanent residents, all women, most of whom are mobile but three of whom require wheelchairs to go any distance. I absolutely LOVE going for a walk with these beautiful women up and around the curves and corners and small hills of this facility, inside and outside, down hallways, through gardens, into other ‘houses’ to visit.

I only do a few short shifts per week (3-6pm) and the job description is “Lifestyle assistant” so am still learning how to be more creative with activities, games (not my forte!) But what an absolutely WONDERFUL job! To be able to socialise, converse, have fun with people who have dementia. The thing I like to do most is going for a walk and sometimes this is hilariously rewarding like the time I took Suzie past Anthony’s room, and we waved (even after just a couple of weeks, Ants has come to expect this and waves back), and Suzie said to me, “Poor old bastard”.

I retorted: “That’s my husband, Suzie!”
“Oh sorry,” she said, chortling with mirth.

Okay, back to the up hill reference: Fiona is heavy and wheel-chair bound so I get a bit terrified now because the other day, as we were going UP the driveway, her wheelchair decided that DOWN might be better and I briefly lost control and we landed gently into a rosebush, unharmed. Fiona, who constantly hums a refrain of a hymn I am yet to recognise, giggled, sitting regally in her wheelchair while I struggled with thorns.

All names have been changed to protect the privacy of these people with the exception of my beautiful husband, Anthony, who, when I was wheeling someone past his room the other day and waving as we always do, called out, “You’re getting faster, Jules!”

But, by the time I am finished my shift and go back to Anthony, he is so confused and sleepy that saying goodbye isn’t difficult because it is now possible to comfort him with “I am just going up to the shop to get some bread.”

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The elusive parrot

by jmgoyder

I bet you can’t even see him! Every morning I wake up and through my bedroom window I see these guys all over the giant pear tree but as soon as I venture outside with my camera they hide!

I’ve never seen this variety of parrot here before but then again my observation skills are not well honed and it may be that I have mistaken this breed of parrot for the very common ‘Twenty-eight’ parrot. Here is a link to information about the 28 http://www.birdlife.org.au/bird-profile/australian-ringneck

Unlike the 28, this elusive parrot is multi-coloured – greeny blue at first glance but with an underside of red, yellow and sometimes a red cap – absolutely beautiful! I’m going to keep on trying to get a decent photo but it is difficult to see them in amongst the pears.

It feels like a bit of an adventure to me – figuring out what kind of parrot this is, and training myself in the art of observation (and getting up early again, early-bird-catches-worm and all that!)

Once upon a time I would have been shocked at the idea of bird-watching, picking flowers, noticing the sunset, growing tomatoes (okay well I grew two before they died), cooking a curry from scratch, listening to music without doing something else at the same time. I would have thought what a waste of time! But now all the wing flits, the snow of wattle blossoms on the lawn, the aroma of a simmering curry, and the constant squawking of the crows, peacocks and this elusive parrot – all of of this life stuff, simple, small, daily details – makes me appreciate every single moment I have left with Anthony.

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The Anthony book

by jmgoyder

A few months ago a professor friend of mine – an historian, prolific writer and a colleague from my recent university days – suggested that I might write a book about Parkinson’s Disease framed around the blog and my experiences with Anthony. The professor said that he would be happy to read whatever I wrote and that he would give me feedback.

At the time of his visit, I was buoyant with the discovery that I now looked forward to, and enjoyed, my visits to the nursing home, and was able to spend many hours of the day there.

Since then I have begun to copy/paste various bits and pieces from posts I have written since November 2011 into a document that journals the various transitions Anthony, Ming and I have made since Anthony’s permanent admission to the nursing home in early 2012, nearly three years ago.

One of the most significant things I have discovered since perusing my blog is that I would never have remembered the sequence of events, the emotional turmoils, or the ways we coped, if not for the blog.

So now, on the brink of a brand new year, I’ve decided to write the book and report progress via the blog (as an incentive!) on a daily basis. Or something like that!

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Applying for a job

by jmgoyder

As many of you know, I recently applied for a job at the nursing home where Anthony has now lived for nearly three years. The job is that of ‘lifestyle assistant’ in the dementia wing/house, a role I have been learning over the recent weeks of volunteering. It is a three-hour shift, between 3 and 6pm, often a time of restless agitation for people with dementia as the sun goes down (Sundowner’s syndrome).

It was such a strange experience to be interviewed on Tuesday by two women who I already know so well – the Manager and the Events coordinator – but I still said “lovely to meet you”, which made us all laugh my nervousness away – well, sort of! But then I answered some of the questions clumsily, ignorant of the fastidious rules that have come into play since I last worked in a nursing capacity over 20 years ago.

So I was pretty sure I muffed my interview up and almost felt a sense of relief, but I couldn’t help hoping. Anthony knew about my application and interview but was a bit unsure about what was going on (he is not in the dementia wing) so when the Events Coordinator came into his room today and asked if she and I could have a chat, I thought she was just going to tell me I didn’t get the job.

And that’s how she started:
Ev: Julie, about that interview the other day (pulling a looooong face)
Me: Yes? (trying to look nonchalant)

But this is how she ended:
Ev: You got the job.
Me: What?

After that I twirled around Anthony’s room in a state of glee and, because I know so many of the staff and residents anyway, it’s been a joy to whisper, ‘I got the job!’ and Ants said at one point, “You are wonderful, Jules”.

Note: This is first post since my computer died and my computer whiz guy has salvaged everything onto a usb thingy. In meantime I have bought myself a Macbook – brilliant!

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Saying ‘yes’ to surreality

by jmgoyder

Ever since I was fooled by the plum tree into thinking its blossoms belonged to the avocado tree I am much more aware of how trees that are next to each other seem to have a habit of hugging each other. Here are the photos I took of ‘the avocado blossoms’ several weeks ago. The first one shows why I was confused but the second one shows quite clearly (except to an idiot – me!) that these are two separate trees.

Anyway, the following photo shows just how tricky these trees can be; here we have a camellia tree masquerading as a fig tree (or is it the other way around?) I showed it to one of the residents in the dementia wing the other day and she said, “What a strange tree!”

Up close, of course, it is quite obvious that the fig tree is a fig tree and that the camellia tree doesn’t have a sense of personal space.

Last summer I stopped watering the plants in order to save electricity on the pump; hence most of the ancient rose trees have died (despite a gardeningy person telling me it was impossible to kill roses) but everything else (palms, multiple camellias, un-fruiting orange and plum trees, silver birches, the two fig trees, the two avocado trees, the two pear trees, the lemon tree, the poplars up the driveway, the flame trees, and many other wild bushy looking shrubby things, have survived. This is probably because Anthony planted many of these at around the time I was born – over 50 years ago – so their roots are deep (you see, I have now done a bit of gardening-for-dummies research).

I guess what’s surreal is that, when I took ‘the avocado blossoms’ into the nursing home and put them in a vase, Anthony didn’t correct me and say, “Those aren’t avocado blossoms, silly!” (Actually nobody corrected me until I wrote a post correcting myself and then a friend said to me, “Yeah, I thought you’d definitely lost the plot!”)

Every single person with every single kind of dementia has, I think, has an ability to accept the surreal as real. Yesterday, during a children’s concert at the nursing home, one of the residents kept asking if the woman on my right (another resident) and the man on my left in the wheelchair (Anthony) were my parents, so I explained that one was my new friend and the other was my husband. She looked at me with interest and said, with absolute certainty, “My parents will be here soon”, and I said, “Yes.” By end of the concert she had forgotten about her parents and was fine, delighted as we all were, by the children’s voices.

I’m not sure here, but it seems to me that if someone’s reality is fractured by dementia, and their reality becomes a dreamscape of surreal thoughts, memories and emotions, maybe the best way to respond is in the affirmative, and to say ‘Yes!’

And that is why I still have an avocado tree with pink blossoms!

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“Can I get you anything from the shop, Ants?”

by jmgoyder

This has pretty much become my exit strategy lately when leaving Ants and coming home from the nursing home. I say I am just going up to the shop to get some eggs (just as if we are home), then I ask if he wants anything, like chocolate or cake or cheese or bananas and sometimes he says yes to one or more of these items. “Don’t be too long,” he sometimes says and I promise that I will be as quick as I can. If I have been at the nursing home since 11am or earlier, I leave at around 3.30-4pmish; if I have only arrived to help him with his lunch, I will often stay until 5.30pm so I can help him with his dinner (his ability to feed himself fluxuates a lot) Occasionally, like yesterday, I take the day off and Ming visits for me, or my indispensable mother does.

My exit strategy is a ruse of course, a way of leaving Anthony that deceives him into thinking that I am coming back soon but, after weeks of using this, at first tentatively, but now confidently, I am convinced that this is much better than saying, “I’m going home now, Ants – I’ll see you tomorrow.” If I say that, I have to explain at length that he is in a nursing home and this is the kind of conversation that happens, when he is able to talk:

ANTHONY: Why can’t I come too?
ME: Because of your Parkinson’s disease, remember?
ANTHONY: But I’m getting better!
ME: I know, but you are still too heavy for me to bring home.
ANTHONY: Well can you tell those kids [the staff] to keep an eye out for me?
ME: Of course!

Sometimes this kind of conversation goes on and on and on and might be prolonged by Anthony’s hallucinations that there are dogs, cattle or even snakes in his room, all of which I have to dispel before I can leave; sometimes he is unable to speak at all and will simply grab my hand and snuggle it up to his face; sometimes he will be asleep when I leave so I tell the staff.

This afternoon, this was our conversation:

ME: I’m just going down to the shop, Ants. Do you want anything?
ANTHONY: Love – a lot of it.
ME: I’ll give you a bit now [hug] but I’ll get 100 kilos of it and bring it back soon, okay?
ANTHONY: Okay.

And he smiled his beautiful new slow smile and let me go….

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Subtle changes

by jmgoyder

The fact that my daily routine now includes spending much of the day with Anthony in the nursing home means that I don’t see his deterioration except in tiny increments, day by day.

Yesterday one of our friends visited Ants and she was just leaving as I was arriving. She is the mother of one of my best friends, nearly Anthony’s age, and has her own health problems and yet still visits Anthony regularly – an unbelievably kind and generous person but today a bit uncertain.

“I don’t think he knew who I was, Julie,” she said.
“Maybe I talk too much and it upsets him,” she said.
“Can you let me know if my visits are helpful or not?” she asked.

She was quite distressed at Anthony’s unresponsiveness and wondered how I coped with going in every day. Didn’t it get me down? I told her that I hardly ever got down any more and actually looked forward to going into the nursing home. She looked as surprised as I feel about this miracle. I am surprised that my relatively newfound eagerness to get into town to see Anthony every day has been so sustainable because I was a bit nervous that it might kind of wear off!

Now I know for sure that it will never wear off probably because I’ve accepted the status quo and am prepared for what lies ahead. Our friend’s distress at seeing Ants so deteriorated yesterday, sort of chair-ridden and blank, unable to respond verbally and very sleepy, was only because she hadn’t seen him for a week or so. I guess it’s a bit like noticing how much a small child has grown if you haven’t seen that child for awhile; it’s a bit of a shock.

After our friend left, I went into Anthony’s room and said, “Didn’t you recognize M?” but he said yes he had. I could see, though, that what might have disturbed M was the increasingly blank expression on Anthony’s face which is partly due to his facial muscles not working because of the Parkinson’s disease, including not blinking (which makes him look both sad and angry), and partly due to the confusion of dementia.

Of course Anthony is only going to get worse, more confused, eventually bedridden and totally unresponsive, so I am developing a more tactile and rather boisterous relationship with him instead of pushing the conversation thing. After all, his voice is now so soft and his words often unformed, so we need to establish a way to communicate that transcends the verbal – almost like a code. This has included hand-holding, neck massaging, sitting on the arm of his chair with my hand on his head, and/or loudly beckoning him out of his slumber with a funny anecdote from the past, clowning around and bopping to music, asking him for advice with a nod or shake of his head, watching dvds of television series he used to love, laughing and being cheeky (I have a rather raucous laugh which I make the most of in order to see his slow smile), and lots and lots of hugging.

The following photo is my usual profile picture and it’s a bit of a shock to realize this was five years ago!

Then I just discovered this one, obviously taken seconds after the first photo. I can’t wait to show it to Anthony later today! I hope it will make him smile my smile.

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The new smile

by jmgoyder

For the love of smiling!

I took a photo of the avocado tree a few weeks ago and posted it on this blog, bragging about its amazing blossoms. A few days later, on climbing the tree to pick one last unreachable avocado, I got a bit tangled in the blossoms and, in untangling myself, realized they were actually the blossoms from an adjacent plum tree. I haven’t wanted to admit this until now because I am so embarrassed. I am quite sure all gardeningy people spotted my error but were kind enough not to say so. Anyway, it’s not my fault that the plum tree (or whatever it is) keeps throwing its pink-blossomed arms around the avocado tree!

I was overjoyed to spot a little peachick on the roof of the shed adjacent to the chookyard and I had a rather long conversation with it until I realized it was a twig!

I love to tell these embarrassing little funny stories to Anthony because it gets him smiling. Some time ago, it seemed that he would never smile again – not because he was sad but because the Parkinson’s has affected all of his muscles, including facial. But over time, I have learned how to elicit a different kind of smile; I use banter, loudness, crudeness and lots of vigorous hugs.

His loud, spontaneous, contagious laugh has gone and so has his loud voice as he now speaks in a kind of whispery way but I am ungentle and say things like:

Speak up, Anthony, clear your throat!
You look like a dead duck today!
Wake up!

Sometimes I catapult myself into his room, throw my arms around him and he gets such a shock and always says, “Jules, how did you know where to find me?”

Or, if he is having a bad day with forming words, I just get his beautiful new, slow-growing smile. And when Ming enters the room, Anthony’s smile gets a whole lot quicker!

Note: Avocado trees do not have pink blossoms!

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Dusk

by jmgoyder

It is difficult to take photographs at dusk, especially if you have an inferior camera and/or an amateur photographer, and/or if that same amateur photographer is a bit rusty. Nevertheless, and despite the poor quality of the shots, this particular amateur photographer thoroughly enjoyed getting herself back out there last night.

For some reason, many of the peafowl like to congregate on the roof of the wash-house at dusk, sometimes just to look up, which they are very good at.

On the other hand, this same roof has also become the stage for some ferocious scuffles between the King peacocks. This photo was taken during a short truce because I didn’t click the camera in time to capture the battle. It’s okay, they didn’t hurt each other; one just flew away. In the background you can see the top of a palm tree pretending to be a peacock.

And here is Gutsy9 in meditative mode.

I handed in my application today for the ‘lifestyle assistant’ job at the nursing home and am excited at the possibility but trying not to get my hopes up. It’s part-time which is perfect for me and the usual shift seems to be from 3-6pm which is also perfect. I told Anthony but lately he has been so sleepy and confused that he didn’t really understand until I said, “Well, the money might be good” at which his eyes lit up – ha! Money is something he is constantly worried about, having been a hard-working, frugal farmer for all of those decades. And, yes, it would be good to be earning a wage again and doing something I have always wanted to do – interact, relax with, comfort, and share a joke with people who have dementia. All those years ago, when I was a nurse, there was never any allotted time for this and the notion of lifestyle assistance was unheard of. How wonderful that this nursing home employs people in this way.

If I get the job I won’t be home until after dusk some days. This is probably a good thing as I think I am better at morning photos!

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jmgoyder

wings and things

Anthony book 1: Three years

Up hill and down dale

The elusive parrot

The Anthony book

Applying for a job

Saying ‘yes’ to surreality

“Can I get you anything from the shop, Ants?”

Subtle changes

The new smile

Dusk

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