No matter how honest and revealing a person is, either face-to-face or in a blog, there are certain things that are unsayable, secret, too personal.
There have been a couple of incidents at the nursing lodge lately where Anthony has behaved in a way that is disturbingly out-of-character.
The ungentling of my gentle husband’s brain is causing him to do and say things that are horrible. Taboo.
I am so sick of saying the same thing over and over and over and over and over again.
Today, when I got Anthony home for the afternoon, he asked, for the millionth time if he could stay the night. And for the millionth time, I reminded him that he was in the high care section of the nursing lodge and needed two people to lift him etc.
He looked at me, his eyes hard, and said, “So now I know you don’t care about me anymore.”
It was too much for me to bear and I lost my temper, interrupting this regular refrain with a few minutes of hysterical rage which woke us both up and, thankfully, ended in a mutually apologetic hug.
Then the wheelchair taxi arrived to take Ants home.
Refrain.
Gutsy9 (the 5-month-old peachick I raised inside the house because none of our peahens were interested) is thriving outside now. He sleeps in a pen with the ducks, Zaruma and Tapper, but every morning I find him in the adjacent pen with the turkeys, Bubble and Baby Turkey! Oh well at least he doesn’t venture into the geese pen because Godfrey hates him.
As soon as I open the three pens to let them all free-range for the day, I am met with a cacophony of excited noises and then G9 actually sprints after me to the house and follows me inside.
Until today. Today I decided to say no to him, and tried to explain that his peacock poop is the reason. He wasn’t happy!
Oh and G9 is definitely a boy because our friend, Mike, who raises peas told me so. I’m not as thrilled as Anthony was when Ming was born and he yelled IT’S A BOY!
Secretly I was hoping for a little peahen – ha!
A few years ago, before Anthony became so incapacitated with Parkinson’s disease, we used to go to a restaurant on the beachfront after every doctor’s appointment.
We went to this restaurant after his diabetes diagnosis and we ate apple pie with cream and icecream defiantly.
We went to this restaurant after his liver disease diagnosis and drank a bottle of wine defiantly.
We went to this restaurant after his prostate cancer diagnosis and ordered the banquet deal defiantly.
We went to this restaurant after his Parkinson’s disease diagnosis and decided to try the millionaire’s coffee.
Today I decided to take Ants to this restaurant (which now has new owners). It’s only a few blocks from the nursing lodge, so very convenient, but I was still really nervous because of the unpredictability of PD.
I became even more nervous when Ants had difficulty walking, with his walker thingy, to the car and getting in. But, once his uncooperative feet were in, and his seatbelt was on, I started to feel more optimistic.
And it was a success! Ants was able to use the walker to get into the restaurant and we had an ocean view, a half bottle of wine, some fantastic prawns and scallops, and some bits of conversation. His PDD kept making the conversation weird but every time he said something crazy, I just laughed and squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.
After we’d finished eating, I decided to order his favourite coffee, but the new owners of the restaurant had never heard of a millionaire’s coffee so I had to tell them how! The only trouble is that I couldn’t remember which three liqueurs went into it so I just asked them to use their imaginations.
They did a good job! Well I think they did – my head is still spinning – haha.
This afternoon I finally got hold of Anthony on the phone. I had tried numerous times during the day because I was worried about yesterday as a nurse had rung me in the evening to report a fall just after he got back from here.
You see, yesterday I got Ants taxied home again but earlier than usual. I wanted to see if a whole day home would work because usually it’s just for a few hours and he gets upset to have to leave so soon.
So he arrived at 11am which coincided with one of his medication times. I gave him the pill, and Ming, Ants and I sat out on the front veranda making the kind of smalltalk you make when one person can’t participate.
At around noon the drug kicked in and Ants was able to walk, with our help, into the house. We then watched a comedy on TV, and they ate pancakes with maple syrup and cream for lunch (Ming’s idea – yuck!)
By 1.30pm Ants had again become wobbly so I slowly shuffled him to the bed and he slept until 3pm. I helped him up and outside again and then Ming and I got him into the wheelchair ready for the taxi.
This might not sound like a wonderful day but it was!
But this afternoon’s conversation was a bit of a blow. When I finally resorted to ringing the nurses to help Anthony answer the phone, this is what we said to each other:
Me: Ants, I’ve been ringing you all day. Why can’t you remember how to answer the phone? I’ve been so worried about your fall.
Anthony: Well, there’s a reason for that – we don’t get along anymore.
Me: What! What are you talking about?
Anthony: The fence.
Me: Which fence?
Anthony: On farms, you know – broken fences.
Me: No, all of the fences are fixed now, Ants.
Anthony: But us – the fence I mean – it’s broken.
Me: I don’t understand what you mean!
Anthony: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I was just joking. Jules, don’t cry please.
….
Okay, I got over this ghastly phonecall and we both ended up saying áll the I-love-you stuff.
I don’t think this fence can be fixed, but I guess it can be mended whenever we fall on it.
Two days ago I had an epiphany and, since then, I have felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief!
You see, despite the fact that my weight has been a fairly steady 70 kgs for about 10 years (I’m “5’10”), I’ve had an ongoing wrestling match with my size 12 jeans for some time now (which may explain my Herculean upper half but let’s not go there).
The epiphany was this: You should be wearing size 14 jeans, you dimwit!
So I went out and bought a pair of cheap size 14 jeans and I am in HEAVEN! I can breathe! My stomach roll has disappeared! I no longer have to jump from the roof into my jeans!
And it only entailed a slight psychological shift – a numbers thing – what an idiot I’ve been! Oh I haven’t been this happy (and comfortable) for years! I LOVE size 14!
I will do this
I didn’t have time
I will finish this
I didn’t have the energy
I will conquer this
I got waylaid
I will be grateful
I was too sad
I will get fit
Ï was too tired
I will bake bread
I ran out of flour
I will eat properly
I wasn’t hungry
Anthony used to call this the Ï was gonna complex!
When I was 12 and struggling with my all-over-the-place thoughts and feelings, and worried that I was abnormal, my mother wisely reassured me that I was simply suffering from mixed emotions and that this was normal for 12-year-olds.
At the time, I found it immensely comforting that there was a name for my ‘problem’ – mixed emotions.
Now, all these years later, it is happening again – that simultaneous sad/happy thing but of course it doesn’t sound very convincing when you decline an invitation to lunch, for instance, by saying, “I can’t today because I am sick with mixed emotions.” A migraine is a much better excuse.
Yesterday afternoon, Anthony was taxied home and the handful of friends I’d invited (he doesn’t cope well with more than a handful) all arrived with food and drinks, and I was filled with happiness. It was a delightful afternoon and resembled the hundreds of delightful afternoons when Ants was well. I used to be amazed at how Ants would never sit down, would constantly replenish half empty glasses, would shout with laughter at his own anecdotes, turn the music up and dance, bear hug me, wink at me, grin at me. The good old days.
Of course now that Ants can’t stand up easily, or wink, or grin, or shout with laughter, or dance, or hug, or even follow an anecdote, let alone tell one, it’s different. Don’t get me wrong – it was still wonderful, but when the taxi arrived to take him back, the sad kind of stole my smile, and our little crowd went from noisy to quiet.
After Ants had gone, the frivolity resumed, but at a lower key for me and, later in the evening, when everyone had gone, I felt such a surge of grief and nostalgia that I had to remind myself to breathe.
Mixed emotions.
(But at least I didn’t injure the taxi driver this time, even though he mistook me for Anthony’s daughter!)
I have been trying so hard lately to be positive, but tonight, a nurse rang me asking me to try and convince Ants to take his pills. Eventually my voice on his phone worked and the nurse was able to give him his pills.
Ants was distressed and confused and aggro: this scared me.
What a wonderful nurse to ring me like that. I am so relieved to know that Ants is okay in this nursing lodge, but I am constantly anxious for him now that the dementia is happening.
Ants is coming home for the afternoon tomorrow so I’ve invited a few friends. Oh I so hope it all works out!
[Note to blogfriends: I can’t keep up with reading blogs at the moment, but will catch up soon.]
The other day I was terribly upset to read a post by a blogger friend that indicated she’d been hurt by someone’s comment. Since I had made a comment on her previous post, in which I’d suggested something, I was sure that I was the culprit.
So I commented again to apologize only to be reasssured that it wasn’t me. The relief was enormous but the experience taught me an important lesson and this is it:
NEVER GIVE ADVICE UNLESS SOMEONE ASKS YOU TO!
jmgoyder 