Yesterday I had to take the heart rending decision to end the life of one of my cats. Lucky had been with us for over 17 years, coming to us as a stray who was perhaps 18 months old, so, for a cat, he lived a very long life - no consolation for me. However, as with so many people who love animals, he was more than "just" a cat. He was my companion in times of emotional distress and hardship, he was my companion and playmate in the garden and the living room. He was there when the humans of my world were busy doing other things.
He wasn't your archetypal cat because he showed affection and interest in his humans, he taught me how to communicate with him. He had affection when he wanted it, always food and water in his belly and a warm place to rest up when he was sleepy. Occasionally he'd get a nudge if he couldn't decide whether to go out or stay in, bless him. But deliberate harm was never done.
Had the problem just been the blood clot in his spine, I would have found some way of affording treatment to give him a pain free few more months. Unfortunately the vet also found a lump, which had sent fibres into his bladder and that was why he was peeing blood. He was in so much pain. The vet was pretty sure it was cancer. They couldn't do anything about that. I was offered the option of letting them make him comfy and me bringing him home for the weekend to say goodbye before they put him to sleep on Monday, but I couldn't do that. He'd been terribly unhappy the last couple of days and I had already said my goodbyes and my thank yous.
I was with him at the end. It was shockingly sudden, but the last touch he felt was mine, the last emotion he felt was love from me and for me, if not him, that mattered a lot. I brought him home, I couldn't afford to cremate him. And, later this morning, I shall lay him to rest beneath the patch of ground he loved to sleep on in the summer, surrounded by dappled shade, verdant plants and warmth. So here his remains will stay until someone else comes to this house & changes the garden.
It's heart breaking, for me. I dunno how the rest of the household feels, I'm not sure I really care at the moment. It's hard to loose a lovely spirit, whether it be human or animal. The other cats are very quiet and I even found Samson curled up next to Lucky last night - they were never really friends in life.
The Shaman in me understands perfectly the release of the spirit from a physical body no longer functioning. And I felt him go, which seemed to surprise the vet - I didn't need her listening to his chest to know his heart had stopped. But the Shaman doesn't really deal in the harshness of emotional reaction.
Day before yesterday, I was approached by a spirit, a youngish man, maybe an older teenager, dressed, strangely, in a tuxedo. He was incredibly boyish and bouncy, so full of life and love and joy and wonder. He introduced himself to me as Lucky - this spirit is my cat! It took him a few moments after the physical body had died before he decided to come back to me. And, as much as it is a comfort, it's also incredibly hard to have him bouncing around, chasing butterflies, patting at daffodil flowers - just as Lucky used to do. He's in sunshine, he's pain free and he's worried about me because he knows how much I hurt right now. It's the grieving process and the intellectual side of me knows this and knows I just need to endure and let it run its course - it will ease in time. And, in time, if he's still around, I'll be able to enjoy the spiritual presence of dear wonderful beautiful Lucky.
It was 2007 when Jasper died, that's the last time a cat companion of mine died. Poor Jasper was so disorientated, it was so very hard for me to point him in the direction he needed to go. Jasper stayed a cat in spirit.
It'll be a while before life takes on any colour or warmth for me, but it will happen eventually.
Good bye, my chunky old man, I shall miss you terribly. Thank you for sharing your life with me. Thank you for your warmth, your love and your companionship. Enjoy chasing the butterflies over the rainbow bridge - until we meet again, which I have no doubt we will. I love you.
Saturday 14 November 2015
Sunday 4 October 2015
Mud
Mud - aka procrastination.
I got the revised review documents from Social Work and, quite frankly, I'm still not happy. Though not nearly as unhappy as I was with the first draft. At least this one has been sort of spell checked (as in not all the document is checked). However, I just can't seem to get off the bit & email the SWer back & get it sorted.
Same with some of the carer issues - it is ridiculous that it reaches the point where I think "what's the point?" No matter how much I am polite & nice and reasonable, the fuck ups continue. Why don't I scream & shout? Because that's counter-productive. I try to sort it but then I run into the mass of people who just don't care, or comprehend what the issue actually is. I wonder if they'd get it if it was their mother/father?
We had the chaps who wash the windows round this past week. Some days I can hardly brush my hair, so washing windows is an impossible task. They do a good job. So I've asked them to do the inside windows next time they are here doing the outside - cost is the same (£20 for outside, £20 for inside) so at least we're going into winter with clean internal windows. Dad's balked at that. But then dad is thinking he has money issues just now. He's not for being convinced otherwise either - so he takes it out on me because he can't take it out on my sister. *sigh* But he got fair affronted when I said I'd hold back a £5 each week from housekeeping to pay - oh that didn't go down at all well. Canny win for losing.
Anyway, the chaps finished & rang the doorbell, as they do. Dad opened the door said "hello" and closed it in the poor guy's face!!! I thought dad had paid him - when I asked dad he just looked at me as if to say "why should I pay him? for what?" Fortunately, I didn't have time to be overly embarrassed. And the chap was not too affronted.
Mum's had a cough for a while, it's getting steadily worse. I called the Dr. He visited & prescribed antibiotics. After 2 days Mum was feeling sick, so I stopped the antibiotics & phoned the Dr for advice - Dr is on a long weekend, I was offered the 2 GPs who are utter bastards (in my opinion). So we'll have to wait until tomorrow. However, even off the antibiotics Mum is feeling sick. I dunno what to do - it's not an emergency, she's in no real distress, I've given her some anti-sickness tablets which settle her. I guess I'll wait.
When the Dr was out seeing Mum, dad chimed in about all his sleeping. He really caught the Dr a sideswipe with it. And he wanted the Dr to cut down on his morning tablets - after all, it's the only possible reason. Fortunately my brain was already engaged & working. So I managed to follow up the Dr's comments to dad about the consequences of stopping any of his morning tablets. So far he's left that subject alone.
Also had the dentist come out to visit Mum after she broke a tooth. Nice lady & assistant, far better than the last one who came out. They took the tooth out. Mum has a lovely colourful bruise, but at least she's not experiencing that pain any more. I keep trying to remember to pay the bill! I'll have to do it this coming week. Maybe I should write it down!
Dad's also had issues with his sugar levels. My sister, also a diabetic, is the resident guru on such matters because she controls hers exceedingly well. I have a rudimentary knowledge. Anyway, he starts in on me the day sis is out for her walk. How do I explain that there is more to diabetic control than just "sugar", there's complex carbohydrates, there's fats and all the rest of it. Especially when he starts in on me before I can get my brain into the right gear (it is so frustrating - I used to be able to change mental gears in milliseconds & have wonderful reactive conversations with people, they are so rare now and I find it quite upsetting) and besides, he doesn't hear all that I say. He doesn't seem to get it that scones have sugar (just like they have wheat, milk, eggs etc). He doesn't get it that the wee trifle pots Mum likes have sugar. Or that an intake of excess fruit can send things out of control. So he moans about it, we try to tell him and either he doesn't hear or he doesn't comprehend or he doesn't remember - but, whatever the reason, he's finding life very frustrating and won't accept help or advice. *sigh* I suppose it's because "I'm the parent" and children shouldn't be more knowledgeable or wiser or more experienced than the parent.
Me? I started a diet last Monday. I'm not sure of the exact trigger for this. I know I'm not particularly fond of the way I look and the way my body feels, but that's not unusual. Luckily, despite the trails of this week, despite being put on another 2 weeks of antibiotics and having higher than normal leg pain, I've stuck to it - more or less. My clothes aren't as tight. Indeed, one particular shirt now has an extra inch of cross over on the front at the bottom 2 buttons so this is good. It's helped a little with the fatigue, as in the fatigue isn't quite as all encompassing as it can be. The pain levels are about right for this point in the B12 cycle. But then I never expected it to help with the pain - skinny people with fibro have pain - fibro pain is not indicative of weight.
Week 2 has an increased allowance in veggies. Week 3 has an increase allowance in meat. Week 4 has an increase allowance for bread. After week 4 I can start to have treats. I'm not as strict as I could be, however, I don't binge the way I used to. Hopefully after 8 weeks, I'll have a new eating regime stuck in my head.
How do I cope with all of this? When I first left work - I held so hard onto so many things. Fear was my constant companion (is still there in many ways). Emotions were strong. But, as time passes and emotional exhaustion sets in, as well as physical exhaustion, I started to unravel. Like the elastic inside a golf ball. Strand by strand it would snap or tear. It's very painful unravelling like that. But, unlike the first time I broke (mentally speaking) my core remains strong. When I first broke I lost all sense of self and it went SNAP in the fraction of a second after being attacked by someone I thought was an acquaintance (never a friend though) but it was an attack from an unexpected source - who was I, what did I like doing, what gave me pleasure, what made me hurt? I was completely lost and I rebuilt myself from the core outwards, deciding what kind of person I wanted to be, what kind of battles I would be prepared to fight etc etc etc. This time I'm unravelling slowly and my core remains strong. I'll hang in there until circumstances change.
Unfortunately, it's not been a productive week writing wise. The next section of the book is going to be intense and powerful so I need to have just the right way set in my mind. However, page 201 from commencing it in February really isn't that bad at all.
I'll get there. Farting rainbows as usual!
I got the revised review documents from Social Work and, quite frankly, I'm still not happy. Though not nearly as unhappy as I was with the first draft. At least this one has been sort of spell checked (as in not all the document is checked). However, I just can't seem to get off the bit & email the SWer back & get it sorted.
Same with some of the carer issues - it is ridiculous that it reaches the point where I think "what's the point?" No matter how much I am polite & nice and reasonable, the fuck ups continue. Why don't I scream & shout? Because that's counter-productive. I try to sort it but then I run into the mass of people who just don't care, or comprehend what the issue actually is. I wonder if they'd get it if it was their mother/father?
We had the chaps who wash the windows round this past week. Some days I can hardly brush my hair, so washing windows is an impossible task. They do a good job. So I've asked them to do the inside windows next time they are here doing the outside - cost is the same (£20 for outside, £20 for inside) so at least we're going into winter with clean internal windows. Dad's balked at that. But then dad is thinking he has money issues just now. He's not for being convinced otherwise either - so he takes it out on me because he can't take it out on my sister. *sigh* But he got fair affronted when I said I'd hold back a £5 each week from housekeeping to pay - oh that didn't go down at all well. Canny win for losing.
Anyway, the chaps finished & rang the doorbell, as they do. Dad opened the door said "hello" and closed it in the poor guy's face!!! I thought dad had paid him - when I asked dad he just looked at me as if to say "why should I pay him? for what?" Fortunately, I didn't have time to be overly embarrassed. And the chap was not too affronted.
Mum's had a cough for a while, it's getting steadily worse. I called the Dr. He visited & prescribed antibiotics. After 2 days Mum was feeling sick, so I stopped the antibiotics & phoned the Dr for advice - Dr is on a long weekend, I was offered the 2 GPs who are utter bastards (in my opinion). So we'll have to wait until tomorrow. However, even off the antibiotics Mum is feeling sick. I dunno what to do - it's not an emergency, she's in no real distress, I've given her some anti-sickness tablets which settle her. I guess I'll wait.
When the Dr was out seeing Mum, dad chimed in about all his sleeping. He really caught the Dr a sideswipe with it. And he wanted the Dr to cut down on his morning tablets - after all, it's the only possible reason. Fortunately my brain was already engaged & working. So I managed to follow up the Dr's comments to dad about the consequences of stopping any of his morning tablets. So far he's left that subject alone.
Also had the dentist come out to visit Mum after she broke a tooth. Nice lady & assistant, far better than the last one who came out. They took the tooth out. Mum has a lovely colourful bruise, but at least she's not experiencing that pain any more. I keep trying to remember to pay the bill! I'll have to do it this coming week. Maybe I should write it down!
Dad's also had issues with his sugar levels. My sister, also a diabetic, is the resident guru on such matters because she controls hers exceedingly well. I have a rudimentary knowledge. Anyway, he starts in on me the day sis is out for her walk. How do I explain that there is more to diabetic control than just "sugar", there's complex carbohydrates, there's fats and all the rest of it. Especially when he starts in on me before I can get my brain into the right gear (it is so frustrating - I used to be able to change mental gears in milliseconds & have wonderful reactive conversations with people, they are so rare now and I find it quite upsetting) and besides, he doesn't hear all that I say. He doesn't seem to get it that scones have sugar (just like they have wheat, milk, eggs etc). He doesn't get it that the wee trifle pots Mum likes have sugar. Or that an intake of excess fruit can send things out of control. So he moans about it, we try to tell him and either he doesn't hear or he doesn't comprehend or he doesn't remember - but, whatever the reason, he's finding life very frustrating and won't accept help or advice. *sigh* I suppose it's because "I'm the parent" and children shouldn't be more knowledgeable or wiser or more experienced than the parent.
Me? I started a diet last Monday. I'm not sure of the exact trigger for this. I know I'm not particularly fond of the way I look and the way my body feels, but that's not unusual. Luckily, despite the trails of this week, despite being put on another 2 weeks of antibiotics and having higher than normal leg pain, I've stuck to it - more or less. My clothes aren't as tight. Indeed, one particular shirt now has an extra inch of cross over on the front at the bottom 2 buttons so this is good. It's helped a little with the fatigue, as in the fatigue isn't quite as all encompassing as it can be. The pain levels are about right for this point in the B12 cycle. But then I never expected it to help with the pain - skinny people with fibro have pain - fibro pain is not indicative of weight.
Week 2 has an increased allowance in veggies. Week 3 has an increase allowance in meat. Week 4 has an increase allowance for bread. After week 4 I can start to have treats. I'm not as strict as I could be, however, I don't binge the way I used to. Hopefully after 8 weeks, I'll have a new eating regime stuck in my head.
How do I cope with all of this? When I first left work - I held so hard onto so many things. Fear was my constant companion (is still there in many ways). Emotions were strong. But, as time passes and emotional exhaustion sets in, as well as physical exhaustion, I started to unravel. Like the elastic inside a golf ball. Strand by strand it would snap or tear. It's very painful unravelling like that. But, unlike the first time I broke (mentally speaking) my core remains strong. When I first broke I lost all sense of self and it went SNAP in the fraction of a second after being attacked by someone I thought was an acquaintance (never a friend though) but it was an attack from an unexpected source - who was I, what did I like doing, what gave me pleasure, what made me hurt? I was completely lost and I rebuilt myself from the core outwards, deciding what kind of person I wanted to be, what kind of battles I would be prepared to fight etc etc etc. This time I'm unravelling slowly and my core remains strong. I'll hang in there until circumstances change.
Unfortunately, it's not been a productive week writing wise. The next section of the book is going to be intense and powerful so I need to have just the right way set in my mind. However, page 201 from commencing it in February really isn't that bad at all.
I'll get there. Farting rainbows as usual!
Monday 28 September 2015
Weight
I was a chubby baby apparently, according to my mother. A very health 8lbs something. I was never a skinny or slender child, I was always a bit chubby or chunky. I was also one of the tallest girls in my class, and one of the strongest. I was never fast, but I could out-throw anyone else my age (girls, of course, not boys). I was a tom-boy. I'd rather knock a wall down than play with dolls - though I did play with dolls when it was raining. Children were nasty, as children are, and I was called ten-tonne tessy and various other nasty nicknames. I didn't actually understand why I was being called these things. OK, so I wasn't fast, but I had reasonable endurance and my upper body strength was not at all bad. But call someone nasty names for long enough & the message spills through into the subconscious & you'll not even realise it's happening until you look back years/decades later and by then the reprogramming is so terribly hard.
At High School we had our "medical". I was one of 3 people in my year who was overweight, according to those stupid tables. So I went on a diet. I lost weight, I also (because of the diet & my over reliance on ski yogurt) developed migraines related to milk. It took a year of visits to doctors and opticians etc before my sis said, one day, maybe it's milk. I stopped all milk related products and, within two weeks, was headache free. I was 14, I was supposed to be sitting the first of the important scholastic exams and I had to do it with a migraine every single hour of every single day. Somehow, I managed to acquit myself beyond the expectations of my teachers.
I didn't put much weight on, but I was never skinny, I was never my "ideal" weight. Once, at a local weight watchers meeting I was criticised for "only" having lost 2 lbs that week. And it was quite the nasty dig, it wasn't just a passing comment. I was confused. I thought the loss of 2lbs in a week was quite the respectable weight loss - but not according to the bitch who ran the club. I never went back.
My first job out of school, after 9 long months of unemployment, was as a filing clerk in the local tax office. It was not at all what I had hoped for as a job. It was incredibly demeaning and I ended up with a boss who felt I never worked fast enough. I never did it quite as well as he wanted. The file room was never as orderly or as tidy as it should have been for his tastes. I remember once he came in and one of the filing cubby holes for one of the inspectors was still full (and this was after lunch). I got a tongue lashing for not having done my job. I pointed out that this particular inspector had asked me to keep his files back and deliver them mid-afternoon. Another tongue lashing & I was sent to deliver the files. The inspector gave me a tongue lashing because I hadn't done what he wanted. I was caught in a territorial war between 2 men and I couldn't escape. I ended up unable to eat more than a mouthful or two of food at any sitting, regardless of how hungry I was. I ended up skinny, weak and ill. No one could find a reason.
So I tried changing careers. I tried to join the Navy but, guess what, despite being the lightest weight I had ever been, I was still too heavy for the Navy. That plus being shown a film where it was obvious I would be expected to run after officers . . . well. I've never been the subservient type.
Depression followed, not that it was recognised or diagnosed or treated.
I did eventually find another job. It was a pointless typist post (before the days of computers). It was full of incredibly vain people and I was told I needed to go back to school to get my Higher English because I couldn't spell a word that wasn't even English! Higher English has nothing to do with spelling - but they just wanted an excuse, I didn't give them one, I just left. I eventually found myself temping for a holiday cottage company. A small outfit, one where I actually got to do a whole range of things, instead of being tied to just typing or just filing. My weight stabilised. I found a company, in 1987, which offered diet sheets. I paid the fee, studied the notes and got stuck in. I lost weight. I felt not bad about myself and my situation. I could wear size 16 jeans AND get my hands down between my skin and the waistband!!!! I was so proud of myself. I still wasn't skinny, but my size was extremely comfy.
Then that job went pear-shaped, I put a wee bit of weight on as I retrained in massage therapy, reflexology and aromatherapy. But, after finding that men wanted sex with their massage, after nearly being raped by an obnoxious business owner, my dream went south and I went back to a 9 - 5 typing job.
That lasted 9 months (being a maternity cover post). And I went back to holiday cottage rentals - a massive mistake. The biggest mistake I ever made in my work career, aside from not taking the opportunity to go to university in Aberdeen and train to be a physio-therapist. I got fired to make way for the business owner's obnoxious, stuck up daughter. I was not unduly upset to hear the business subsequently went bust a few months after I'd been fired.
Then came 19 years of being trapped in one large organisation. 2 more serious bouts of depression followed. I was caged, trapped, a tiny little wheel in a massive behemouth which did not value intelligence or capabaility. In the entire time I was in that organisation I only ever had 2 bosses who gave a shit about me as a person and actually treated me in a reasonable manner and allowed me to stretch and develop.
The weight piled on.
My personal life was crap too.
Debt issues followed.
More weight went on. More depression.
Dad tried various emotional blackmail techniques - nice one dad.
I couldn't see a way out and no one seemed to want to help me. They all just wanted to tell me I was worthless because I was overweight. I needed to lose weight - how I would ask, but I got no helpful answers. How do I deal with all this shit? How do I cope with it and find ways to keep the right mindset to loose weight?
7 years ago I got sick. My body refused to function properly. As I grew slower and slower, more and more weight piled on. Yet another bully appeared in my professional life. He had friends in the management structure so there was no support for me. Eventually I went to HR who went to management and the ONLY solution was the bully was told to stay away from me. I survived his jibes and taunts for 4 years before management changed and, suddenly, he was being held to account. But, by then, I was incapable of enjoying the victory - I just needed rest, peace and quiet. Not that I ever got it.
In January 2013 I broke my heel. Fragments of the bone lodged at the base of my Achilles tendon. That kind of pain doesn't help mobility either. The summer of 2013 I finally got to see a surgeon - the forms I had been sent suggested a surgical procedure to correct the issue was imminent. I knew that my weight would count against me. So I hunted high & low for the diet sheets I'd used when I was 20/21. I found them!! much to my utter astonishment. I embarked upon the diet. The first week is so incredibly hard, the 2nd week very hard, the 3rd week hard and then it gets a bit easier. I lost 3 stone in weight. I went to see the surgeon and I was met with such an arrogant dismissive attitude that I just said "fuck it". No medical intervention was forth coming, I was stuck. I dropped the diet, why stress myself even more?
I eventually got a "boot" to wear & it did help but the tightness of it, the damage it did to the tissues of my leg, brought me my first brush with cellulitis. I was on antibiotics for 6 weeks the first time. I was lucky, I didn't end up in hospital on a drip! I can't wear the boot any more.
I grew impervious to the constant "obese" comments. I was coping with chronic pain, chronic illness, a malfunctioning gut, a broken heel, a lack of a paying job, and caring for elderly parents who were (are) going down hill steadily. I stopped looking at myself in any mirror, aside from face washing and hair brushing.
Folic acid helps - I still get down, but I haven't been clinically depressed since I started taking extra folic acid about 2 years ago.
So, why am I back on a diet now, 2 years after the last attempt? To be honest, I don't know. The trigger is not something which has a conscious flag to it. How long will it last? I have no idea. I'd like to think that I'll get down to a size 20/22, a realistic notion. I'd still be overweight but I'd be about 75 kg better than I am at the moment & that's scary.
Threatening dire health warnings about weight related issues don't really wash - potential future issues are very dim compared to problems right now. No, weighing less won't solve my money issues, my stress over caring issues, my stress over professionals being less than ideal. No, weighing less won't cure my fibro or my pernicious anaemia or anything else I have health wise. BUT I might just not mind looking at myself in a mirror.
So, if you see someone who's over weight, don't just think they're lazy or gluttons - there might well be a long & convoluted tale behind why they are the way they are.
At High School we had our "medical". I was one of 3 people in my year who was overweight, according to those stupid tables. So I went on a diet. I lost weight, I also (because of the diet & my over reliance on ski yogurt) developed migraines related to milk. It took a year of visits to doctors and opticians etc before my sis said, one day, maybe it's milk. I stopped all milk related products and, within two weeks, was headache free. I was 14, I was supposed to be sitting the first of the important scholastic exams and I had to do it with a migraine every single hour of every single day. Somehow, I managed to acquit myself beyond the expectations of my teachers.
I didn't put much weight on, but I was never skinny, I was never my "ideal" weight. Once, at a local weight watchers meeting I was criticised for "only" having lost 2 lbs that week. And it was quite the nasty dig, it wasn't just a passing comment. I was confused. I thought the loss of 2lbs in a week was quite the respectable weight loss - but not according to the bitch who ran the club. I never went back.
My first job out of school, after 9 long months of unemployment, was as a filing clerk in the local tax office. It was not at all what I had hoped for as a job. It was incredibly demeaning and I ended up with a boss who felt I never worked fast enough. I never did it quite as well as he wanted. The file room was never as orderly or as tidy as it should have been for his tastes. I remember once he came in and one of the filing cubby holes for one of the inspectors was still full (and this was after lunch). I got a tongue lashing for not having done my job. I pointed out that this particular inspector had asked me to keep his files back and deliver them mid-afternoon. Another tongue lashing & I was sent to deliver the files. The inspector gave me a tongue lashing because I hadn't done what he wanted. I was caught in a territorial war between 2 men and I couldn't escape. I ended up unable to eat more than a mouthful or two of food at any sitting, regardless of how hungry I was. I ended up skinny, weak and ill. No one could find a reason.
So I tried changing careers. I tried to join the Navy but, guess what, despite being the lightest weight I had ever been, I was still too heavy for the Navy. That plus being shown a film where it was obvious I would be expected to run after officers . . . well. I've never been the subservient type.
Depression followed, not that it was recognised or diagnosed or treated.
I did eventually find another job. It was a pointless typist post (before the days of computers). It was full of incredibly vain people and I was told I needed to go back to school to get my Higher English because I couldn't spell a word that wasn't even English! Higher English has nothing to do with spelling - but they just wanted an excuse, I didn't give them one, I just left. I eventually found myself temping for a holiday cottage company. A small outfit, one where I actually got to do a whole range of things, instead of being tied to just typing or just filing. My weight stabilised. I found a company, in 1987, which offered diet sheets. I paid the fee, studied the notes and got stuck in. I lost weight. I felt not bad about myself and my situation. I could wear size 16 jeans AND get my hands down between my skin and the waistband!!!! I was so proud of myself. I still wasn't skinny, but my size was extremely comfy.
Then that job went pear-shaped, I put a wee bit of weight on as I retrained in massage therapy, reflexology and aromatherapy. But, after finding that men wanted sex with their massage, after nearly being raped by an obnoxious business owner, my dream went south and I went back to a 9 - 5 typing job.
That lasted 9 months (being a maternity cover post). And I went back to holiday cottage rentals - a massive mistake. The biggest mistake I ever made in my work career, aside from not taking the opportunity to go to university in Aberdeen and train to be a physio-therapist. I got fired to make way for the business owner's obnoxious, stuck up daughter. I was not unduly upset to hear the business subsequently went bust a few months after I'd been fired.
Then came 19 years of being trapped in one large organisation. 2 more serious bouts of depression followed. I was caged, trapped, a tiny little wheel in a massive behemouth which did not value intelligence or capabaility. In the entire time I was in that organisation I only ever had 2 bosses who gave a shit about me as a person and actually treated me in a reasonable manner and allowed me to stretch and develop.
The weight piled on.
My personal life was crap too.
Debt issues followed.
More weight went on. More depression.
Dad tried various emotional blackmail techniques - nice one dad.
I couldn't see a way out and no one seemed to want to help me. They all just wanted to tell me I was worthless because I was overweight. I needed to lose weight - how I would ask, but I got no helpful answers. How do I deal with all this shit? How do I cope with it and find ways to keep the right mindset to loose weight?
7 years ago I got sick. My body refused to function properly. As I grew slower and slower, more and more weight piled on. Yet another bully appeared in my professional life. He had friends in the management structure so there was no support for me. Eventually I went to HR who went to management and the ONLY solution was the bully was told to stay away from me. I survived his jibes and taunts for 4 years before management changed and, suddenly, he was being held to account. But, by then, I was incapable of enjoying the victory - I just needed rest, peace and quiet. Not that I ever got it.
In January 2013 I broke my heel. Fragments of the bone lodged at the base of my Achilles tendon. That kind of pain doesn't help mobility either. The summer of 2013 I finally got to see a surgeon - the forms I had been sent suggested a surgical procedure to correct the issue was imminent. I knew that my weight would count against me. So I hunted high & low for the diet sheets I'd used when I was 20/21. I found them!! much to my utter astonishment. I embarked upon the diet. The first week is so incredibly hard, the 2nd week very hard, the 3rd week hard and then it gets a bit easier. I lost 3 stone in weight. I went to see the surgeon and I was met with such an arrogant dismissive attitude that I just said "fuck it". No medical intervention was forth coming, I was stuck. I dropped the diet, why stress myself even more?
I eventually got a "boot" to wear & it did help but the tightness of it, the damage it did to the tissues of my leg, brought me my first brush with cellulitis. I was on antibiotics for 6 weeks the first time. I was lucky, I didn't end up in hospital on a drip! I can't wear the boot any more.
I grew impervious to the constant "obese" comments. I was coping with chronic pain, chronic illness, a malfunctioning gut, a broken heel, a lack of a paying job, and caring for elderly parents who were (are) going down hill steadily. I stopped looking at myself in any mirror, aside from face washing and hair brushing.
Folic acid helps - I still get down, but I haven't been clinically depressed since I started taking extra folic acid about 2 years ago.
So, why am I back on a diet now, 2 years after the last attempt? To be honest, I don't know. The trigger is not something which has a conscious flag to it. How long will it last? I have no idea. I'd like to think that I'll get down to a size 20/22, a realistic notion. I'd still be overweight but I'd be about 75 kg better than I am at the moment & that's scary.
Threatening dire health warnings about weight related issues don't really wash - potential future issues are very dim compared to problems right now. No, weighing less won't solve my money issues, my stress over caring issues, my stress over professionals being less than ideal. No, weighing less won't cure my fibro or my pernicious anaemia or anything else I have health wise. BUT I might just not mind looking at myself in a mirror.
So, if you see someone who's over weight, don't just think they're lazy or gluttons - there might well be a long & convoluted tale behind why they are the way they are.
Saturday 19 September 2015
Officialdom
Years ago, I worked for the local Social Work department, as a clerical/admin/departmental secretary. When I worked in Social Work I didn't understand why anyone would refuse the help the SW could provide, or refuse to provide the information requested by SW to do their jobs. And, during my time of transcribing reports and action plans, I learned the buzz words.
Now, over a decade later, I once again realise why I'd rather not be involved with SW if at all possible. When I first organised for homecare for mum, after I'd torn ligaments and muscles in my shoulder and chest and my sis had done had back in, it was almost a relief to get help, to have someone else around who could do the helping to wash/shower/toilet and dress (but not lift if Mum fell, oh no, that was still on me/us). They provided us with a proper bed for Mum, proper aids and helped with adapting the bathroom so it was more "mother" friendly. But I also had to fight. It was inferred that because Mum was 80, at the time (she's now 83) it was a waste of SW resources to do much of anything except provide a profile bed. I know they're not allowed to say such things, or to imply it - that's ageism. So I used what I knew and I managed to argue for the things Mum needed.
Free Personal Care is only available in Scotland, it's not means tested. It is funded by the Scottish government through local authorities. So, to access it, one has to go through the local authority.
In April this year we had our first "review". Three years after care started. I thought it had gone quite well but then we got the paperwork through and, oh my, the emotive language and statements. And, the presumption that I would provide to Social Work, simply for their records and no other reason, full disclosure of our household finances. Nosey buggers is the politest response. The paperwork is horrendous. The "support plan" is ridiculous - no one from Social Work contacts me to find out how I'm managing as primary carer. No one from Social Work offers me the slightest bit of useful help and yet, according to their action plan I am fully supported.... Yes, I could contact SW myself but, with no named worker, I'd have to explain again and again and again and again the situation and what I needed. Have you ever tried condensing 15 years of issues into 3 or 4 sentences without leaving out a vital piece of information? It's like when Mum, or dad, gets admitted to hospital. You explain 3 or 4 times to different people (all of whom write it down) what's wrong. It gets to feel as though they're trying to trip you up, make you admit something or reveal something which would all them to refuse treatment. It's an absolutely awful set of circumstances and yet you're not permitted to express anger or frustration because "they're only doing their jobs" - aye right! Yer no readin' the notes, so are ye really daeing yer job?!!
Now, 6 months after the initial review, we get through the amended copy. It does read a lot better. I have refused, point blank, to deal with their financial assessment - Free Personal Care is still free, the charge for equipment has been paused (& no one knows how long for), and was to be a flat fee, not means tested - so there is no reason for anyone in SW to know our finances. Makes me sound like I'm hiding something, lol. I'm not. I just refuse to do the work because someone is being curious.
Being a carer is hard, demanding, emotionally and physically draining. Having to deal with officialdom adds a whole new oppressive layer to it.
When I reach the stage of not being able to care for myself I'll have no one to do it for me, no one to fight my corner and stand up to medics/dentists/opticians/social workers. When I reach the stage of not being able to care for myself, I don't think I'll linger. Better step off the bridge and find the next adventure to go on rather than stay here and dwindle into a moldering heap.
It's my tale and I'll decide it, I'm pretty good at making stories up as I go along.
Quite depressing really, but I'll always be a unicorn farting rainbows.
Now, over a decade later, I once again realise why I'd rather not be involved with SW if at all possible. When I first organised for homecare for mum, after I'd torn ligaments and muscles in my shoulder and chest and my sis had done had back in, it was almost a relief to get help, to have someone else around who could do the helping to wash/shower/toilet and dress (but not lift if Mum fell, oh no, that was still on me/us). They provided us with a proper bed for Mum, proper aids and helped with adapting the bathroom so it was more "mother" friendly. But I also had to fight. It was inferred that because Mum was 80, at the time (she's now 83) it was a waste of SW resources to do much of anything except provide a profile bed. I know they're not allowed to say such things, or to imply it - that's ageism. So I used what I knew and I managed to argue for the things Mum needed.
Free Personal Care is only available in Scotland, it's not means tested. It is funded by the Scottish government through local authorities. So, to access it, one has to go through the local authority.
In April this year we had our first "review". Three years after care started. I thought it had gone quite well but then we got the paperwork through and, oh my, the emotive language and statements. And, the presumption that I would provide to Social Work, simply for their records and no other reason, full disclosure of our household finances. Nosey buggers is the politest response. The paperwork is horrendous. The "support plan" is ridiculous - no one from Social Work contacts me to find out how I'm managing as primary carer. No one from Social Work offers me the slightest bit of useful help and yet, according to their action plan I am fully supported.... Yes, I could contact SW myself but, with no named worker, I'd have to explain again and again and again and again the situation and what I needed. Have you ever tried condensing 15 years of issues into 3 or 4 sentences without leaving out a vital piece of information? It's like when Mum, or dad, gets admitted to hospital. You explain 3 or 4 times to different people (all of whom write it down) what's wrong. It gets to feel as though they're trying to trip you up, make you admit something or reveal something which would all them to refuse treatment. It's an absolutely awful set of circumstances and yet you're not permitted to express anger or frustration because "they're only doing their jobs" - aye right! Yer no readin' the notes, so are ye really daeing yer job?!!
Now, 6 months after the initial review, we get through the amended copy. It does read a lot better. I have refused, point blank, to deal with their financial assessment - Free Personal Care is still free, the charge for equipment has been paused (& no one knows how long for), and was to be a flat fee, not means tested - so there is no reason for anyone in SW to know our finances. Makes me sound like I'm hiding something, lol. I'm not. I just refuse to do the work because someone is being curious.
Being a carer is hard, demanding, emotionally and physically draining. Having to deal with officialdom adds a whole new oppressive layer to it.
When I reach the stage of not being able to care for myself I'll have no one to do it for me, no one to fight my corner and stand up to medics/dentists/opticians/social workers. When I reach the stage of not being able to care for myself, I don't think I'll linger. Better step off the bridge and find the next adventure to go on rather than stay here and dwindle into a moldering heap.
It's my tale and I'll decide it, I'm pretty good at making stories up as I go along.
Quite depressing really, but I'll always be a unicorn farting rainbows.
Tuesday 1 September 2015
Lavender Tea
Many years ago, in another lifetime (at least that's how it feels), I had an active interest in "alternative" therapies.
You see, I'd started writing about my mythical island when I was 14 and, even then, I realised that my native society wouldn't have western medicine, so I felt I needed to research and know about herbal therapies and other non-mainstream healing methodologies. In my 20's I trained as an aromatherapist & reflexologist. In my late 30's I grew to know more and more about manipulating energy, in a healing capacity.
In my early 40's I developed fibromyalgia and pernicious anaemia basically all stemming from a severe bout of food poisoning which ruined my gut lining. The lining of my gut is leaking - literally, fluid from my intestinal track leaks out into the surrounding muscles giving me a version of a 3 pack - hard lumps where muscle used to be. Of course such leakage is toxic in and of itself, which isn't helping with trying to maintain muscle.
People ask me - if you can help others heal why can't you heal yourself? I have no idea, but I've never been able to.
So, I tried medical science - but some don't recognise fibromyalgia. Some think it's all psychological. Some think it's a neuro-transmitter issue. Some think there's a genetic component. Aside from painkillers, and frequent B12 injections, there is nothing else medical science can do for me. My GP expects me to be in a wheelchair in 4/5years time. It's up to me to manage my symptoms and my pain levels - there is nothing anyone can do to help me.
Someone, I can't recall who, suggested I check out an American chap who blames everything on modern living. Well, I know certain compounds don't help matters any, but, personally, I think it's a bit far fetched to blame everything on tinfoil and artificial sweeteners. And his universal cure was "fresh" aloe vera.
OK, I have heard a lot of good things about aloe vera, but my interpretation of fresh is completely different to someone who markets a liquid derived in the US and shipped across the world as being "fresh".
But it got me to thinking. I read in a book about forgotten Scottish herbs about the notion that everywhere that humanity has settled there is a plant for whatever ails you. That made me think about Aloe Vera and what it can be used for. Then I started thinking about what I knew of local plant life and I remembered lavender (not the french stuff). In aromatherapy it is used a lot because it also helps activate other essential oils, makes them more efficacious (love that word).
Ok, so now I have a plant - how do I get the stuff into my gut, heal it from the inside out? First check literature for contra-indications. A fair few essential oils you just do NOT take internally because of some of the active chemicals which can, quite effectively, kill you, or do other major damage.
OK, not such a good idea to ingest the actual essential oil. However, I found recipes for teas and condiments and such, so obviously part of the plant, unprocessed, could be ingested.
Turns out it's the flowers/seed heads.
I have a couple of ordinary lavender plants in the garden. Finding lavender tea anywhere other than on-line is difficult, so, out to my lavender plant I go.
What dosage? That's the next question. One of the reasons I have trouble with herbal medicine is the potential for massive variations in the strength/concentration of the active ingredients. However, in the absence of any real scientific data one falls back on good old trial and error.
One stalk with maybe a dozen flower heads. Give a quick rinse under the cold tap (you never know what might be on the flowers, even small as they are) and then into a teapot. Add freshly boiled water. How long to steep? Well, I don't like well brewed tea, so a minute or so.
The liquid has a decidedly green tinge to it but really isn't that strong - excellent, best place to start.
That was just over a week ago. I have had one cup each day. Through trial and error I've found that drinking it in the morning is the best idea since it doesn't help me sleep (it does the opposite). And I've paid close attention to pain and energy levels and how my gut feels.
Some of my joint/muscle/tendon pain is actually worse, but that might be a healing crisis (when things get worse before they they better), Time'll tell. But my underlying energy is better. I am exhausted, it's less than a week until my next B12 injection, but it's about 10% less intense than normal. My gut is less sensitive. My 3-pack is not as hard. My emotional state isn't as touchy as it can sometimes be.
So, for now, I think I'll get my ice-cube trays out, pick some more flower heads and freeze them. Then, when I want a cup of tea all I have to do is get an ice-cube and stick it in the teapot!! Besides the plants won't be producing flowers for much longer and I cannot be bothered harvesting and drying them (I'm so tired and so it could be classed as lazy, but, if you think that, let me know and I'll glad let you share my existence for a while). So, ice cubes it is.
Will it work for anyone else? I have no idea, like I say, my fibro, aneamia and gut issues are specifically linked to the bout of food poisoning in 2009.
Fingers crossed that it continues to work. But I shall remain watchful - you should never take any chemical long term, that's when side effects happen and sensitivities kick you in the gut.
You see, I'd started writing about my mythical island when I was 14 and, even then, I realised that my native society wouldn't have western medicine, so I felt I needed to research and know about herbal therapies and other non-mainstream healing methodologies. In my 20's I trained as an aromatherapist & reflexologist. In my late 30's I grew to know more and more about manipulating energy, in a healing capacity.
In my early 40's I developed fibromyalgia and pernicious anaemia basically all stemming from a severe bout of food poisoning which ruined my gut lining. The lining of my gut is leaking - literally, fluid from my intestinal track leaks out into the surrounding muscles giving me a version of a 3 pack - hard lumps where muscle used to be. Of course such leakage is toxic in and of itself, which isn't helping with trying to maintain muscle.
People ask me - if you can help others heal why can't you heal yourself? I have no idea, but I've never been able to.
So, I tried medical science - but some don't recognise fibromyalgia. Some think it's all psychological. Some think it's a neuro-transmitter issue. Some think there's a genetic component. Aside from painkillers, and frequent B12 injections, there is nothing else medical science can do for me. My GP expects me to be in a wheelchair in 4/5years time. It's up to me to manage my symptoms and my pain levels - there is nothing anyone can do to help me.
Someone, I can't recall who, suggested I check out an American chap who blames everything on modern living. Well, I know certain compounds don't help matters any, but, personally, I think it's a bit far fetched to blame everything on tinfoil and artificial sweeteners. And his universal cure was "fresh" aloe vera.
OK, I have heard a lot of good things about aloe vera, but my interpretation of fresh is completely different to someone who markets a liquid derived in the US and shipped across the world as being "fresh".
But it got me to thinking. I read in a book about forgotten Scottish herbs about the notion that everywhere that humanity has settled there is a plant for whatever ails you. That made me think about Aloe Vera and what it can be used for. Then I started thinking about what I knew of local plant life and I remembered lavender (not the french stuff). In aromatherapy it is used a lot because it also helps activate other essential oils, makes them more efficacious (love that word).
Ok, so now I have a plant - how do I get the stuff into my gut, heal it from the inside out? First check literature for contra-indications. A fair few essential oils you just do NOT take internally because of some of the active chemicals which can, quite effectively, kill you, or do other major damage.
OK, not such a good idea to ingest the actual essential oil. However, I found recipes for teas and condiments and such, so obviously part of the plant, unprocessed, could be ingested.
Turns out it's the flowers/seed heads.
I have a couple of ordinary lavender plants in the garden. Finding lavender tea anywhere other than on-line is difficult, so, out to my lavender plant I go.
What dosage? That's the next question. One of the reasons I have trouble with herbal medicine is the potential for massive variations in the strength/concentration of the active ingredients. However, in the absence of any real scientific data one falls back on good old trial and error.
One stalk with maybe a dozen flower heads. Give a quick rinse under the cold tap (you never know what might be on the flowers, even small as they are) and then into a teapot. Add freshly boiled water. How long to steep? Well, I don't like well brewed tea, so a minute or so.
The liquid has a decidedly green tinge to it but really isn't that strong - excellent, best place to start.
That was just over a week ago. I have had one cup each day. Through trial and error I've found that drinking it in the morning is the best idea since it doesn't help me sleep (it does the opposite). And I've paid close attention to pain and energy levels and how my gut feels.
Some of my joint/muscle/tendon pain is actually worse, but that might be a healing crisis (when things get worse before they they better), Time'll tell. But my underlying energy is better. I am exhausted, it's less than a week until my next B12 injection, but it's about 10% less intense than normal. My gut is less sensitive. My 3-pack is not as hard. My emotional state isn't as touchy as it can sometimes be.
So, for now, I think I'll get my ice-cube trays out, pick some more flower heads and freeze them. Then, when I want a cup of tea all I have to do is get an ice-cube and stick it in the teapot!! Besides the plants won't be producing flowers for much longer and I cannot be bothered harvesting and drying them (I'm so tired and so it could be classed as lazy, but, if you think that, let me know and I'll glad let you share my existence for a while). So, ice cubes it is.
Will it work for anyone else? I have no idea, like I say, my fibro, aneamia and gut issues are specifically linked to the bout of food poisoning in 2009.
Fingers crossed that it continues to work. But I shall remain watchful - you should never take any chemical long term, that's when side effects happen and sensitivities kick you in the gut.
Saturday 22 August 2015
The Week of Sighs
It's been a week.
Have you ever noticed that when you really clean a house, I mean REALLY - skirting boards, behind radiators,everything - you start to notice all the little things that need doing. Like the worn patch on the stair carpet, the cat claw marks on the banister, the fact that a pile of leaves has gathered outside the front door?
So, why all the cleaning? Well, I wanted the house valued, and most everyone (apart from Mum cos I didn't tell her the real reason because then she'd panic and worry) agreed. Nice chap from a local estate agents popped round. I'm well aware of our home's short comings, the fact that it is rather tired and in need of a fresh coat of paint, some new carpets etc. But when he came out with his valuation my heart sank. I know, 5 years ago, it was worth around £250k. I had thought with the railway opening soon, it would at least have maintained that, but no. In his opinion we'd be lucky to get £195k. *sigh*
You see, I'd seen a place on the west coast, in a village, with a wee pickle land and I could place folks in the rooms - so I'd made an appointment to view.
However, with that evaluation, my heart really wasn't in it. But Sally and I still went- it was a day out after all. A heck of a trek and with time constraints because of Mum and Dad's evening medications. No time to stop and stare and just enjoy, photos out the car window, though we did pause once or twice. All I heard from my Guides was "build your own" - fair enough but we can't do that while Mum and Dad are still alive because we'd need to liquidate this place and then buy the land... mind you, there are a fair few plots of land available on the west coast - can't live in a caravan with Mum and Dad, not with their medical issues. Fingers crossed there's a nice plot available when we're ready.
*sigh*
Then dad had his diabetic check up with the hospital. The pulse in his left leg is almost gone - not at all sure what we can do about that, but, because of his dry skin, I've been massaging his legs twice a day - his legs seem to be a bit warmer, maybe that's all it needs? But he doesn't listen to warnings about the amount of sugar he's consuming. *sigh*
However, the 2 day purge on cleaning and a LONG day up north, had a heavy toll. It wasn't until Friday midday that I started to feel even a normal amount of pain & energy.
2 weeks on Monday & I get my next B12. And, with that realisation came the announcement from my sis that she's going away for another holiday on the day I get my B12.
*sigh* I'm finding it, or rather my body is finding it hard to regulate it's core temperature. It could be hormones, it could be the painkillers I take, it could be the fibro developing a new trait. But, whatever the reason, life is uncomfy when you swing from being comfy to sweating like a pig. *sigh*
And we had our yearly visit from one of my brothers and his wife. It was a reasonable visit from our perspective but I don't think my brother had a good visit with Mum and Dad. Mum wasn't really feeling all that well anyway, and he wasn't upstairs long. And dad didn't quite hear all that was being said so he gave some off the cuff answers which didn't fit with the questions. *sigh*
Oh well, life progresses. Hopefully I'll still be relatively functional once my caring role is done so I can enjoy a wee bit of life and freedom. But, in the meantime, the sense of feeling trapped is back to growing again.
I think I'll go draw plans for my "dream" house lol
And, with the dentist wanting to visit Mum (much to my utter astonishment since I had a run in with the dentist's assistant last year and she threw a tantrum and refused to make further appointments) and the next SW rep coming out on Tuesday, it's going to be a busy week next week too.
Exit stage left - unicorn farting subdued rainbows.
Have you ever noticed that when you really clean a house, I mean REALLY - skirting boards, behind radiators,everything - you start to notice all the little things that need doing. Like the worn patch on the stair carpet, the cat claw marks on the banister, the fact that a pile of leaves has gathered outside the front door?
So, why all the cleaning? Well, I wanted the house valued, and most everyone (apart from Mum cos I didn't tell her the real reason because then she'd panic and worry) agreed. Nice chap from a local estate agents popped round. I'm well aware of our home's short comings, the fact that it is rather tired and in need of a fresh coat of paint, some new carpets etc. But when he came out with his valuation my heart sank. I know, 5 years ago, it was worth around £250k. I had thought with the railway opening soon, it would at least have maintained that, but no. In his opinion we'd be lucky to get £195k. *sigh*
You see, I'd seen a place on the west coast, in a village, with a wee pickle land and I could place folks in the rooms - so I'd made an appointment to view.
However, with that evaluation, my heart really wasn't in it. But Sally and I still went- it was a day out after all. A heck of a trek and with time constraints because of Mum and Dad's evening medications. No time to stop and stare and just enjoy, photos out the car window, though we did pause once or twice. All I heard from my Guides was "build your own" - fair enough but we can't do that while Mum and Dad are still alive because we'd need to liquidate this place and then buy the land... mind you, there are a fair few plots of land available on the west coast - can't live in a caravan with Mum and Dad, not with their medical issues. Fingers crossed there's a nice plot available when we're ready.
*sigh*
Then dad had his diabetic check up with the hospital. The pulse in his left leg is almost gone - not at all sure what we can do about that, but, because of his dry skin, I've been massaging his legs twice a day - his legs seem to be a bit warmer, maybe that's all it needs? But he doesn't listen to warnings about the amount of sugar he's consuming. *sigh*
However, the 2 day purge on cleaning and a LONG day up north, had a heavy toll. It wasn't until Friday midday that I started to feel even a normal amount of pain & energy.
2 weeks on Monday & I get my next B12. And, with that realisation came the announcement from my sis that she's going away for another holiday on the day I get my B12.
*sigh* I'm finding it, or rather my body is finding it hard to regulate it's core temperature. It could be hormones, it could be the painkillers I take, it could be the fibro developing a new trait. But, whatever the reason, life is uncomfy when you swing from being comfy to sweating like a pig. *sigh*
And we had our yearly visit from one of my brothers and his wife. It was a reasonable visit from our perspective but I don't think my brother had a good visit with Mum and Dad. Mum wasn't really feeling all that well anyway, and he wasn't upstairs long. And dad didn't quite hear all that was being said so he gave some off the cuff answers which didn't fit with the questions. *sigh*
Oh well, life progresses. Hopefully I'll still be relatively functional once my caring role is done so I can enjoy a wee bit of life and freedom. But, in the meantime, the sense of feeling trapped is back to growing again.
I think I'll go draw plans for my "dream" house lol
And, with the dentist wanting to visit Mum (much to my utter astonishment since I had a run in with the dentist's assistant last year and she threw a tantrum and refused to make further appointments) and the next SW rep coming out on Tuesday, it's going to be a busy week next week too.
Exit stage left - unicorn farting subdued rainbows.
Saturday 15 August 2015
And coming up in the next episode . . .
Here we are, Saturday again, not that the name of each day makes much difference to me. Most folks look forward to weekends. When I worked in an office, I looked forward to my weekends. Now that I stay home and care (such a small word for such a BIG job) each day is exactly the same.
That being said, dad turned 83 yesterday, he's very proud of that fact. Given his age, he's really doing quite well - as long as no one tweaks his antidepressant. Yeah, we went through that this past week.
And now he's having a different medication tweaked. It's not stopping his restless pacing - 4 times last night, and that's just what I was aware of. And, of course, the local pharmacist had to make comment about his dosset box and regular meds and all that. I get so fed up explaining to each individual pharmacist that our GP is simply trialing different meds & dosages to see how dad responds. if the change is permanent then the dosset box will be updated. Until then I have to fiddle with his pills every day to find & remove the right one. Not easy given the small size of some of the tabs!
Mum's being quite obnoxious with some of the carers, and they're not quite sure if she's playing/teasing them or if she means it. Mum's of the generation that "women don't swear", just like they don't fart but "pass wind". So now that she's using words like "bitch" it's unsettling the more sensitive carers.
She said to me the other day, "I don't want the blue pill". She's never had a blue pill. Dad has a blue pill, but she's not got one. Would she believe me? Oh ye gawds no!
My vertigo came back with a vengeance Thursday morning. It felt awful knowing Mum needed a hand and my sister, who was prepping to go out for the day, was being interrupted and I couldn't do a damn thing! Lifting my head off the pillow was difficult, staying upright impossible. However, I had some pills left from the last time the world went sideways on me. Between them & diazepam, I was reasonably steady by lunchtime. I also use a drop of lavender essential oil on a cotton bud just run around just inside the ear canal. It helps too. When you're a carer, even with chronic issues, you can't afford to be incapacitated for too long. No pressure, nope, none at all.
Suki needs to go to the vet next week for her diabetic check (expensive), and she needs more insulin, so, next week will be a monetarily week.
Dad goes for his diabetic check next week too - I hope they examine his feet because I found an area of mild concern when I was cutting his toenails (not easy when the world starts to tilt!).
But, at least the sun is shining, and it looks like my sis and I are having a day out on Tuesday! YAY! And the forecast is half decent. AND I'm hoping she'll drive so I can take photos LOL I'd love to go paddle too, but we shall see.
Meanwhile the house needs cleaning again - vacuum, floor wash, steam, dust, the usual.
Dad spilled his actimel drink the other morning, in the living room, down the side of his chair.... Fortunately a good dab with an absorbent cloth and a thorough steam and, well, you'd not be able to tell. Given how sunny and warm it is turning out, at least that's one less thing to create a stink.
End of next week, mum and dad have their 63rd wedding anniversary. And, on that day, we are being graced by the presence of one of my brothers and his wife. That'll be a diet pepsi day lol
That being said, dad turned 83 yesterday, he's very proud of that fact. Given his age, he's really doing quite well - as long as no one tweaks his antidepressant. Yeah, we went through that this past week.
And now he's having a different medication tweaked. It's not stopping his restless pacing - 4 times last night, and that's just what I was aware of. And, of course, the local pharmacist had to make comment about his dosset box and regular meds and all that. I get so fed up explaining to each individual pharmacist that our GP is simply trialing different meds & dosages to see how dad responds. if the change is permanent then the dosset box will be updated. Until then I have to fiddle with his pills every day to find & remove the right one. Not easy given the small size of some of the tabs!
Mum's being quite obnoxious with some of the carers, and they're not quite sure if she's playing/teasing them or if she means it. Mum's of the generation that "women don't swear", just like they don't fart but "pass wind". So now that she's using words like "bitch" it's unsettling the more sensitive carers.
She said to me the other day, "I don't want the blue pill". She's never had a blue pill. Dad has a blue pill, but she's not got one. Would she believe me? Oh ye gawds no!
My vertigo came back with a vengeance Thursday morning. It felt awful knowing Mum needed a hand and my sister, who was prepping to go out for the day, was being interrupted and I couldn't do a damn thing! Lifting my head off the pillow was difficult, staying upright impossible. However, I had some pills left from the last time the world went sideways on me. Between them & diazepam, I was reasonably steady by lunchtime. I also use a drop of lavender essential oil on a cotton bud just run around just inside the ear canal. It helps too. When you're a carer, even with chronic issues, you can't afford to be incapacitated for too long. No pressure, nope, none at all.
Suki needs to go to the vet next week for her diabetic check (expensive), and she needs more insulin, so, next week will be a monetarily week.
Dad goes for his diabetic check next week too - I hope they examine his feet because I found an area of mild concern when I was cutting his toenails (not easy when the world starts to tilt!).
But, at least the sun is shining, and it looks like my sis and I are having a day out on Tuesday! YAY! And the forecast is half decent. AND I'm hoping she'll drive so I can take photos LOL I'd love to go paddle too, but we shall see.
Meanwhile the house needs cleaning again - vacuum, floor wash, steam, dust, the usual.
Dad spilled his actimel drink the other morning, in the living room, down the side of his chair.... Fortunately a good dab with an absorbent cloth and a thorough steam and, well, you'd not be able to tell. Given how sunny and warm it is turning out, at least that's one less thing to create a stink.
End of next week, mum and dad have their 63rd wedding anniversary. And, on that day, we are being graced by the presence of one of my brothers and his wife. That'll be a diet pepsi day lol
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