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
Saturday, 8 August 2015
Up and Down, life of a human yoyo
Well, here we are, another week gone. Another week closer to Christmas - arrrrrggggg
Dad's been complaining for a while about his lack of sleep. Except lack is the wrong word. He sleeps, a lot. He just doesn't do it in reasonably large chunks - as in he sleeps a couple of hours, gets up, sleeps a couple of hours, gets up etc etc etc. His GP changed one of his meds 4 weeks ago, but that didn't make much of a difference. He wanted me to phone the GP and get his heart meds changed or moved around, but then the Heart Failure Nurse comes in (his routine tests are looking not bad at all) and he discusses it with her. She decides she'll write to the GP and get a couple of his meds moved from morning to night but she really didn't think it would make much difference. In the meantime I had to phone the GP anyway, his reduced dosage meds were about to finish, what should I do? New prescription? Return to old dosage? What?
After due deliberation, the doc decides a new med is in order. Stop the old one immediately, leave for 2 weeks, commence new meds. Oh man, I freaked. When we reduced the dosage he went through a mini-withdrawal complete with anger, irrational out bursts - mostly, but not all, directed at me because I don't bite back as well as my sis does. The thought of having 2 weeks with nothing to cushion the emotional outbursts - well, let's just say, I was thinking mostly of myself (and only a little bit of dad). With this new information, the GP then reconsiders and, though we've stopped the meds now, he can start the new ones on Monday & the GP will pop in next week to check up on him.
So, after the palava of getting the new prescription, I googled the meds. *sigh* I do so hope we don't have any of the side effects...! Plus there's the remembering to remove the old tablet from his dosset box. Dosset boxes are wonderful things, a person at the pharmacy actually separates out all the meds and puts them into little boxes for each day/time/dosage. Trouble is, if meds change there can be a time lag and confusion. So, until the dr decides that this is the new permanent med, someone (me) has to hoick out the old med. And we have a dosset box for dad because dad decided he needed more painkillers than he was being allocated. *sigh*
Then there was the car - give Stewart and Craig their due, they put my car through his paces. But, at the end of the day, they found nothing wrong. Which is good!
I finally managed to climb the ladder and deal with the garage gutter issue (I hate ladders, even step ladders, my knees & thighs just do NOT appreciate them at all). Next time we have a bit of prolonged/heavy rain will see if it's worked (won't have to wait long, we're in Scotland after all) ha ha
Mum's forgetting where we live and how long we've lived here. :(
One of my brothers and his wife are coming, on their yearly visit, to see us week after next. Dad'll disappear and/or refuse to wear his hearing aid (went shopping the other day with dad & he had decided not to wear his hearing aid so conversation was impossible). And only my brother will be able to visit with mum, because my sis-in-law is in a wheelchair and we have no stairlift now.
Speaking of stairlifts, currently waiting to hear back from SW about meeting with another SWker to sort out the review document. I'll have to find the risk assessment/action plan I drew up for fire in the house. And that's another rant, but we won't go there today - the sun is shining and I'm hoping to hunt down some gf pork pies in our local M & S shop.
I don't shop in M&S as a rule, but for a pork pie (which I haven't had in 7 years & my sis hasn't had in over 10) I'm prepared to do battle with the other people who shop there. It's daft, but if you find yourself unable to enjoy certain foods, when/if you find someone who makes a version you can eat, well.... let's just say gf scones don't last long at the moment in this household lol And, if the pork pie hunt is successful, pork pies won't last long either! Until we get used to having them around again.
I find myself listening to the paid carers who come in, complaining about lack of holidays and when their next holiday will be. I understand the issue, I was the same way when I worked. And yes, I had 4 whole days away from the house late March/early April. But, you know, I'd really like a holiday too. Oh well.
Onwards & outwards - let the pork pie hunt commence!
Dad's been complaining for a while about his lack of sleep. Except lack is the wrong word. He sleeps, a lot. He just doesn't do it in reasonably large chunks - as in he sleeps a couple of hours, gets up, sleeps a couple of hours, gets up etc etc etc. His GP changed one of his meds 4 weeks ago, but that didn't make much of a difference. He wanted me to phone the GP and get his heart meds changed or moved around, but then the Heart Failure Nurse comes in (his routine tests are looking not bad at all) and he discusses it with her. She decides she'll write to the GP and get a couple of his meds moved from morning to night but she really didn't think it would make much difference. In the meantime I had to phone the GP anyway, his reduced dosage meds were about to finish, what should I do? New prescription? Return to old dosage? What?
After due deliberation, the doc decides a new med is in order. Stop the old one immediately, leave for 2 weeks, commence new meds. Oh man, I freaked. When we reduced the dosage he went through a mini-withdrawal complete with anger, irrational out bursts - mostly, but not all, directed at me because I don't bite back as well as my sis does. The thought of having 2 weeks with nothing to cushion the emotional outbursts - well, let's just say, I was thinking mostly of myself (and only a little bit of dad). With this new information, the GP then reconsiders and, though we've stopped the meds now, he can start the new ones on Monday & the GP will pop in next week to check up on him.
So, after the palava of getting the new prescription, I googled the meds. *sigh* I do so hope we don't have any of the side effects...! Plus there's the remembering to remove the old tablet from his dosset box. Dosset boxes are wonderful things, a person at the pharmacy actually separates out all the meds and puts them into little boxes for each day/time/dosage. Trouble is, if meds change there can be a time lag and confusion. So, until the dr decides that this is the new permanent med, someone (me) has to hoick out the old med. And we have a dosset box for dad because dad decided he needed more painkillers than he was being allocated. *sigh*
Then there was the car - give Stewart and Craig their due, they put my car through his paces. But, at the end of the day, they found nothing wrong. Which is good!
I finally managed to climb the ladder and deal with the garage gutter issue (I hate ladders, even step ladders, my knees & thighs just do NOT appreciate them at all). Next time we have a bit of prolonged/heavy rain will see if it's worked (won't have to wait long, we're in Scotland after all) ha ha
Mum's forgetting where we live and how long we've lived here. :(
One of my brothers and his wife are coming, on their yearly visit, to see us week after next. Dad'll disappear and/or refuse to wear his hearing aid (went shopping the other day with dad & he had decided not to wear his hearing aid so conversation was impossible). And only my brother will be able to visit with mum, because my sis-in-law is in a wheelchair and we have no stairlift now.
Speaking of stairlifts, currently waiting to hear back from SW about meeting with another SWker to sort out the review document. I'll have to find the risk assessment/action plan I drew up for fire in the house. And that's another rant, but we won't go there today - the sun is shining and I'm hoping to hunt down some gf pork pies in our local M & S shop.
I don't shop in M&S as a rule, but for a pork pie (which I haven't had in 7 years & my sis hasn't had in over 10) I'm prepared to do battle with the other people who shop there. It's daft, but if you find yourself unable to enjoy certain foods, when/if you find someone who makes a version you can eat, well.... let's just say gf scones don't last long at the moment in this household lol And, if the pork pie hunt is successful, pork pies won't last long either! Until we get used to having them around again.
I find myself listening to the paid carers who come in, complaining about lack of holidays and when their next holiday will be. I understand the issue, I was the same way when I worked. And yes, I had 4 whole days away from the house late March/early April. But, you know, I'd really like a holiday too. Oh well.
Onwards & outwards - let the pork pie hunt commence!
Saturday, 1 August 2015
Lughnasadh
According to ancient traditions (i.e. those which predate Christianity) this time of year was classed as a Harvest Festival, since a lot of crops (given good enough weather) would start to be harvested around this time of year.
Personally, though I am not a Christian, I don't celebrate it - it's just another day at the face of care giving. Maybe I should have more special days though, days which I can set aside to just have some quiet "me" time (ha ha - just joking, that won't happen until my circumstances change).
It's been a week though. My car decided it has an issue with it's steering, so I haven't been driving this week. He goes to the mechanic on Monday and we'll find out what the damage is - literally and monetarily. Dad went from being supportive - don't drive, get it seen to, let me know how much (which always comes as a relief since I have no savings to fall back on) - to being bolshy and combative with "I can't afford a big bill you know" and statements which made me feel quite upset and angry. I know it's where he is, mentally, these days - nothing much in life exists outside of himself and Mum and their bank balance. But, the long and the short of it is, if I don't have some method of getting out the house regularly I'll end up snapping and, when/if that happens, both him and Mum will be carted off into a care home and their quite reasonable retirement income will disappear faster than mist in the summer. However, he no longer can see that, comprehend that. *sigh* So he hits out at me, as if I sabotaged my car deliberately just to irritate him.
Safe to say I am sorely missing my car & the freedom he represents and the fact that I don't have to ask to be taken where I need to go. I'm thankful my sis has a car though, otherwise it'd be taxi journeys everywhere and they are on the expensive side.
Mum's not had a bad week, in fact, most of the time she's been quite chirpy and if she has been at all combative it's been in a way which I can diffuse. Though she asked me last night why I was so tired. Knowing that my answer, depending on what I said, could make her feel overly guilty (she's turned feeling guilty into an art form and then turning it back on others to try to make them feel guilty), I phrased my response carefully. Well, let's see - I can lie in a bed for long (I get sore & my sinuses clog up). I have pernicious anaemia which means I'm tired but it's the kind of tired which never goes away because there is nothing which cures it. I have fibromyalgia which makes a person tired - constant pain & the actual disease are the causes. Not much can be done about that. The fact that her TV is on from 7 a.m. until 8:30/9 p.m. with the volume at 45 or higher, makes napping incredibly difficult. The fact that there is shopping, washing, cleaning, checking up on carers, cooking etc etc etc to be done to maintain her and dad doesn't eat into my day/energy levels at all - oh heavens no. But one doesn't say that to mum.
That said, she did give me £20 to buy a new pet carrier - I had wanted one with wheels since carrying the carry cage is difficult & painful now, but the wheeled ones were coming in at close on £60. So I got one which has a shoulder strap. I can carry a fair bit of weight if it's across my chest/back - just shoulders and arms which can't take much direct stress these days (unless it's an emergency).
The parents of my best friend get married today. I hope they have a lovely day. Sounds odd though, doesn't it? But his mother is gay and same sex marriage has only recently been legally recognised in Texas, so it is something rather special for all involved, a day they never thought would happen has arrived. Congrats to them & I hope they have many grand years together.
I decided to clean the house on Thursday - I was getting most upset by the sheer number and size of the dust bunnies under Mum's bed (fed on a healthy diet of dropped mints and straws lol). So, in with the duster, the vacuum, the steamer. Once her room was done I moved onto the landing, my room, the stairs, and the carpets downstairs. All in all about 2 hours of solid work - and I'm still in the process of recovering. It's played hell on my wrists, back, thighs. And, when I look back, not so very long ago 2 hours of house cleaning would have cleaned the entire house from top to bottom including bathrooms. Yet, according to the UK Government, being like this is a life style choice. Man, have I made a bad choice then - how do I correct it? There is no treatment for fibro, there's hardly any research on it. I've tried to decide that I don't have it, but my body reminds me very quickly if I try to do anything remotely like "normal". So, tell me, UK Westminster Conservative government, how do I correct it?
Which brings me on to Cecil the Lion. I have to admit, I was livid. And my anger grew as I learned more about the situation and about the way that some African governments decide how many lions/tigers/big cats can be hunted legally. And then I read several comments and comentaries about how so many seem to be so angry about the death of one lion when so many people die each day - how can that be right? Right? I'm not sure it's right. But, the thing is, we're bombarded every day with images and stories of the ugly horrors of what human beings do to their fellow humans, it has desensitised us to some degree, I think. And then there's the other side to it - for me anyway. Humans will always seek to hurt and maim and kill each other, it's a fundamental part of what makes us a species (all species do it to a certain level - think about it before you decide to disagree). Doesn't make it right, doesn't make it acceptable, just makes us who we are. However, attacking a creature (any creature) which can't fight back - making it suffer - that's wrong. If you are going to hunt, hunt for food. If you are going to kill an animal, eat it - make its death count for something. And no, I don't think having its head mounted on a wall or it's skin made into a rug or its bones ground up for some mystical magic potion as counting for something - but that's just me and my opinion.
And now I need to get my bones & muscles working, go find my snuffles so I can breathe for 10 or 11 hours and get started on all the stuff I have to get done today.
Happy Rainbows!
Personally, though I am not a Christian, I don't celebrate it - it's just another day at the face of care giving. Maybe I should have more special days though, days which I can set aside to just have some quiet "me" time (ha ha - just joking, that won't happen until my circumstances change).
It's been a week though. My car decided it has an issue with it's steering, so I haven't been driving this week. He goes to the mechanic on Monday and we'll find out what the damage is - literally and monetarily. Dad went from being supportive - don't drive, get it seen to, let me know how much (which always comes as a relief since I have no savings to fall back on) - to being bolshy and combative with "I can't afford a big bill you know" and statements which made me feel quite upset and angry. I know it's where he is, mentally, these days - nothing much in life exists outside of himself and Mum and their bank balance. But, the long and the short of it is, if I don't have some method of getting out the house regularly I'll end up snapping and, when/if that happens, both him and Mum will be carted off into a care home and their quite reasonable retirement income will disappear faster than mist in the summer. However, he no longer can see that, comprehend that. *sigh* So he hits out at me, as if I sabotaged my car deliberately just to irritate him.
Safe to say I am sorely missing my car & the freedom he represents and the fact that I don't have to ask to be taken where I need to go. I'm thankful my sis has a car though, otherwise it'd be taxi journeys everywhere and they are on the expensive side.
Mum's not had a bad week, in fact, most of the time she's been quite chirpy and if she has been at all combative it's been in a way which I can diffuse. Though she asked me last night why I was so tired. Knowing that my answer, depending on what I said, could make her feel overly guilty (she's turned feeling guilty into an art form and then turning it back on others to try to make them feel guilty), I phrased my response carefully. Well, let's see - I can lie in a bed for long (I get sore & my sinuses clog up). I have pernicious anaemia which means I'm tired but it's the kind of tired which never goes away because there is nothing which cures it. I have fibromyalgia which makes a person tired - constant pain & the actual disease are the causes. Not much can be done about that. The fact that her TV is on from 7 a.m. until 8:30/9 p.m. with the volume at 45 or higher, makes napping incredibly difficult. The fact that there is shopping, washing, cleaning, checking up on carers, cooking etc etc etc to be done to maintain her and dad doesn't eat into my day/energy levels at all - oh heavens no. But one doesn't say that to mum.
That said, she did give me £20 to buy a new pet carrier - I had wanted one with wheels since carrying the carry cage is difficult & painful now, but the wheeled ones were coming in at close on £60. So I got one which has a shoulder strap. I can carry a fair bit of weight if it's across my chest/back - just shoulders and arms which can't take much direct stress these days (unless it's an emergency).
The parents of my best friend get married today. I hope they have a lovely day. Sounds odd though, doesn't it? But his mother is gay and same sex marriage has only recently been legally recognised in Texas, so it is something rather special for all involved, a day they never thought would happen has arrived. Congrats to them & I hope they have many grand years together.
I decided to clean the house on Thursday - I was getting most upset by the sheer number and size of the dust bunnies under Mum's bed (fed on a healthy diet of dropped mints and straws lol). So, in with the duster, the vacuum, the steamer. Once her room was done I moved onto the landing, my room, the stairs, and the carpets downstairs. All in all about 2 hours of solid work - and I'm still in the process of recovering. It's played hell on my wrists, back, thighs. And, when I look back, not so very long ago 2 hours of house cleaning would have cleaned the entire house from top to bottom including bathrooms. Yet, according to the UK Government, being like this is a life style choice. Man, have I made a bad choice then - how do I correct it? There is no treatment for fibro, there's hardly any research on it. I've tried to decide that I don't have it, but my body reminds me very quickly if I try to do anything remotely like "normal". So, tell me, UK Westminster Conservative government, how do I correct it?
Which brings me on to Cecil the Lion. I have to admit, I was livid. And my anger grew as I learned more about the situation and about the way that some African governments decide how many lions/tigers/big cats can be hunted legally. And then I read several comments and comentaries about how so many seem to be so angry about the death of one lion when so many people die each day - how can that be right? Right? I'm not sure it's right. But, the thing is, we're bombarded every day with images and stories of the ugly horrors of what human beings do to their fellow humans, it has desensitised us to some degree, I think. And then there's the other side to it - for me anyway. Humans will always seek to hurt and maim and kill each other, it's a fundamental part of what makes us a species (all species do it to a certain level - think about it before you decide to disagree). Doesn't make it right, doesn't make it acceptable, just makes us who we are. However, attacking a creature (any creature) which can't fight back - making it suffer - that's wrong. If you are going to hunt, hunt for food. If you are going to kill an animal, eat it - make its death count for something. And no, I don't think having its head mounted on a wall or it's skin made into a rug or its bones ground up for some mystical magic potion as counting for something - but that's just me and my opinion.
And now I need to get my bones & muscles working, go find my snuffles so I can breathe for 10 or 11 hours and get started on all the stuff I have to get done today.
Happy Rainbows!
Saturday, 25 July 2015
What's Love Got To Do With "It"?
Another week, another set of circumstances to deal with, another set of monumental headaches as one tries to do what's best, but first have to decide what's best. Working for a living was so much easier, one just had to deal with the crap but one also didn't have much of any control, Control's an illusion anyway, but, sometimes, it's a nice illusion to have.
But, this morning, I was thinking about love. About how we're fed these stories as kids about finding the happy ending, finding the soul mate/perfect one, finding solace and being saved.
Trouble is all those things depend on so many other things. So, what if you meet your soul mate - or the one you think is your soul mate and turns out that definitions are different, or they just don't see you in quite the same way? What if compromise just can't be done? What if your best friend can't be your romantic partner because they won't allow it (sometimes it's fear, sometimes it's because they just don't get it)? What if you can't escape from the ties that bind (for whatever reason)? What if you so desperately want/need someone else to take the strain for a while but there's no one there to do it?
Why do we assume that those whom we love can read our minds, understand why their actions hurt so much when, in all reality, no one can read another's mind to the point where things said or done can accurately be predicted as causing pain.
There are times/ events in my life that I wouldn't have overcome or made it through were it not for love.
And there are so many different variables of love.
Why do we chase after romantic/soul linking love? Yes, humans are a social species. Yes, opening yourself up to another human risks soul rending hurt. But why is it the goal for so many? I'll admit it, there are times when I so desperately need another human to hold me, to tell me it's okay, to hold my hand and give me strength - I rarely, if ever, get that support. To the point where I become all rather surly about it all, and fed up and disillusioned, not to mention hard and cold.
And there are so many times when I just want to gather up my cats, pile everything in the car and say "fuck it, I can't do this any more" and just drive off. Where would I go? I have no idea. What would I do for money? I have no idea, my savings are long gone, my bank account is permanently overdrawn, some days of a week I have a full tank of diesel, but that's the size of it. And then there's my medical issues and Suki's medical issues (she's a diabetic cat). I don't even have the luxury of being able to run away.
So, I'm trapped. And that's a bloody awful feeling to have - I'm used to it, I've been trapped my entire life because of parental expectations (imagine being told your entire life that you were only born to look after your parents in their old age), because of having no clarity in my own head what I want to do (though I do now - 30 years too late), because I was raised to pay homage to the great banking gods of Money and Responsibility - you MUST work for a living, doesn't matter how ill you are you must work, you must be responsible. Ye gawds, how I sometimes wish to be irresponsible - to say fuck it and just go away for a day, a week, a month, not caring whether anyone else takes up the slack or not - just be completely and utterly selfish.
Aren't we all trapped, one way or another? Doesn't help the way I feel about it all though.
What's love got to do with "it"? I have no idea, but there are definitely times when I wish I didn't have this baggage called "love".
But, this morning, I was thinking about love. About how we're fed these stories as kids about finding the happy ending, finding the soul mate/perfect one, finding solace and being saved.
Trouble is all those things depend on so many other things. So, what if you meet your soul mate - or the one you think is your soul mate and turns out that definitions are different, or they just don't see you in quite the same way? What if compromise just can't be done? What if your best friend can't be your romantic partner because they won't allow it (sometimes it's fear, sometimes it's because they just don't get it)? What if you can't escape from the ties that bind (for whatever reason)? What if you so desperately want/need someone else to take the strain for a while but there's no one there to do it?
Why do we assume that those whom we love can read our minds, understand why their actions hurt so much when, in all reality, no one can read another's mind to the point where things said or done can accurately be predicted as causing pain.
There are times/ events in my life that I wouldn't have overcome or made it through were it not for love.
And there are so many different variables of love.
Why do we chase after romantic/soul linking love? Yes, humans are a social species. Yes, opening yourself up to another human risks soul rending hurt. But why is it the goal for so many? I'll admit it, there are times when I so desperately need another human to hold me, to tell me it's okay, to hold my hand and give me strength - I rarely, if ever, get that support. To the point where I become all rather surly about it all, and fed up and disillusioned, not to mention hard and cold.
And there are so many times when I just want to gather up my cats, pile everything in the car and say "fuck it, I can't do this any more" and just drive off. Where would I go? I have no idea. What would I do for money? I have no idea, my savings are long gone, my bank account is permanently overdrawn, some days of a week I have a full tank of diesel, but that's the size of it. And then there's my medical issues and Suki's medical issues (she's a diabetic cat). I don't even have the luxury of being able to run away.
So, I'm trapped. And that's a bloody awful feeling to have - I'm used to it, I've been trapped my entire life because of parental expectations (imagine being told your entire life that you were only born to look after your parents in their old age), because of having no clarity in my own head what I want to do (though I do now - 30 years too late), because I was raised to pay homage to the great banking gods of Money and Responsibility - you MUST work for a living, doesn't matter how ill you are you must work, you must be responsible. Ye gawds, how I sometimes wish to be irresponsible - to say fuck it and just go away for a day, a week, a month, not caring whether anyone else takes up the slack or not - just be completely and utterly selfish.
Aren't we all trapped, one way or another? Doesn't help the way I feel about it all though.
What's love got to do with "it"? I have no idea, but there are definitely times when I wish I didn't have this baggage called "love".
Sunday, 19 July 2015
The Week That Was . . . or was it all my imagination?
Had my B12 injection last Monday - whohoo - pain levels down a tad, still waiting for the energy to surge, ha ha.
Dad couldn't decide whether he wanted to see a doctor or not. His weight was going up but he wasn't any more breathless than usual, so, while it is a "red flag" as far as his congestive heart failure goes there weren't any other accompanying signals. However, he wasn't listening when I told him he needed to start loosing weight - cut down on the donuts and the scones and the pieces of fruit. Fortunately, while I was in for my B12, I managed to get a conversation with our GP. He decided blood tests were in order - oh, man, how I sighed at that one (last time bloods were requested I "lost" 3 mornings out waiting for a district nurse when they had "forgotten" they were supposed to do it...!) However, the lovely lass & expert blood taker District Nurse turned up the following morning &, well, that was that.
Thing is, when someone, any one, decides they can't be bothered with their medical conditions (life threatening ones, not "just" plain old chronic) what are you supposed to do? Firstly they are adults, secondly you cannot watch them 24/7, thirdly they have the right to choose (no matter what I, or anyone else, may think or wish).
However, I made use of that morning in and contacted a company about taking away the garden rubbish, I tried to contact one about the guttering issue (but no one wanted to talk to me, so I need to find someone else) and I contacted an estate agent about a property I'd seen. I have grand plans. I have no money, but I like to dream. In some ways it keeps me sane, in others it frustrates the hell out of me.
Our GP came out on Thursday, so no rest that day, to see Dad. His long term sugar levels are a bit on the iffy side though not red flagging yet. His chest is clear, so the weight is "just" weight, his legs are fine. The GP also had a conversation with Mum. All in all, he is very pleased with how they are doing and our care of them. Certainly helped a little with the emotional fallout from the patronising SW report.
On the SW front I've had an email from a Group Manager with an unreserved apology. Acknowledging that the points I raised are valid ones. So, next step is a meeting with yet another SW member probably some time in August/early Sept. Bearing in mind that the actual review was in early April. . . Thing is until we get that sorted out the chances of Mum getting her"monkey bar" assessment are 0.
Wednesday morning was glorious. So, I decided to grab my sister & we went out for the day. I couldn't really afford it, and neither could she, but I needed out the house. The last time I'd had a day out was 11 April, the day before my bestie went back home after his 2 week visit. That's a long time without a significant break & decompression. That's the thing when you're a carer - you are told to get out the house as much as you can, but finances constrain you, as does physical ability in my case. As does getting cover for yourself. Cover needs a minimum of 2 weeks advance planning - when the weather is good you can't just pick up and go - however, I took a chance. I bubbled the house & Mum and Dad and we went. It was a bit busy but it was good.
And then there are the carers. We have some excellent carers who take great pride in their work and have an excellent work ethic. We have others who will only do the bare minimum. Fortunately, the ones who pretend to do things are no longer with us. For a number of months now I've been having a back & forth debate with the carers manager/supervisor - if carers can perform the things they are supposed to in half the time allocated then maybe we need to change the time allocation because there are other people out there in need for free personal care& not getting as much. Without physically standing in the room there is no way to tell if all the things written in the log book are actually carried out. Then there are the carers who think that they know better than the care plan instruction and decide, unilaterally, not to do the things they are paid to do because they know better.
*sigh*
But it really is getting to the point now where carers have 30 minutes, they are turning up 10/15 minutes late and leaving 5 mins early yet saying in their log that they've been here 20+ minutes and have done all they should do. If they are that bloody efficient and good at their jobs, then I will speak to Social Work and get our allocation reduced. I know the arguments against it, but I also feel rather strongly that people are getting paid for things they aren't doing.
On the other hand I know they don't earn much, I know they have a rigid timetable and it is not an easy job. But this is my mother we are talking about - if you can't provide the level of care which is stated in your own documentation, then you need to be doing something else with your life. It's a job, it's not a skive.
I'll keep an eye on things, I will continue reporting to their management but, if by the time I have my next meeting with SW things haven't improved then their nice easy time here will be far shorter and their bosses will have money withdrawn and, potentially, have all other SW allocated clients on FPC reviewed. Do they think like that? Oh, heavens no.
Then there's the issue of the Care Commission who oversee the running of care companies (amongst other things). If they notice that care plans are reduced, especially after the length of time we've had the same plan, questions will be asked & things will get a bit too warm for comfort for the company &, I have no doubt, management will share their displeasure.
One more stress on me, but no one gives a shit about that either.
It isn't easy, but at least I've "sold" 4 more copies of my book. That's a whole £0.90 I have earned so far. Still trying to keep a perspective on that viewpoint but it ain't easy sometimes. That said, I'm at page 140 of the next book in the series, so it's not standing still.
And now I'm off to be a unicorn farting rainbows in the kitchen while tidying up and doing dishes & having snuffles LOL
Dad couldn't decide whether he wanted to see a doctor or not. His weight was going up but he wasn't any more breathless than usual, so, while it is a "red flag" as far as his congestive heart failure goes there weren't any other accompanying signals. However, he wasn't listening when I told him he needed to start loosing weight - cut down on the donuts and the scones and the pieces of fruit. Fortunately, while I was in for my B12, I managed to get a conversation with our GP. He decided blood tests were in order - oh, man, how I sighed at that one (last time bloods were requested I "lost" 3 mornings out waiting for a district nurse when they had "forgotten" they were supposed to do it...!) However, the lovely lass & expert blood taker District Nurse turned up the following morning &, well, that was that.
Thing is, when someone, any one, decides they can't be bothered with their medical conditions (life threatening ones, not "just" plain old chronic) what are you supposed to do? Firstly they are adults, secondly you cannot watch them 24/7, thirdly they have the right to choose (no matter what I, or anyone else, may think or wish).
However, I made use of that morning in and contacted a company about taking away the garden rubbish, I tried to contact one about the guttering issue (but no one wanted to talk to me, so I need to find someone else) and I contacted an estate agent about a property I'd seen. I have grand plans. I have no money, but I like to dream. In some ways it keeps me sane, in others it frustrates the hell out of me.
Our GP came out on Thursday, so no rest that day, to see Dad. His long term sugar levels are a bit on the iffy side though not red flagging yet. His chest is clear, so the weight is "just" weight, his legs are fine. The GP also had a conversation with Mum. All in all, he is very pleased with how they are doing and our care of them. Certainly helped a little with the emotional fallout from the patronising SW report.
On the SW front I've had an email from a Group Manager with an unreserved apology. Acknowledging that the points I raised are valid ones. So, next step is a meeting with yet another SW member probably some time in August/early Sept. Bearing in mind that the actual review was in early April. . . Thing is until we get that sorted out the chances of Mum getting her"monkey bar" assessment are 0.
Wednesday morning was glorious. So, I decided to grab my sister & we went out for the day. I couldn't really afford it, and neither could she, but I needed out the house. The last time I'd had a day out was 11 April, the day before my bestie went back home after his 2 week visit. That's a long time without a significant break & decompression. That's the thing when you're a carer - you are told to get out the house as much as you can, but finances constrain you, as does physical ability in my case. As does getting cover for yourself. Cover needs a minimum of 2 weeks advance planning - when the weather is good you can't just pick up and go - however, I took a chance. I bubbled the house & Mum and Dad and we went. It was a bit busy but it was good.
And then there are the carers. We have some excellent carers who take great pride in their work and have an excellent work ethic. We have others who will only do the bare minimum. Fortunately, the ones who pretend to do things are no longer with us. For a number of months now I've been having a back & forth debate with the carers manager/supervisor - if carers can perform the things they are supposed to in half the time allocated then maybe we need to change the time allocation because there are other people out there in need for free personal care& not getting as much. Without physically standing in the room there is no way to tell if all the things written in the log book are actually carried out. Then there are the carers who think that they know better than the care plan instruction and decide, unilaterally, not to do the things they are paid to do because they know better.
*sigh*
But it really is getting to the point now where carers have 30 minutes, they are turning up 10/15 minutes late and leaving 5 mins early yet saying in their log that they've been here 20+ minutes and have done all they should do. If they are that bloody efficient and good at their jobs, then I will speak to Social Work and get our allocation reduced. I know the arguments against it, but I also feel rather strongly that people are getting paid for things they aren't doing.
On the other hand I know they don't earn much, I know they have a rigid timetable and it is not an easy job. But this is my mother we are talking about - if you can't provide the level of care which is stated in your own documentation, then you need to be doing something else with your life. It's a job, it's not a skive.
I'll keep an eye on things, I will continue reporting to their management but, if by the time I have my next meeting with SW things haven't improved then their nice easy time here will be far shorter and their bosses will have money withdrawn and, potentially, have all other SW allocated clients on FPC reviewed. Do they think like that? Oh, heavens no.
Then there's the issue of the Care Commission who oversee the running of care companies (amongst other things). If they notice that care plans are reduced, especially after the length of time we've had the same plan, questions will be asked & things will get a bit too warm for comfort for the company &, I have no doubt, management will share their displeasure.
One more stress on me, but no one gives a shit about that either.
It isn't easy, but at least I've "sold" 4 more copies of my book. That's a whole £0.90 I have earned so far. Still trying to keep a perspective on that viewpoint but it ain't easy sometimes. That said, I'm at page 140 of the next book in the series, so it's not standing still.
And now I'm off to be a unicorn farting rainbows in the kitchen while tidying up and doing dishes & having snuffles LOL
Thursday, 9 July 2015
Money, money, money
Well, it's Thursday, traditional (according to me lol) family grocery shopping day. I managed to save £11 today by buying deals and using a couple of coupons. Still, it came at £100.13 and that's without meat (which I buy in a different supermarket because of quality) and without veggies. I don't buy the premium brands, I don't even buy that much "free from" stuff any more because the cumulative cost is just ridiculous. Mind you £6.50 on milk, because dad wastes so much of it, and £4 on pots of porridge because it's easier for dad and loads of silly little dessert pots for mum because there are days when that's all she wants to eat (almost £8 on those). Frozen veg because there are days I can't deal with peeling veggies or breaking them apart. And have you seen the cost of laundry and cleaning products? !!
Aye, living is cheap in Scotland . . . insert sarcastic tone.
And then there was the Budget yesterday. No cut to Carers Allowance - for now. BUT the usual increases applied each year to increase benefits by inflation is stopped. So prices continue to escalate but we're supposed to cope on the same.
Conservative Governments are utter bastards. And yet listening to all the brouhaha yesterday you'd think that everyday workers are being treated like gods - oh yeah, create a "living wage" which isn't living at all and, quite frankly, isn't legally biding. (I heard someone say it was and yet there have been 3? 4? prosecutions of companies failing to pay it - how many don't pay it? A hell of a lot!) And on the other hand cut tax credits by 3 or 4 times what in "increase" in minimum wage is - because that's all the "living wage" is, it's a re-branding. Plus they are hiking up the rents paid by social housing tenants, the very people who are on minimum wage and claiming tax credits.
No one seems to be asking - why is the benefit system costing so much? If all these people are in employment now, why is it costing so much? I'll tell you why. Because people are forced off the job seekers allowance into 0 hours contracts, with no guarantee of work. Because people are forced to take low paid jobs which don't even cover the cost of transport to the place of work. because people are forced to take unpaid work. It all makes it look like so many people are not claiming jobseekers allowance - true, they aren't, but nor are they in decently paid employment meaning they don't need help.
One day I hope that the workers of this country, of whom there are far more than bosses and company directors and politicians, realise they have a voice and that voice doesn't have to agree with the elitist numpties in Downing Street and Whitehall who have never struggled or faced poverty, going hungry or going cold in winter.
And, btw, even if I only cared for my mother 35 hours a week I should get £252 a week - minimum wage, not £61.
Aye, living is cheap in Scotland . . . insert sarcastic tone.
And then there was the Budget yesterday. No cut to Carers Allowance - for now. BUT the usual increases applied each year to increase benefits by inflation is stopped. So prices continue to escalate but we're supposed to cope on the same.
Conservative Governments are utter bastards. And yet listening to all the brouhaha yesterday you'd think that everyday workers are being treated like gods - oh yeah, create a "living wage" which isn't living at all and, quite frankly, isn't legally biding. (I heard someone say it was and yet there have been 3? 4? prosecutions of companies failing to pay it - how many don't pay it? A hell of a lot!) And on the other hand cut tax credits by 3 or 4 times what in "increase" in minimum wage is - because that's all the "living wage" is, it's a re-branding. Plus they are hiking up the rents paid by social housing tenants, the very people who are on minimum wage and claiming tax credits.
No one seems to be asking - why is the benefit system costing so much? If all these people are in employment now, why is it costing so much? I'll tell you why. Because people are forced off the job seekers allowance into 0 hours contracts, with no guarantee of work. Because people are forced to take low paid jobs which don't even cover the cost of transport to the place of work. because people are forced to take unpaid work. It all makes it look like so many people are not claiming jobseekers allowance - true, they aren't, but nor are they in decently paid employment meaning they don't need help.
One day I hope that the workers of this country, of whom there are far more than bosses and company directors and politicians, realise they have a voice and that voice doesn't have to agree with the elitist numpties in Downing Street and Whitehall who have never struggled or faced poverty, going hungry or going cold in winter.
And, btw, even if I only cared for my mother 35 hours a week I should get £252 a week - minimum wage, not £61.
Thursday, 2 July 2015
Fear and pain
Back in May we had a general election. Much to my utter horror England elected a Conservative majority party - how?! Many years ago Margaret Thatcher started this country on the path of "me, me, greed, greed, me, me". David Cameron's government is taking it all to a higher level. He and his grinning millionaire minions are stamping so hard on the disadvantaged but their voices aren't heard loud enough or wide enough because the vast majority of the press are on the side of the ruling elite - after all, they are very rich and don't give a shit about anyone other than themselves.
Next week George Osborne, our Chancellor (who can't balance his cheque book or understand the rules of claiming expenses) will launch his "emergency" budget. Now that the truth of the country's massive debt is trickling out, he'll refuse to go after company tax dodgers (oh, he'll say the words but he won't actually do it) and put more screws onto those who can least afford to shoulder the crap. He's already done away with a key piece of funding for disabled people - and yet the rallying cry is "we look after the most disadvantaged in society" - aye, look after them so well we kill them. What kind of government kills off its own people? Well, there's an answer to that and, unfortunately, too many in England can't see it/refuse to see it/don't give a shit because at the moment "I'm alright Jack".
It scares me. It really scares me. I struggled for 4 years with debilitating chronic illness and trying to work full time, paying my taxes. Fortunately I had a wonderful line manager and section head who supported me, the only reason I lasted 4 years. Then the government change the goal posts - you'd think it would be an easy life being chronically ill and not working. The Government think so. I'm not able to work full time any more but I couldn't live on a part-time wage (who can?). At the moment I'm lucky, I get Carers Allowance and Income Support in order to provide a minimum of 35 hours a week care to Mum. Dad falls into the care bracket too now but he's not recognised by the State either because he still manages to get around & look after (mostly) his personal care needs. That being said I get £105 a week. Try living on that, it's easier than £71 a week but it's not as easy as £400 a week, which is roughly what I was earning at work.
Next week I fully anticipate the taxes on fuel to rise (despite a pre-election promise not to) - after all we only pay 80% tax on a litre of fuel. That's another wee rant - the change in fuel measurement from gallon down to litre. After all, the public would never have accepted £5 a gallon charge on fuel but they will accept £1.24 + a litre. That's £5.46 a gallon 1 gallon = 4.4 litres - but the man in the street doesn't know this, so he/she grumbles but pays up. Who rakes in the money? The government, because 80% of that amount is tax of one kind or another.
Anyway, so, yeah, I am scared shitless of what that bunch of conservative bastards will do next. At the moment the only reason I survive is because Mum and Dad are very generous and supportive, and they can only be that way because they worked very hard for a long time.
Then there's the pain - in addition to the background 24/7 muscle & joint pain. I can't recall mentioning my broken heel - in 2013,while walking across a car park heading to the local hospital to visit Mum I managed to break my heel. Shards of bone subsequently embedded themselves in the base of my Achilles tendon, the site of a lovely lump. After months of tooing & frowing with medics and podiatrists I was referred to a surgeon - who told me that given my age I should just get used to the fact that things will go wrong & I need to learn to live with it (I kid you not). I eventually got a "boot" which helped but I can no longer wear the "boot" because the restriction in blood supply sets off my cellulitis (whohoo!). Anyway, so, there I am, hobbling round a supermarket when rrrriiiiiippppp - white hot, blinding pain. The bone fragments in my heel have moved, shifted, f*******g agony. I have a new ridge on the lump - a pointy ridge. Makes wearing shoes impossible. Makes walking incredibly painful. Makes stairs even harder (especially as my "good" thigh is now ripping and tearing).
And yet, as I sat before my computer this morning and feeling panic, fear and desperation welling up like my own personal tsunami,I had to remind myself, over and over and over - I can actually deal with whatever happens next. I may not like it, I may not enjoy it and it may cause incredible hardship but I can handle it. I'm a unicorn farting rainbows, I can handle just about anything (and I will keep telling myself that, one day I might believe it).
Next week George Osborne, our Chancellor (who can't balance his cheque book or understand the rules of claiming expenses) will launch his "emergency" budget. Now that the truth of the country's massive debt is trickling out, he'll refuse to go after company tax dodgers (oh, he'll say the words but he won't actually do it) and put more screws onto those who can least afford to shoulder the crap. He's already done away with a key piece of funding for disabled people - and yet the rallying cry is "we look after the most disadvantaged in society" - aye, look after them so well we kill them. What kind of government kills off its own people? Well, there's an answer to that and, unfortunately, too many in England can't see it/refuse to see it/don't give a shit because at the moment "I'm alright Jack".
It scares me. It really scares me. I struggled for 4 years with debilitating chronic illness and trying to work full time, paying my taxes. Fortunately I had a wonderful line manager and section head who supported me, the only reason I lasted 4 years. Then the government change the goal posts - you'd think it would be an easy life being chronically ill and not working. The Government think so. I'm not able to work full time any more but I couldn't live on a part-time wage (who can?). At the moment I'm lucky, I get Carers Allowance and Income Support in order to provide a minimum of 35 hours a week care to Mum. Dad falls into the care bracket too now but he's not recognised by the State either because he still manages to get around & look after (mostly) his personal care needs. That being said I get £105 a week. Try living on that, it's easier than £71 a week but it's not as easy as £400 a week, which is roughly what I was earning at work.
Next week I fully anticipate the taxes on fuel to rise (despite a pre-election promise not to) - after all we only pay 80% tax on a litre of fuel. That's another wee rant - the change in fuel measurement from gallon down to litre. After all, the public would never have accepted £5 a gallon charge on fuel but they will accept £1.24 + a litre. That's £5.46 a gallon 1 gallon = 4.4 litres - but the man in the street doesn't know this, so he/she grumbles but pays up. Who rakes in the money? The government, because 80% of that amount is tax of one kind or another.
Anyway, so, yeah, I am scared shitless of what that bunch of conservative bastards will do next. At the moment the only reason I survive is because Mum and Dad are very generous and supportive, and they can only be that way because they worked very hard for a long time.
Then there's the pain - in addition to the background 24/7 muscle & joint pain. I can't recall mentioning my broken heel - in 2013,while walking across a car park heading to the local hospital to visit Mum I managed to break my heel. Shards of bone subsequently embedded themselves in the base of my Achilles tendon, the site of a lovely lump. After months of tooing & frowing with medics and podiatrists I was referred to a surgeon - who told me that given my age I should just get used to the fact that things will go wrong & I need to learn to live with it (I kid you not). I eventually got a "boot" which helped but I can no longer wear the "boot" because the restriction in blood supply sets off my cellulitis (whohoo!). Anyway, so, there I am, hobbling round a supermarket when rrrriiiiiippppp - white hot, blinding pain. The bone fragments in my heel have moved, shifted, f*******g agony. I have a new ridge on the lump - a pointy ridge. Makes wearing shoes impossible. Makes walking incredibly painful. Makes stairs even harder (especially as my "good" thigh is now ripping and tearing).
And yet, as I sat before my computer this morning and feeling panic, fear and desperation welling up like my own personal tsunami,I had to remind myself, over and over and over - I can actually deal with whatever happens next. I may not like it, I may not enjoy it and it may cause incredible hardship but I can handle it. I'm a unicorn farting rainbows, I can handle just about anything (and I will keep telling myself that, one day I might believe it).
Saturday, 27 June 2015
The Uncomfy topic of Depression
An awful lot of my fellow carers get diagnosed with depression: and I can understand why.
An awful lot of my fellow chronic ailment suffers get diagnosed with depression; and I can understand why.
I'm feeling more than a little down at the moment. It's been a progressive slide over the last 3 weeks or so.
I'm currently on antibiotics for a sinus infection - I read somewhere recently that killing off your natural gut bacteria can result in a temporary bout of depression. I'm hoping that is what is behind this current nose dive. Will find out next week, once the antibiotics are finished & I restock my gut flora.
Unfortunately, I am not convinced that the antibiotics are the only cause.
It's not been the best of weeks. But at least tonight Mum isn't having one of her turns - the last two nights she has become unresponsive or combative when the carers have come in for their evening (& last) visit of the day. Her turns are hard to describe because until you see one the words meaning nothing. In a nutshell her eyes close, her body goes completely limp and yet she calls out for "Harry" meaning dad. If she doesn't get what she's calling for she becomes increasingly agitated. Mostly, anyway, sometimes it's other people. She can hear what you say to her but she won't respond with words, you might get a slight nod of the head, but then again she may just go still. I should probably enquire of Social Work what is going on in her head during these turns, since they seem to know everything else. . . !
We have quite a big garden, too big for us to manage appropriately any more. But dad likes to buy plants, though there really isn't anywhere to put them now. My sister likes to point out that he shouldn't be doing this, which leads to a good old fashioned row. I merely add to the furore by planting things in tubs/pots/planters.
Well, didn't I discover this morning - after the issue of my power screwdriver having "disappeared", a whistle blow from mum (aka shit patrol), my disappointment at not having strong enough hands or wrists any more to make do without a power screwdriver - that someone had chopped down one of my trees.
I almost cried.
Isn't it daft? A tree being cut down either through stupidity, careless or maliciousness, is the straw which breaks the camels back.
And yet dad cannot understand why I won't plant my plants in the garden - the fact that if I do he promptly digs them up and either throws them out or chops them up so badly they die after he shoves them into an inappropriate spot in the garden, isn't relevant.
The fact that one can only tidy up shit and be continually supportive of another human being for so long, is relevant.
The fact that my "good" thigh is now ripping with each stair I climb is irrelevant.
Trouble is, none of it is irrelevant - to me. To the rest of the world my wants/needs/desires are totally irrelevant, but, to me, it isn't.
I've had people in the past say to me "anything we can do to help" but when you ask them specifically, suddenly, the offer is withdrawn. Don't say things you don't mean - a lot of the time I haven't the energy or the spare brain capacity to be anything other than literal.
So, as I listen to the washing machine, on, again, to 2 television sets competing, I consider the fact that it's entirely possible I am developing depression. I've been down this road before. I had hoped never to go down it again but sometimes life conspires against you and those you rely upon to help maintain the balance have too much on their own plates to be there even for a small restorative conversation. But, that's life. Self sufficiency & all that - trouble is, we get trapped in our own thinking and that's when things go wrong.
Here's hoping it's a quiet night (unlikely since it's Gala Day and people will be roaring drunk and screaming/shouting/singing as they wander along the path outside the house) and that, with the end of the antibiotic, comes the sunlight at the end of this tunnel.
An awful lot of my fellow chronic ailment suffers get diagnosed with depression; and I can understand why.
I'm feeling more than a little down at the moment. It's been a progressive slide over the last 3 weeks or so.
I'm currently on antibiotics for a sinus infection - I read somewhere recently that killing off your natural gut bacteria can result in a temporary bout of depression. I'm hoping that is what is behind this current nose dive. Will find out next week, once the antibiotics are finished & I restock my gut flora.
Unfortunately, I am not convinced that the antibiotics are the only cause.
It's not been the best of weeks. But at least tonight Mum isn't having one of her turns - the last two nights she has become unresponsive or combative when the carers have come in for their evening (& last) visit of the day. Her turns are hard to describe because until you see one the words meaning nothing. In a nutshell her eyes close, her body goes completely limp and yet she calls out for "Harry" meaning dad. If she doesn't get what she's calling for she becomes increasingly agitated. Mostly, anyway, sometimes it's other people. She can hear what you say to her but she won't respond with words, you might get a slight nod of the head, but then again she may just go still. I should probably enquire of Social Work what is going on in her head during these turns, since they seem to know everything else. . . !
We have quite a big garden, too big for us to manage appropriately any more. But dad likes to buy plants, though there really isn't anywhere to put them now. My sister likes to point out that he shouldn't be doing this, which leads to a good old fashioned row. I merely add to the furore by planting things in tubs/pots/planters.
Well, didn't I discover this morning - after the issue of my power screwdriver having "disappeared", a whistle blow from mum (aka shit patrol), my disappointment at not having strong enough hands or wrists any more to make do without a power screwdriver - that someone had chopped down one of my trees.
I almost cried.
Isn't it daft? A tree being cut down either through stupidity, careless or maliciousness, is the straw which breaks the camels back.
And yet dad cannot understand why I won't plant my plants in the garden - the fact that if I do he promptly digs them up and either throws them out or chops them up so badly they die after he shoves them into an inappropriate spot in the garden, isn't relevant.
The fact that one can only tidy up shit and be continually supportive of another human being for so long, is relevant.
The fact that my "good" thigh is now ripping with each stair I climb is irrelevant.
Trouble is, none of it is irrelevant - to me. To the rest of the world my wants/needs/desires are totally irrelevant, but, to me, it isn't.
I've had people in the past say to me "anything we can do to help" but when you ask them specifically, suddenly, the offer is withdrawn. Don't say things you don't mean - a lot of the time I haven't the energy or the spare brain capacity to be anything other than literal.
So, as I listen to the washing machine, on, again, to 2 television sets competing, I consider the fact that it's entirely possible I am developing depression. I've been down this road before. I had hoped never to go down it again but sometimes life conspires against you and those you rely upon to help maintain the balance have too much on their own plates to be there even for a small restorative conversation. But, that's life. Self sufficiency & all that - trouble is, we get trapped in our own thinking and that's when things go wrong.
Here's hoping it's a quiet night (unlikely since it's Gala Day and people will be roaring drunk and screaming/shouting/singing as they wander along the path outside the house) and that, with the end of the antibiotic, comes the sunlight at the end of this tunnel.
Saturday, 20 June 2015
That was a week!
Well, this is almost the end of another week and we're dipping our toes into the Summer Solstice, we're half way through the year, soon it'll be Christmas.
As a non-Christian, do I celebrate the Summer Solstice. Nope. I'll probably sit outside for a while, but then I sit outside as much as I can, usually after 8:45, once the dust of the day has settled and all is quiet upstairs (for a while).
It's definitely been a week though. Between people claiming not to know anything, people being patronising, people being stupid etc etc etc. Take the District Nurse, for example, once she finally arrived. Making small talk with Mum, asks her how long it takes to get up in the morning - oh, boy,I braced for the potential impact of that question. But, no, Mum handled it quite well, with comments about how things used to be 3 years ago. I then get a dirty look from the District Nurse because I gently correct Mum and explain, for the 1,157,342 time why she can't get out of bed. Fortunately, Mum took it well and so endeth the episode.
Then Mum raises the same issue with some of our new carers. And they laugh and joke with her about the fact there's no way to get her down the stairs etc etc etc. Again, fortunately, Mum took it in good stead. But it makes me wonder - do these people no understand the situation they are coming in to? Obviously not. But, then again, most of them haven't seen Mum in a distressed state. None of them have ever had to calm her down and ease her back into the way things are.
Nope, none of them have to cope with the aftermath of their inane comments, so they just keep on making them.
So, let's see. Had to jump up & down at District Nurses, Doctor's surgery, Carers and their management. All to get things done right for Mum. Have I jumped up and down at anyone this week because of me - nope. Though I think a really good scream might well be in order.
Then there was dad deciding he doesn't like sleeping so much and his meds are to blame therefore let's not take all our meds and see what happens!!!!!!! Which meds does he stop taking? His heart pill and his diabetic pill. He keeps that up he'll be in the eternal sleep!
Then there was the salt spilled all over the floor, the garden only partly watered (it's been a bit dry of late, strange thing to say for Scotland) so some plants are thriving, others are dying.
Then there was the cat being sick.
Then dad's computer stopped working (at first it could wait until next week when I take him shopping, but now, every time I walk in the house I am asked why I haven't got him a new computer *sigh*).
I should have done the reordering of the monthly medicines midweek last week, but didn't realise they were due. I put the slips into the dr's this morning: I hope I have enough of a supply to last until Wednesday next week, I think I do. I could get the pharmacy to do it automatically BUT have you ever tried to sort out medications if the dosage or chemical has been changed but you have no control over which meds get sorted? It's not easy and I got fed up trusting people and coming home only to go all the way back to the pharmacy cos it was the wrong drug or the wrong dosage.
And finally, it's Father's Day tomorrow. Mum wants me to get dad "that thing about the . . . oh, you know!" It was on the TV. An awful lot is on the TV, can you narrow it down? At that point the lip quivers and the tears gather because she can't remember what it is she wants to get him for father's day and can't narrow down the description so I could make an educated guess. But, at least I have the card - which she can't sign.
My caring started at 7 this morning, with a "clear up on aisle one!" (aka a bowel motion) Fortunately, it was before my sinus spray so . . . Unfortunately, it was after my own breakfast. The rest I leave to your imagination.
What's that saying?
Always be yourself, unless you can be a unicorn, then always be a unicorn.
I'll always be a unicorn, thank you and sparkle in the moonlight and expel rainbows of varying degrees of density he he he he You don't have to be mad to be a carer, but it helps!
As a non-Christian, do I celebrate the Summer Solstice. Nope. I'll probably sit outside for a while, but then I sit outside as much as I can, usually after 8:45, once the dust of the day has settled and all is quiet upstairs (for a while).
It's definitely been a week though. Between people claiming not to know anything, people being patronising, people being stupid etc etc etc. Take the District Nurse, for example, once she finally arrived. Making small talk with Mum, asks her how long it takes to get up in the morning - oh, boy,I braced for the potential impact of that question. But, no, Mum handled it quite well, with comments about how things used to be 3 years ago. I then get a dirty look from the District Nurse because I gently correct Mum and explain, for the 1,157,342 time why she can't get out of bed. Fortunately, Mum took it well and so endeth the episode.
Then Mum raises the same issue with some of our new carers. And they laugh and joke with her about the fact there's no way to get her down the stairs etc etc etc. Again, fortunately, Mum took it in good stead. But it makes me wonder - do these people no understand the situation they are coming in to? Obviously not. But, then again, most of them haven't seen Mum in a distressed state. None of them have ever had to calm her down and ease her back into the way things are.
Nope, none of them have to cope with the aftermath of their inane comments, so they just keep on making them.
So, let's see. Had to jump up & down at District Nurses, Doctor's surgery, Carers and their management. All to get things done right for Mum. Have I jumped up and down at anyone this week because of me - nope. Though I think a really good scream might well be in order.
Then there was dad deciding he doesn't like sleeping so much and his meds are to blame therefore let's not take all our meds and see what happens!!!!!!! Which meds does he stop taking? His heart pill and his diabetic pill. He keeps that up he'll be in the eternal sleep!
Then there was the salt spilled all over the floor, the garden only partly watered (it's been a bit dry of late, strange thing to say for Scotland) so some plants are thriving, others are dying.
Then there was the cat being sick.
Then dad's computer stopped working (at first it could wait until next week when I take him shopping, but now, every time I walk in the house I am asked why I haven't got him a new computer *sigh*).
I should have done the reordering of the monthly medicines midweek last week, but didn't realise they were due. I put the slips into the dr's this morning: I hope I have enough of a supply to last until Wednesday next week, I think I do. I could get the pharmacy to do it automatically BUT have you ever tried to sort out medications if the dosage or chemical has been changed but you have no control over which meds get sorted? It's not easy and I got fed up trusting people and coming home only to go all the way back to the pharmacy cos it was the wrong drug or the wrong dosage.
And finally, it's Father's Day tomorrow. Mum wants me to get dad "that thing about the . . . oh, you know!" It was on the TV. An awful lot is on the TV, can you narrow it down? At that point the lip quivers and the tears gather because she can't remember what it is she wants to get him for father's day and can't narrow down the description so I could make an educated guess. But, at least I have the card - which she can't sign.
My caring started at 7 this morning, with a "clear up on aisle one!" (aka a bowel motion) Fortunately, it was before my sinus spray so . . . Unfortunately, it was after my own breakfast. The rest I leave to your imagination.
What's that saying?
Always be yourself, unless you can be a unicorn, then always be a unicorn.
I'll always be a unicorn, thank you and sparkle in the moonlight and expel rainbows of varying degrees of density he he he he You don't have to be mad to be a carer, but it helps!
Sunday, 14 June 2015
The Things People Say (& the tone - tone is so very important)
We had a warm spell of weather recently. I don't cope well with warm/hot weather any more, it saps what little energy I have left.
Anyway, the other day, before it got too warm, I decided to clean the floors, vacuum the stairs - house cleaning stuff which takes a fair whack of energy so I have to spend a few days working myself up to the point where I'll get it done regardless. This is one of the reasons why I go so few places these days - I can't do it on the spur of the moment any more, I have to work myself up to it.
Regardless of how much I tell myself that having a clean house/carpet/floor isn't that important, it does eventually get to me and I have to do something about it.
So....there I am, half way up the stairs, vacuuming like a nutter. And the carers come in. I had hoped to get it all finished before they made an appearance because I do so get very tired of the inane comments. Comments like "you can come do my house when you're finished", "that's what I like to see, someone else working before 9 a.m.".
I kinda lost my compose a tad the other day and I snapped back about having to get it done when I have the energy.
"Oh, I know how you feel." Was the unthinking reply.
"Really? You know how I feel?"
"Oh yes."
"I'm sorry to hear that." That comment stopped everything in its tracks. A blank look of incomprehension followed. "I didn't know you had fibromyalgia, or arthritis in your spine, psoraric arthritis in your hands and feet, bursitis in your hips, as well as the other crap."
"I don't."
"But you said you knew how I felt."
"Oh, I have a friend with fibromyalgia. Don't over do it!"
Er, what is it to you if I overdo it or not? You don't have to cope with the fall out, you don't have to be around me or anything else.
The same woman, later in the day, commented on my swearing. I gave her a blank look - I didn't realise I couldn't say whatever I wanted in my own home. Now, if I had sworn at her, that would be different, but I had said it because I had dropped the vacuum, catching the side of my foot. I rather think that warranted a good old fashioned impassioned sweary word - don't you?
I do so wish people would listen to their tone when they speak - so many times an opening conversational statement has been said with such a combative tone that an argument follows, not because of the words but because the intonation is one of challenge, patronisation, combativeness. And if you don't know how those tones sound and yet find yourself being faced by blank looks or annoyance when really you were just making a polite enquiry, then you need to think.
Actively listen, people. And think before you speak. Don't fill silences because you're uncomfy. And be pleasant to each other.
But, for now, I think I'll go be a unicorn farting rainbows in the kitchen!
Anyway, the other day, before it got too warm, I decided to clean the floors, vacuum the stairs - house cleaning stuff which takes a fair whack of energy so I have to spend a few days working myself up to the point where I'll get it done regardless. This is one of the reasons why I go so few places these days - I can't do it on the spur of the moment any more, I have to work myself up to it.
Regardless of how much I tell myself that having a clean house/carpet/floor isn't that important, it does eventually get to me and I have to do something about it.
So....there I am, half way up the stairs, vacuuming like a nutter. And the carers come in. I had hoped to get it all finished before they made an appearance because I do so get very tired of the inane comments. Comments like "you can come do my house when you're finished", "that's what I like to see, someone else working before 9 a.m.".
I kinda lost my compose a tad the other day and I snapped back about having to get it done when I have the energy.
"Oh, I know how you feel." Was the unthinking reply.
"Really? You know how I feel?"
"Oh yes."
"I'm sorry to hear that." That comment stopped everything in its tracks. A blank look of incomprehension followed. "I didn't know you had fibromyalgia, or arthritis in your spine, psoraric arthritis in your hands and feet, bursitis in your hips, as well as the other crap."
"I don't."
"But you said you knew how I felt."
"Oh, I have a friend with fibromyalgia. Don't over do it!"
Er, what is it to you if I overdo it or not? You don't have to cope with the fall out, you don't have to be around me or anything else.
The same woman, later in the day, commented on my swearing. I gave her a blank look - I didn't realise I couldn't say whatever I wanted in my own home. Now, if I had sworn at her, that would be different, but I had said it because I had dropped the vacuum, catching the side of my foot. I rather think that warranted a good old fashioned impassioned sweary word - don't you?
I do so wish people would listen to their tone when they speak - so many times an opening conversational statement has been said with such a combative tone that an argument follows, not because of the words but because the intonation is one of challenge, patronisation, combativeness. And if you don't know how those tones sound and yet find yourself being faced by blank looks or annoyance when really you were just making a polite enquiry, then you need to think.
Actively listen, people. And think before you speak. Don't fill silences because you're uncomfy. And be pleasant to each other.
But, for now, I think I'll go be a unicorn farting rainbows in the kitchen!
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
Dreaming & stuff & fears
There are times when I find myself being extremely naive, at my age I really should know better.
For many years now I've had this dream - a sanctuary, a place mostly insulated against the trials and tribulations of the modern world where a bod can potter as they like (as long as no laws of the land are broken).
Several times on facebook recently I've come across posts of "let's all get together and buy this". People getting hugely enthusiastic, brilliant energy, very interesting ideas. But then someone, usually me, steps up & says "ok, you wanna do this, this is how you need to do it". Utterly amazing how one is either then ignored or people keep on talking & talking & talking and no one actually does anything about it.
I've never really been that way. If I think something's a good idea I'll go try to find out more about making it happen and find ways, if possible, to make it happen.
I know most people prefer to just talk the idea around & around until they're convinced it's happening somewhere else so they don't need to do anything.
Or, there are the people who like to shout orders like some demented colour sergeant without actually knowing what they are shouting about. I find them marvellously funny to watch. Occasionally I'll throw them something to get their teeth around, but, usually, that falls flat because they don't want to "do" they just want to"shout".
Or they fall prey to their own fears & everything just dies a death - suffered that one more than once myself.
So, here I am, waiting for showers to finish so I can start the washing machine & the dishes. Mum's comfy after breakfast. Dad's puttering in the garden.
And I'm looking at this place everyone's raving about and I'm having doubts, even though I've already done a fair bit of ground work. Personally, for me, it's too remote - but then, I have mobility & medical issues. But, the background work done here can be applied to most anywhere else in Scotland since planning regs are much the same.
I think today's about conquering fear. It's an incredibly hard thing to do. Fear comes in so many guises, sometimes even disguised as rationality! Dream fulfilment requires conquering fear, why bother to have dreams if you are too scared to do anything about it?
For many years now I've had this dream - a sanctuary, a place mostly insulated against the trials and tribulations of the modern world where a bod can potter as they like (as long as no laws of the land are broken).
Several times on facebook recently I've come across posts of "let's all get together and buy this". People getting hugely enthusiastic, brilliant energy, very interesting ideas. But then someone, usually me, steps up & says "ok, you wanna do this, this is how you need to do it". Utterly amazing how one is either then ignored or people keep on talking & talking & talking and no one actually does anything about it.
I've never really been that way. If I think something's a good idea I'll go try to find out more about making it happen and find ways, if possible, to make it happen.
I know most people prefer to just talk the idea around & around until they're convinced it's happening somewhere else so they don't need to do anything.
Or, there are the people who like to shout orders like some demented colour sergeant without actually knowing what they are shouting about. I find them marvellously funny to watch. Occasionally I'll throw them something to get their teeth around, but, usually, that falls flat because they don't want to "do" they just want to"shout".
Or they fall prey to their own fears & everything just dies a death - suffered that one more than once myself.
So, here I am, waiting for showers to finish so I can start the washing machine & the dishes. Mum's comfy after breakfast. Dad's puttering in the garden.
And I'm looking at this place everyone's raving about and I'm having doubts, even though I've already done a fair bit of ground work. Personally, for me, it's too remote - but then, I have mobility & medical issues. But, the background work done here can be applied to most anywhere else in Scotland since planning regs are much the same.
I think today's about conquering fear. It's an incredibly hard thing to do. Fear comes in so many guises, sometimes even disguised as rationality! Dream fulfilment requires conquering fear, why bother to have dreams if you are too scared to do anything about it?
Monday, 8 June 2015
The Parent Paradox
When I was young, as in under 10 years of age, and being picky about eating the food set before me, because I'd rather indulge in the trifle or custard or "pudding", I would be informed that what I had set before me was a banquet compared to the starving in Africa and that I should be grateful and eat everything on my plate.
Cowed by parental disapproval and shame, I'd battle my way through terrible turnip, ghastly cabbage and awful sausage stew (well, it was more the veggies than the meat).
Being forced to eat such unappetising veggies, I really lost interest in them and, even today, I won't touch a turnip - unless it's to carve a lantern (traditionalist me lol).
Years/decades later, guess what? There are still starving in Africa, regardless of whether I ate my food or not.
So, coming from a background of "as little food waste as possible" (my parents were raised during the rationing years of WW2), I now find myself having to buy 12 pints of milk a week because dad'll make himself a drink, sip 1/3 of it, put the cup down & walk away and forget. He'll then make himself another drink, and so on. The unconsumed drinks will them be poured down the sink because it doesn't taste right reheated. I used to buy 6 pints of milk a week.
Last night dad wanted minced beef cobbler (basically mince beef, various veggies and dumplings). I went to clear the table and he'd polished off the meat & veggies but not the dumpling. I asked if he wanted me to put it in the fridge for later.
"The dumpling is made of wheat." He informs me. Aye, I know this, this is why it's a dish I cannot eat. "Wheat breaks down in the body to sugar." Aye, well, kinda, yes. "I need to control my sugar better, so I won't be eating wheat."
Actually, his sugar is fine, it's balancing out at the levels the diabetic specialists want so . . .
OK, his choice not to eat wheat - so, at supper time, to see him munching on down on a chocolate digestive biscuit followed by a slice of bread with butter and jam, just about gave me a bout of hysterical laughter.
Just about. I'm controlled enough not to say anything, or point out the inconsistencies, but it does make me smile and shake my head from time to time.
Then there's mum. I'll go up stairs about 4:20 of an afternoon and ask her what she wants for tea. Ok, so she is severely limited in what she can eat because of her teeth and gums, but there's still quite a few things. The usual litany will be "what do you have to offer" and we'll go through the same list as the day before and the day before that and the day before that. She'll then, usually say, "I don't care just bring me something". Usually this is accepted when presented and she munches away quite happily. Other days, no matter what is presented, it will be refused and the food will, usually, be wasted.
So, the paradox of parents - they really do become like children but it's really hard to deal with, until you get your head around it all. Getting around the childhood conditioning of listening to your parents and doing what your told, doesn't work when it comes to caring and providing for them.
I know, some folks reading this will have lost their parents and will find it hard to understand why I'd write about them in such an apparently negative light. But this is the life I have.
Am I glad still have them around? Yes and no, if I am perfectly honest: but the diatribe around that is a completely different subject.
Wednesday, 3 June 2015
A unicorn farting rainbows
I noticed the other day, as I was standing at Mum's bedside helping her eat breakfast that my lower back, hips and one leg were extraordinarily sore. Admittedly my entire left leg is giving me far more pain than it used to and that pain's lasting longer, but I did wonder.
So, this morning, I paid a great deal of attention to what I did and how long I was on my feet. My day started at 5:20. As usual, I sat on the side of the bed for a minute or two just letting everything adjust to the fact that I was upright and preparing to move. The first 15/20 steps are THE worst, absolutely nothing wants to work and walking is like having shards of glass poking into the soles of my feet, red hot bolts of steel being rammed into my ankles from almost every direction - and so the pain progresses upwards, all the way to my neck, shoulder and sometimes elbows (depending on how I sat up in bed). Wrists and fingers generally just ache.
But, after that, I have no idea where the time went. Before I knew it, it was 6:50 and I needed to start getting breakfasts and pills organised (because Wednesday is shopping day for dad - usually his only time out the house). There were also a fair few dishes to be dealt with this morning (because I couldn't be arsed dealing with them the night before). The cats were getting picky about the state of their food corner, so that needed dealing with.
For 20 minutes I was moving constantly about the kitchen, sometimes pausing in one place for several minutes. Then I had my breakfast - one day I'll have a leisurely breakfast not wolfing down food because I have others to see to. That was about 5/7 minutes sitting watching breakfast TV (ye gawds but do they whitter about daft, inconsequential stuff which apparently their audience really needs to actually care about), then painkillers. Then finish Mum's breakfast prep (the ice cream part - she's 83, she can have what she wants for breakfast lol). Upstairs with the tray then stand around in her room organising stuff, getting straws, feeding - that's another 5 - 10 minutes. By this point I was in agony.
So, 30 minutes of puttering backwards & forwards seems to be the max before I have to sit down or face excess pain tomorrow. If I was constantly on the move, I think I could possibly last longer because it's not really the movement which is the issue it's the standing still (don't mention queues!).
The point of this? If I know how long I can putter and how long I need to rest between putterings, I can better schedule the things I have to do. I mean, there is no way to change the times of Mum's meals/pills but I can work better around them. But things like vacuuming (which does eventually need to get done or I'd go insane), emptying recycling bins, cats, fish,doing washing, interspersed with whatever needs doing upstairs.
Then, in my "free" time I can dress up in my tutu, put a cone on my forehead and cover myself in lashings of sprinkles before sliding around the kitchen floor pretending to be a magical unicorn! Thanks, Wendy, you made my day with that visualisation. Note to self: life may be crap at times, life may be all pain at times but one should always make room in a day, somewhere, to be a unicorn farting rainbows!
So, this morning, I paid a great deal of attention to what I did and how long I was on my feet. My day started at 5:20. As usual, I sat on the side of the bed for a minute or two just letting everything adjust to the fact that I was upright and preparing to move. The first 15/20 steps are THE worst, absolutely nothing wants to work and walking is like having shards of glass poking into the soles of my feet, red hot bolts of steel being rammed into my ankles from almost every direction - and so the pain progresses upwards, all the way to my neck, shoulder and sometimes elbows (depending on how I sat up in bed). Wrists and fingers generally just ache.
But, after that, I have no idea where the time went. Before I knew it, it was 6:50 and I needed to start getting breakfasts and pills organised (because Wednesday is shopping day for dad - usually his only time out the house). There were also a fair few dishes to be dealt with this morning (because I couldn't be arsed dealing with them the night before). The cats were getting picky about the state of their food corner, so that needed dealing with.
For 20 minutes I was moving constantly about the kitchen, sometimes pausing in one place for several minutes. Then I had my breakfast - one day I'll have a leisurely breakfast not wolfing down food because I have others to see to. That was about 5/7 minutes sitting watching breakfast TV (ye gawds but do they whitter about daft, inconsequential stuff which apparently their audience really needs to actually care about), then painkillers. Then finish Mum's breakfast prep (the ice cream part - she's 83, she can have what she wants for breakfast lol). Upstairs with the tray then stand around in her room organising stuff, getting straws, feeding - that's another 5 - 10 minutes. By this point I was in agony.
So, 30 minutes of puttering backwards & forwards seems to be the max before I have to sit down or face excess pain tomorrow. If I was constantly on the move, I think I could possibly last longer because it's not really the movement which is the issue it's the standing still (don't mention queues!).
The point of this? If I know how long I can putter and how long I need to rest between putterings, I can better schedule the things I have to do. I mean, there is no way to change the times of Mum's meals/pills but I can work better around them. But things like vacuuming (which does eventually need to get done or I'd go insane), emptying recycling bins, cats, fish,doing washing, interspersed with whatever needs doing upstairs.
Then, in my "free" time I can dress up in my tutu, put a cone on my forehead and cover myself in lashings of sprinkles before sliding around the kitchen floor pretending to be a magical unicorn! Thanks, Wendy, you made my day with that visualisation. Note to self: life may be crap at times, life may be all pain at times but one should always make room in a day, somewhere, to be a unicorn farting rainbows!
Sunday, 31 May 2015
Nails and multi-layered ugg
Today was the day for nail trimming/cutting/filing. Not mine, but Mum's.
Today was also the day I finally finished my response to Social Work's review document. I wonder how it will be received since it is full of criticisms. I have no idea how anyone can send out such an official document which is so full of spelling mistakes, the kind which a spell check would easily pick up. Anyway, we shall see what happens next. Quite frankly, to be told, in the social work review documentation that they will work to prevent any further deterioration in Mum's condition is either laughable, pathetic or terrifying since Parkinson's is a degenerative condition which the medical profession cannot halt or cure, what is Social Work going to do?
Today's also been a day when the shamanic realms have been leaking through into every day life. I have no idea what is going on, I just know that concentration and focus has been extremely hard to come by today. I've been distracted and flitting about like a butterfly on speed. It's uncomfy, to say the least.
So, Mum asks this morning if I would please cut her nails. Easy enough, you'd think. Until you try getting a file or clippers onto a fingernail which is almost vibrating in its intensity of shaking. Or you try to uncurl the clenched fist to get at the nails which are digging into the palm of her hand. It hurts her to have someone try to unroll her fingers. I have to work fast, not just because of her shakes but because I have to bend over the bed (even when it is raised to it's full height, I still have to bend) and that irritates the hell out my back muscles and my spine.
However, we got there, with only one spasm, one "ouch" and no blood! So now all her nails are neatly filed down as far as I can get them. And she feels comfy again. Interestingly, her toenails don't seem to be growing as fast as her fingernails.
Today was also the day I finally finished my response to Social Work's review document. I wonder how it will be received since it is full of criticisms. I have no idea how anyone can send out such an official document which is so full of spelling mistakes, the kind which a spell check would easily pick up. Anyway, we shall see what happens next. Quite frankly, to be told, in the social work review documentation that they will work to prevent any further deterioration in Mum's condition is either laughable, pathetic or terrifying since Parkinson's is a degenerative condition which the medical profession cannot halt or cure, what is Social Work going to do?
Today's also been a day when the shamanic realms have been leaking through into every day life. I have no idea what is going on, I just know that concentration and focus has been extremely hard to come by today. I've been distracted and flitting about like a butterfly on speed. It's uncomfy, to say the least.
So, Mum asks this morning if I would please cut her nails. Easy enough, you'd think. Until you try getting a file or clippers onto a fingernail which is almost vibrating in its intensity of shaking. Or you try to uncurl the clenched fist to get at the nails which are digging into the palm of her hand. It hurts her to have someone try to unroll her fingers. I have to work fast, not just because of her shakes but because I have to bend over the bed (even when it is raised to it's full height, I still have to bend) and that irritates the hell out my back muscles and my spine.
However, we got there, with only one spasm, one "ouch" and no blood! So now all her nails are neatly filed down as far as I can get them. And she feels comfy again. Interestingly, her toenails don't seem to be growing as fast as her fingernails.
Thursday, 28 May 2015
The Art Factor
Many years ago I heard someone talking about Art Therapy in the treatment of people with depression. I didn't understand it then, but I'm not one who draws. Then, a few years back, not long after I was fist diagnosed with this chronic condition, I decided to try paint by numbers because some of the adult ones are so very good, incredibly intricate, you could almost believe you were doing a "proper" painting. And that's when I realised what Art Therapy was about. It's about focus, about slowing down, about pausing - because if you don't focus, don't slow down and pause sometimes what you end up with is a mess. But if you do focus, slow down and pause what you come away with is something quite beautiful.
It was something I'd do at 4 or 5 in the morning, in winter, because it was quiet and it was productive. Then next door's security light started to malfunction and it would blink on and off during all the hours of darkness so I gave up.
Now I doing pencil drawings, or rather I colour them in. I still don't think I could compose a picture of my own - apart from a house or a glaciated valley - because I've never convinced myself to keep trying, to keep attempting the perspective required. But, even using pencils, it's still enough to slow me down when life gets on top of me. Plus it's easier to carry around than a paint by number kit :)
It was something I'd do at 4 or 5 in the morning, in winter, because it was quiet and it was productive. Then next door's security light started to malfunction and it would blink on and off during all the hours of darkness so I gave up.
Now I doing pencil drawings, or rather I colour them in. I still don't think I could compose a picture of my own - apart from a house or a glaciated valley - because I've never convinced myself to keep trying, to keep attempting the perspective required. But, even using pencils, it's still enough to slow me down when life gets on top of me. Plus it's easier to carry around than a paint by number kit :)
Wednesday, 27 May 2015
Well meaning, but misplaced, nebbs
Almost 2 months ago we had a "review" visit from Social Work - the price of having free personal care for Mum. Today the supposed record of that visit arrived on our door mat.
On a slightly different note, as I read through the 30+ pages, I became more and more horrified that no one had even spell-checked the document, let alone read it through. Obviously life in Social Work is far sloppier than it was in my day - and yes, I know that makes it sound like I'm a 95 year old school marm, but really. An official document . . . spell check, at the very least!
Quite a bit of the document was correct, but there were rather large gaps which had been filled by supposition. In correct supposition at that. And also rather interesting answers to questions which weren't even asked.
I love the tables on these reports - critical issue - how would my mum escape a burning house - ok, you never asked that question. There is an answer however, because I happened to ask 2 firemen who were doing door to door checks on smoke alarms and fire prevention stuff. We are less than 5 minutes from the fire station, our instructions are, in the event of a fire (anywhere other than Mum and Dad's bedroom), close their bedroom door, wet down towels and place around the door, soak the door with water, open the window (obviously after dialling 999 and reporting the incident) and await arrival of fire crews who will take out the window & take Mum out that way. If it's in their bedroom then, basically, we'd have to physically carry Mum out the room to another room to await arrival. Even if we still had a stairlift, a fire would probably cut power, rendering it useless. And, well, I could go on with various scenarios, because I've already thought them out & made contingency plans - it's part of the way my brain works. But we were never asked.
Another part is the support of the carers - I'm sorry, but if you can't offer financial support (easing my financial stress) there isn't much more you can do for me. And why has it taken you 3 years to decide to do this? But, again, it was a box on the page - not even something raised at the meeting.
There was also a slightly more worrying thing the document was the implied desire for Mum to have more social interaction. She can't go out so that would involve people coming in - firstly Mum doesn't always want company and you can't schedule that, secondly we're already at tolerance capacity for people traipsing into the house bring good will, cheer and infections.
Well meaning people but their nebbs are in the wrong place.
On a slightly different note, as I read through the 30+ pages, I became more and more horrified that no one had even spell-checked the document, let alone read it through. Obviously life in Social Work is far sloppier than it was in my day - and yes, I know that makes it sound like I'm a 95 year old school marm, but really. An official document . . . spell check, at the very least!
Quite a bit of the document was correct, but there were rather large gaps which had been filled by supposition. In correct supposition at that. And also rather interesting answers to questions which weren't even asked.
I love the tables on these reports - critical issue - how would my mum escape a burning house - ok, you never asked that question. There is an answer however, because I happened to ask 2 firemen who were doing door to door checks on smoke alarms and fire prevention stuff. We are less than 5 minutes from the fire station, our instructions are, in the event of a fire (anywhere other than Mum and Dad's bedroom), close their bedroom door, wet down towels and place around the door, soak the door with water, open the window (obviously after dialling 999 and reporting the incident) and await arrival of fire crews who will take out the window & take Mum out that way. If it's in their bedroom then, basically, we'd have to physically carry Mum out the room to another room to await arrival. Even if we still had a stairlift, a fire would probably cut power, rendering it useless. And, well, I could go on with various scenarios, because I've already thought them out & made contingency plans - it's part of the way my brain works. But we were never asked.
Another part is the support of the carers - I'm sorry, but if you can't offer financial support (easing my financial stress) there isn't much more you can do for me. And why has it taken you 3 years to decide to do this? But, again, it was a box on the page - not even something raised at the meeting.
There was also a slightly more worrying thing the document was the implied desire for Mum to have more social interaction. She can't go out so that would involve people coming in - firstly Mum doesn't always want company and you can't schedule that, secondly we're already at tolerance capacity for people traipsing into the house bring good will, cheer and infections.
Well meaning people but their nebbs are in the wrong place.
Tuesday, 26 May 2015
It's a good day!
There are just some days when things come together, not even big things, and suddenly the world's a nicer place.
First off, I managed to persuade my Guides that I needed a night off, one which involved proper sleep not gadding around on the astral carrying out tasks or attending to issues. So, that was a bonus, especially as I was late to bed last night having stayed up trying to locate a place, unmarked on a map, where my nephew may be having a day's work today. Unfortunately it is in the middle of nowhere so a bus service doesn't exist, hence my sister having to be up, showered, fed & out the door far earlier than usual. I hope they find the place. I hope the job turns out to be real, a reasonable one and one he can finally get his teeth into.
I managed to get 8 pages written last night after supper and before pills while all was quiet, mayhap the block's gone? We shall see. I also managed to finish one of my colouring in pictures - am actually quite proud. I call it Meditation Garden.
Mum had a bad night last night. A lot of dreaming, shouting, giggling, muttering. I was up four times to see if there was an actual problem or if she was just dreaming. No problems, just dreaming. Good news but somewhat tiring.
And then I found a piece of an earring I thought was gone forever.
Several months ago, I decided I needed cheering up, so I splashed out a whopping £2 on a pair of earrings. They really aren't anything spectacular, indeed, I have had comment about how tacky they are - so what? I like 'em! Anyway, the nice part, the front part, came off one of the earrings. I had no idea where I had actually lost it since I didn't notice the problem until lunchtime and I'd put the earrings on in the morning. I suppose the glue gave up, lol So all I had left was the post and butterfly. Then, this morning, there is the front part lying on the floor at the side of my bed! Whohoo! A bit of superglue and now I wait for a bit, hope the glue's taken & well set and I shall have my rather braw, if somewhat tacky,earrings back as a pair!
Time to take the clean laundry upstairs and bring today's lot down. I may just change dad's bedlinen, since I did all of Mum's sheets & blankets yesterday.
It's a good day!
First off, I managed to persuade my Guides that I needed a night off, one which involved proper sleep not gadding around on the astral carrying out tasks or attending to issues. So, that was a bonus, especially as I was late to bed last night having stayed up trying to locate a place, unmarked on a map, where my nephew may be having a day's work today. Unfortunately it is in the middle of nowhere so a bus service doesn't exist, hence my sister having to be up, showered, fed & out the door far earlier than usual. I hope they find the place. I hope the job turns out to be real, a reasonable one and one he can finally get his teeth into.
I managed to get 8 pages written last night after supper and before pills while all was quiet, mayhap the block's gone? We shall see. I also managed to finish one of my colouring in pictures - am actually quite proud. I call it Meditation Garden.
Mum had a bad night last night. A lot of dreaming, shouting, giggling, muttering. I was up four times to see if there was an actual problem or if she was just dreaming. No problems, just dreaming. Good news but somewhat tiring.
And then I found a piece of an earring I thought was gone forever.
Several months ago, I decided I needed cheering up, so I splashed out a whopping £2 on a pair of earrings. They really aren't anything spectacular, indeed, I have had comment about how tacky they are - so what? I like 'em! Anyway, the nice part, the front part, came off one of the earrings. I had no idea where I had actually lost it since I didn't notice the problem until lunchtime and I'd put the earrings on in the morning. I suppose the glue gave up, lol So all I had left was the post and butterfly. Then, this morning, there is the front part lying on the floor at the side of my bed! Whohoo! A bit of superglue and now I wait for a bit, hope the glue's taken & well set and I shall have my rather braw, if somewhat tacky,earrings back as a pair!
Time to take the clean laundry upstairs and bring today's lot down. I may just change dad's bedlinen, since I did all of Mum's sheets & blankets yesterday.
It's a good day!
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