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.

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!

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!

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?

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.

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!