He Had Never Left Us

On This Day five years ago my mum went into her only time in respite. It had been a desperate time for my son and I. Still traumatised by what we had gone through in Sydney, trying to do the right thing by mum and without transport most of the week it was a nightmare trying to get things organised.

D the Public Guardian had taken on the sourcing of care homes and after her saying there were literally no permanent places available within Lake Macquarie City I told her Newcastle would be fine. Within a day or so she called to say Tinonee Gardens in Waratah, Newcastle had a respite bed coming up a few weeks later.

One of the home care aides had told us stories about being sworn at in many different languages at Tinonee Gardens and that she had enjoyed the patients there. So I had some background from a trusted person and it was getting desperate at home with mum walking down the steep hill, forgetting she could not get back up again because of her heart condition. Also her anxiety and sundowning was off the charts. She would antagonise dad on purpose at times and f we had not been there I could see she would be black and blue again, as my relatives had told me she was before dad’s stroke.

We simply had to get her to safety and give dad a break away from her. So we accepted the bed and I then started the preparations for her admittance. This was hard or me as there was so much paperwork. Since I left my emotionally abusive husband earlier that year I had been so traumatised that I had trouble with paperwork and phone calls. Which made this very difficult.

I had to phone mum’s GP and get paperwork from him. Which was no easy task as he was never available to do it. In the end the day before mum was to be admitted I went into the surgery and made such a fuss that the office manager immediately found a GP who would do it for me. I had been very forceful about mum losing the bed and it would be their fault if so.

Then I popped next door to the wonderful Swansea Amcal Pharmacy. They of course were well prepared. The pharmacist and all the girls wished mum well and reassured me that everything would be okay. They delivered my parent’s medication to them weekly and knew how isolated my parent’s home was. Nestled against the bush, with no transport, and tri level. It was beyond unsuitable for my stroke damaged dad and demented mum.

I had to go out several times to get mum clothing as she barely had anything to wear when I moved in. With the help of Vinnies I managed to prepare her enough for her two weeks in Respite. Luckily G was up for several days so we were able to be driven to Swansea to shop and do all these things.

Dad kept saying something would go wrong and mum would not be able to go and sure enough, on the morning mum had to be there I heard a clatter in the garage. I waited a few minutes but heard nothing so continued to gather everything together into a bag that I had hidden in the laundry so that mum would not be alerted to anything.

As I came back into the kitchen dad came through the garage door into the family room. He was holding his arm up in the air and crying in a strange way. Almost hyperventilating. I then saw blood pouring down his arm. As I went towards him I grabbed some clean tea towels and used them to staunch the blood flow.

Dad was crying so hard I could barely understand him but I worked out that he was saying that mum would not be able to go now. He was shuddering with shock. I managed to get the blood to almost stop by holding his arm up and applying pressure. Then I had a look. He had shredded a piece of skin down his arm like cheese off a grater. About a centimetre deep and just hanging off his arm. The whole way down his forearm. When he saw it he started shaking again. I assured him it would be all right and wrapped his arm again and asked him to hold it while I went to get Helen who was showering mum.

She had just got mum out of the shower and we got her dressed together and then Helen came back to help me with dad. She came through and asked him what he had done now. I had found bandages and gauze swabs and spray on antiseptic in my mum’s amazing FirstAid drawer and had them on the counter.

Between us we looked after both of my parents as we filled a bowl with water and I swabbed dad’s arm to see what needed to be done. I had found some small scissors in that drawer and had put them in boiling water and then Dettol. I then cut the strip of skin off and we had a good look. It was going to be tricky to bandage but I knew elderly people’s skin was very fragile and could tear easily so I felt confident we could treat it ourselves.

The main thing was to calm him so I made him sweet tea and mum a coffee. Then we applied all the products. Starting with spray on antiseptic and gauze and finally the bandage. By the time we had finished he was just shuddering. I hugged him and said it would be fine. We would get mum there. He started crying again.

Eventually I asked him how he had hurt himself and apparently he had put his bad foot on a chair to do up his shoelaces and had fallen over. Slicing his arm on the printer stand.

I was speechless but managed to keep a calm demeanour. Dad had only been using velcro shoes since his stroke. Whatever made him go back to ones requiring two hands? He only had one functional one. I went to get his good lace up shoes and put them on him and laced them up.

While all this was going on Tony the owner of the hire car business had turned up to take us to Tinonee Gardens. It was a thirty minute drive and we needed to be there around lunchtime. So as soon as dad was calm and mum distracted I gave Tony mum’s bag to hide in the boot and then I told mum we were going out. She grabbed her handbag, very excited.

Helen left just before us and we locked up, then started on our first journey to the facility. It was a pleasant trip, mum chatting to me and not expecting a response due to her deafness. When she was not talking I encouraged dad to talk to Tony who was experienced in these journeys. It was very stressful and non stop for me, keeping everyone on an even keel. Dad was fine by then, hard to believe the state he had been in a few hours earlier.

We arrived at Tinonee and told Tony we would call him when we were ready to go home. Mum looked suspiciously at the office reception but was okay when the RN Laiju arrived to take us to Daffodil, the building where mum was going to spend respite.

By then mum was fractious, angry and suspicious. She kicked dad a few times as we sat waiting on a settee near the dining room where residents were sitting waiting for their lunch. Eventually the NUM Michelle arrived and she knelt on the floor and took notes on mum’s medical needs. By the time mum had her blood pressure taken she was well aware something was going on.

They then showed us the room off the dining room which was especially for Respite. It was near the nurses station which was reassuring. We took mums bags in there and I put them on the bed. She took them off the bed and kicked them with all her might to the other side of the room. And flounced across to dad and told him to get her out of there. Now.

When he just cried she kicked him. Then she kicked the bags. And threw them. Never seen her like it. My gentle mum. She then said in a quiet deadly voice I have never heard before.

“Tom, you take me home now. Tom. Tom. I am telling you to take me home now or I am going to scream and scream.” Dad just cried.

I took her out of the room to the settee. But she kept going back in and saying similar things. No swearing. Very ladylike. But with the deadliest undertone.

Dad came out and shouted, his way of communication, that he was going to have his prostate fixed and she had to be here while he was in hospital. Mum had no clue what he was saying due to her deafness and just thought her was angry with her.

Michelle came and said mum could sit down at the table for lunch, we could go then. I settled her, dad kept crying which really was not helping things. Then I said dad we are going to have to go. We said goodbye and she started to wail. And wail.

Laiju and another nurse came and got mum and walked her away from the table, half dragging her as she cried out to us.

“Do not leave me here. No. No. I am not staying here without my parents. Mummy. Daddy do not leave me here.”

Absolutely heart wrenching to watch her being semi carried around the corner away from us. We exited the secure door and made our way out of the second secure door. Dad crying all the way. Me phoning Tony. By the time we walked out to the front he was there. He had never left us, on this, one of the worst days of my life. Thus far.

 

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Where I Choose To Be

Yesterday was my late mum’s birthday. But that was not why it was such a difficult day. In the morning I rang my dad in the aged care home. He has dementia, stroke damage and stage four Prostate Cancer and he was very worked up and totally out of it with agitation. He told me he had manhandled and literally thrown a lady out of his room and that her friends had come to help her. Dad had swung at a man who used to be a fighter, who said he ducked. And dad told me he was going to get a man, later on. He has never been fond of people he finds stupid and these people are demented, bless them.

My son and I then set out after lunch for my appointment with Dr Russo of The Hunter Pain Clinic in Broadmeadow. It’s a level one pain service where medications and injections and ablations into and of nerves occur, unlike at John Hunter Pain Management. I went six months ago, found great success with my SFN and other neuropathic pain due to past surgeries and mesh. It is a lovely bus trip by the lake to Cardiff and then a train to Broadmeadow. Unfortunately it’s a long walk for me from the station, I know now to get a taxi from there. Silly of me not to, I was overconfident.

At some stage of the day the AINs told dad his blood pressure was up, probably to try to get him to stop fixating on the men he particularly hates. So he started phoning and when he could not get me he left messages. Three before I wised up and stopped taking the voicemails. Each was worse with him crying, wanting to go to hospital and beside himself thinking he was going to die.

Meantime my son and I waited over an hour for Dr Russo, who was brilliant as always. He said I needed to increase the Lyrica in my Neuropathy cocktail by 75mg. After that nerve ablation of the Femorogenital Nerve and the Illinguinal Nerve on the left side is all that is left to do. He also wrote that I could have a sustained release painkiller, Palexia. All I use at the moment is Panadol Osteo.

The trip home was a long one. To avoid the walk to the station we caught two buses, one to Glendale which was forty minutes and then a bus home which was around twenty. I stopped being a nasty snarly bitch to my poor ever suffering son once off my feet and on the bus and dropped into a ten minute retrospection ending in quite the insight. I have had moments of clarity before but never quite like this.

I was wondering if it was worth it. Really. To have Small Fibre Neuropathy pain so badly that I had needed a walking aid to get around. The pain so unspeakable I found it hard to describe it. And to lose that pain totally for four months only to have it start to return? With no real hope of it ever going or being controlled. More so with the unbelievable mesh pain beside my stoma. Would I have done it if I had known? Would I not have been better to not have that wonderful break, only to have to learn to deal with the agony again?

And yet, if I had not tried the cocktail, I would never have got off the walker, might even have been encouraged into a wheelchair by now. I would not have had the courage to meet up with my man of many voices, not in an intimate way. Would not have started any relationship at all. Talking to Dr Russo I realised how much had changed since I saw him in November. For the good. Life is full of joy for me, despite the pain. Or in part because of it I truly appreciate life and the beauty in the world.

So yes I would have tried the drugs, I would have knowingly tried them even if they had told me they would not continue to work much beyond the six months. Because where hope is is where I want to be. Where possibility is is also where I am meant to be. Where determination is is where I choose to be.

But for dad, my quandary is very different, to hear him at 4.59 this morning. Crying. Because he “does not know what is happening.” The catch cry, especially of the Vascularly demented. What is the point in prolonging his misery? His fear? His degradation? Should I have ever let the specialist put him on the Zoladex which is stopping the Testosterone which is fuelling the cancer? It will wear off by the end of this year anyway but it’s month upon month of agonising fear for my dad, a once proud, strong man. Can I in good conscience ask for it to be stopped? And let the disease take its course?

In other countries he might have been able to choose his death. But dad thought he was immortal and never prepared for old age. Now I am trying to look after us both. Making tough decisions for both of us. Mine is just pain, it will not kill me though the increase in Lyrica will likely affect my memory. But only while I take it. Whereas dad is going to die. A long, drawn out protracted death whereby he slowly withers away. Even now he is dehydrated. He could choose to stop eating at any time. It happens. And I will be here witnessing it, but thankful my mum did not have to. That she was taken before that. She always looked after dad, he was her first thought in the morning. Her duty was to care for him. Her duty born of love. Mine is a different love, but mum knew I would look after him. It is who I am. And who I am is very much someone who questions suffering. Suffering, the kind that does not enrich life, only demeans and terrifies our elderly. Our loved ones with dementia.

 

 

Ever Spreading Tendril

I had an appointment today with my dentist. As I was almost forty minutes early due to the strange timetables of Newcastle buses I popped into the coffee shop that I have had my eye on for a while.

Big mistake. Though the lovely Lisa the proprietor was well intentioned she is basically deluded. Anyone who thinks they can repair mesh damage, namely a drop foot, with antioxidants is totally out of their mind. And dangerous to the unknowing, the uninformed, the people finding their lives unendurable.

So good to know that her 80 year old husband who is twice her age is as fit as her. I mean would he dare be otherwise? I tried to explain it was not age related or arthritis related. And that my medications are a necessity not a foolish luxury like the antioxidants. But I know a lost cause when I see one.

I managed to get away and limped, trying not to dammit, to my dentist. Where I had a longish wait. Somehow, and am incredulous as to how this keeps happening, one of the receptionists told me she has a TVT (trans vaginal sling) and was very interested to hear how I became meshed up.

I was able to give her Professor Vancaillie’s name, explain everything to her and encourage her to get a 3D Trans Vaginal Ultrasound. As only around 20% of cases cause issues it is good to know if the mesh is still in position, and to get a referral to discuss options with a Urogynaecologist if needed.

She was very open, informed and intelligent. Asked me how my bladder surgery was done using my own tissue and also how the rectoceles were repaired also using my own tissue. So perhaps the situation with the unknowingly ignorant Lisa was meant to be? Or perhaps the Sisterhood is indeed an Entity, with many tendrils, spreading out around the world to share, to inform and to protect women from being mutilated, butchered and meshed up. I thank God, The Universe and The Sisterhood and am indeed humbled to be part of this ever twining tendril spreading around the world to release and protect fellow sisters from ignorance and cruelty.

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Fright

On This Day five years ago I had been up until late packing ready for our move away from Sydney. I had been packing British Crime DVDs which must have taken some time as I have so many. I started fasting at 2 am for a blood test and went to bed quite late so as to keep my son company, and also to see if I could sleep through so much of the morning that had been spent retching lately.

Once I awoke I was able to get dressed, though still retching, and make my way through the back alleys behind the shops in Randwick to Dr M who had been our family doctor since 2001. I was there right on opening time however there were three patients ahead of me. Typical! Usually this worked really well for me rather than getting tests done first thing in the morning. I chose a magazine and settled in to read after chatting with Eleni the receptionist who had become my lovely friend over the years.

Something made me look up and I got a literal shock as my ex was at the door about to come in. Our eyes locked and I realised what my son meant about ‘the look’ which terrified him. He stood there for some time with the most awful look on his face then he went away.

I was so frightened I started crying. In front of the then full room of female patients. Eleni came over and asked me what was the matter and I told her. She said she would ring me in future if he was there but it would not help if I was already here.

I went into the doctor and he easily took the blood and then I told him what had just happened. And that we had only been to court the day before and the AVO’s had been issued. He sat back and said this is a problem Kate. He said D cannot take change. He will not go to another doctor. That C and I would have to find another GP until we moved north or risk this happening again.

He had never seen me rattled before, even when I popped in to see him after I saw Professor Newstead the bowel surgeon to tell him I was having a Colostomy. Or when my surgery in 2000 went so badly wrong. He loved my pick myself up, dust myself off and get going attitude to life, so this was very hard for him too.

So that was another thing taken from us by this person we had supported for so long. My son’s and my own medical needs were very complex and required authorities for medications most GPs were not happy to write scripts for.

I left the surgery and started walking up High Street towards Brumby’s Bakery to get C some finger buns. As I approached the corner I saw my ex stand up and walk towards me from the direction of High Cross Park. He was sticking to the AVO literally by keeping 500 metres away from me. However I started having palpitations and became very panicky. No stopping in coffee shops for a break any more. I bought the finger buns and walked swiftly home.

The blood tests showed the palpitations I had thought were stress related was really my thyroid being over medicated and that I likely had diabetes. A great time to start with a new GP.

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Moving On

Late July 2014 my mum died and a few weeks later I was royally screwed in my financial settlement prior to the divorce later in November. It was an incredibly stressful time plus I was battling a then unknown massive (see the size of my tummy) parastomal hernia and the pain that went with that. Dad had gone into the care home where mum had lived in the last year of her life. Everyone was moving on and I had to try move on as well.

But it’s not that easy, one cannot just click one’s fingers and turn grief off. It would hit me out of nowhere. Sitting at the bus stop waiting for the bus to the shops I would realise there were tears on my face. I would wake up every morning crying, no dream, just tears of deepest despair. Because I had wanted to share so much with mum. She was so much fun and a joy to be with since moving into care. Her anxiety and fear had simply gone as the structured days alternately stimulated her and then soothed her.

There never seems to be enough time to do everything we want to do in life and I realised that I had to try to do something to help us all move on. Then I could concentrate on the two men who needed me so much. So I asked my son and his girlfriend if they would like a trip to New Zealand, to thank them for all they had done. And to ensure that they saw his girlfriend’s Grandmother while she was still well.

 

 

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Control

I have some thoughts on control. For us ladies. And not the bladder kind of control so many of us have trouble with after childbirth or as we age! The control I am talking about is control by a male partner of a female partner. Specifically by males, though I know it can happen in many diverse families. I am talking about intimate partner control.

In my case I realised how controlling he was after realising that he always spoiled my enjoyment. My friends were scorned in private though made a fuss of when met out or at our church. Though come to think of it I only had acquaintances at church.

And that is another big thing, my friends in latter years were diverse. Multicultural. Multi or non religious. Gay straight transgender. Really diverse.

He scorned them. I remember once after a fabulous family outing with my bestie and her children (we used to meet with all the kids twice a month and birthdays etc) he scornfully said to me that he had never met anyone who “loved” people so much. As if that was abnormal.

These were friends whose children I have known since my son was six. I have known her son since he was born. I am his unofficial aunt. Godmother. He stood up at his Bah Mitzvah and thanked his aunty and I for accepting him. Encouraging him and having the biggest impact on his life. His mum asked his dad to say in his speech that she could not have got out the door without my advice on outfits and general support.

But that is what friends do. Family friends especially of Jewish and Muslim faith and of different cultures are very family oriented. Their friend’s family become their family.

This did not suit my then husband. He wanted me all to himself. I worked it out after a while and simply stopped telling him what I was doing and with whom. The nastiness after taking D to museums and movies was too much. And I was not going to allow it to ruin my friendships or my memories or most importantly D’s and my enjoyment of exploring culture in all its forms together.

My friendships had become so precious to me. My son and I were in a lot of pain which limited a lot of things and I loved to hear normal stories. Kids going to school. To uni. Starting work. All things my son could not do. Though I assured him I thought he was really going to come into his own in his thirties and forties. Health willing.

One deep regret I had and which I have reconciled myself to is that my issues in regard to needing a colostomy led to my not being able to visit my parents for three years. I asked them down but they never came. I now know mum had Alzheimers. She could not cope with the drive or unfamiliar surrounds. If only.

Two words. If only I had been able to go I would have seen it. But my then husband would not take me. Threw tantrums if asked. He had had a “breakdown” mid 2000s and used it to control me even more. Luckily our son had a relationship then and could get out of the flat. I was trapped literally

My legs had not been good for many many years with hundreds of electric shock pains. I could not get up our three flights of stairs easily. So I had to choose my days to go out. Usually three times a week. He would NOT move us. Though he told his family when he visited them in UK many times that we needed to move. So I could be independent. They agreed.

Utter bullshit from him because I realise now he wanted me trapped. He wanted me to see no other people but him. To have no friends over. To totally hand my life over to his control. I would not have it and he got nastier and nastier.

So I managed my relationships with my friends who had always been my family in lieu of any genuine real interest in my life and my son’s life from my own. And I let mine down. Because no matter their neglect of me they loved me. And I have been told by aged neighbours who are now my friends that I was the one child my parents never worried about. Because I was sensible and no trouble. And later in life the strongest one of the three.

There has been a lot of media stories on abuse in the church. I wonder how many women like me suffered sexual abuse? To me to deny someone pleasure is real abuse. To not offer intimacy purposely is abuse. To control in any form another is abuse.

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New Zealand Bound

 

Three years ago my son and his girlfriend headed off to New Zealand. They had been so caring, so helpful and compassionate both before and after mum died that once I had a bit of money after my divorce I had to do something for them to show them how much I appreciated them.

They were really excited, and I was thrilled to have the flat to myself and Chanti for three weeks. I adore being by myself as long as I have an animal to look after. I can honestly say I was not lonely once. And thank goodness my bowel obstructions slowed down over those few weeks otherwise Chanti and I would have been in trouble.

They had a fabulous time touristing and visiting relatives and when they came back they were engaged!