After all the weeks of waiting for the trip to Blackpool, it's all over...and we're home. Dad says he's had a "brilliant time" even though he didn't get to see the Tower or the main street all lit up. I haven't the strength left to care!
On Saturday night I was ready to sleep on a bed of nails and unlike the previous night, I fell into a sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Dad got up 3 times during the night. The second time he shuffled passed the bathroom door and went to the room door instead. I hadn't locked it from the inside (lesson 398) and just before he got to it I said, loudly, "Dad!" No response...shuffling on...
"DAD! Where are you going?" (stupid question, I know this already)
He didn't answer "toilet!" until his hand was already on the door handle. Luckily, in one sense, that the door was quite hefty and difficult for him to open properly.
"That's the wrong door darlin'. Come back inside!" pleeeeease before I suffocate you with a pillow!!
As he turned to find his way to the toilet which was less than an arms length away from him, he reeled back a little as the weight of the door left his grasp. If not for the wall behind him he would probably have keeled over. "Stupid buggar!" he muttered to himself as he shuffled onward towards the correct door...where I'd left the light on so that he would always know where to go during the night.
This.Makes.No.Difference.
This.Makes.No.Difference.
He left the bathroom, switched off the light and got back into bed. I waited a minute, got out of bed, switched the light back on and left the door ajar and got back into bed. A couple of hours later he was up again and found his way to the bathroom without the detour. He left the bathroom, put off the light and got back into bed.
I stayed in bed!
From Friday to Saturday night I'd already made several phone calls to my daughter. I felt like I was admitting defeat. Looking after my dad at home and taking him out on regular outings on familiar territory can be weary enough but being away from home brought a whole variety of different situations to deal with. From the 'dying swan' routine on several occasions to retrieving his snotty paper hankies from containers filled with tote bags in shops. If it looks like a bucket then it's a bucket. I've turned empty flower pots upside down in our back garden for this reason. The eyes on the back of my head were working overtime.
Another thing that he started to do in Blackpool which he doesn't do at home was try and get out of his wheelchair. The first time he did this was Sunday afternoon when my 'back up' had arrived...funnily enough. We were finally able to walk along the North Pier which is the quietest of all and on a good day...peaceful. This wasn't that day. The weather had taken a turn and it was pretty blustery. The sea was battering along the front which made a thrashing noise. For someone who is terrified of water, I found the sound quite exciting. It wasn't freezing cold but I had dad all wrapped up with his legs in a blanket and a furry hat to cover his ears which I had only just bought for a fiver minutes before.
Rain was imminent so we parked ourselves underneath a vent which was blowing hot air inside the Carousel Bar to have coffee. Minutes later I could see dad pulling at the blanket over his legs. At first I thought he was just trying to take it off for comfort. With half the blanket still tucked under one foot and the other half catching itself under the front wheel, he made to step forward and over it...if you can imagine that!...catching his foot in the flowing blanket and getting nowhere but also trying to lever his body out of the chair by pulling on the arm rests.
I stood up and started to take the blanket off completely before it got tangled up in the wheels and asked him, "What are you trying to do dad?"
His tone was short as he answered, "I'm going to the toilet!", pointing to the far end of the room.
"Sit back!" I shot back, fighting with his feet which weren't relaxed enough to allow me to get them back onto the footplates without hurting myself. He's only trying to 'help' but all the while aggravating his own frustration...and mine. I bite my lip and get him sorted, finally able to wheel him to theedge of the pier and tip him over toilet.
The 'dying swan' act needs to be avoided...I am learning this the hard way. I can't have him standing on his feet for long...I mean seconds...not minutes. At home, in the back garden, I watch him as he walks around the path (without his stick!) and look at the plants or potter around before he makes his way to a seat that I've put out or back indoors. No problem. But I'm there just in case. I just don't fuss.
Outside of the home...he can't stand beside me (with his stick!) for a minute...let's say at a Hotel Reception area for example, while I ask the receptionist to book us a taxi which only takes a second without him stumbling forward onto the desk (which is conveniently there to support him).
"Oh...oh...oh! I don't know what's wrong with me!" he whimpers.
"Nothing dad, you're fine. You just need a seat!" I tell him as I guide him into one.
There is no more mention of feeling dizzy...sick...ill...anything, because the taxi is on it's way and it's all of a sudden a "great day" according to planet Dad.
We went to the Circus in the Tower and dad was sitting in the wheelchair area which only allows one able bodied person to sit with him on the seats provided behind him. My trusty companion, Douglas and I decided to sit together in front of dad, on the back row of the standard seats so dad was directly behind us. I turned often to ask "are you okay?", "are you enjoying the show?", "are you warm enough?"
Every time he'd give me thumbs up...until the first interval. Douglas went off to get us ice-cream and I could feel dads footplates rattling at the back of my head. I turned to find him once again pulling at the blanket covering his legs and trying to lever himself forward out of his chair. Thankfully the barrier in front of him and the brakes on his chair prevented him from doing any of this.
"What are you trying to do dad?" I asked.
He pointed to the empty seat beside me. "I'm coming to sit there!" he said, quite matter-of-fact.
Dealing with a body that isn't able and a mind that thinks it can is a continuous battle.
I haven't earned all of my stripes for that one but I'm working on it.
Yesterday morning, it was time for us to leave. I called dad to the bathroom once I had everything set up for his wash. I watched as he shuffled towards me in his pyjama trousers. He was slower than normal and looking a bit puzzled as he scratched at his wee pot belly.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
He held out his arms. "Geez a cuddle," he said. (Translates: give me a cuddle for all you non Scots!)
He put his arms around me and I held him.
"I love you hen. I love you so I do," he said.
"Aw that's nice to know dad. I love you too," I replied.
My mother was with us in Blackpool dad. When you weren't watching, I set her free into the sea on the North Pier. Just enough of her to know that we had returned, and we'll come back again.
All of us.
Another thing that he started to do in Blackpool which he doesn't do at home was try and get out of his wheelchair. The first time he did this was Sunday afternoon when my 'back up' had arrived...funnily enough. We were finally able to walk along the North Pier which is the quietest of all and on a good day...peaceful. This wasn't that day. The weather had taken a turn and it was pretty blustery. The sea was battering along the front which made a thrashing noise. For someone who is terrified of water, I found the sound quite exciting. It wasn't freezing cold but I had dad all wrapped up with his legs in a blanket and a furry hat to cover his ears which I had only just bought for a fiver minutes before.
Rain was imminent so we parked ourselves underneath a vent which was blowing hot air inside the Carousel Bar to have coffee. Minutes later I could see dad pulling at the blanket over his legs. At first I thought he was just trying to take it off for comfort. With half the blanket still tucked under one foot and the other half catching itself under the front wheel, he made to step forward and over it...if you can imagine that!...catching his foot in the flowing blanket and getting nowhere but also trying to lever his body out of the chair by pulling on the arm rests.
I stood up and started to take the blanket off completely before it got tangled up in the wheels and asked him, "What are you trying to do dad?"
His tone was short as he answered, "I'm going to the toilet!", pointing to the far end of the room.
"Sit back!" I shot back, fighting with his feet which weren't relaxed enough to allow me to get them back onto the footplates without hurting myself. He's only trying to 'help' but all the while aggravating his own frustration...and mine. I bite my lip and get him sorted, finally able to wheel him to the
The 'dying swan' act needs to be avoided...I am learning this the hard way. I can't have him standing on his feet for long...I mean seconds...not minutes. At home, in the back garden, I watch him as he walks around the path (without his stick!) and look at the plants or potter around before he makes his way to a seat that I've put out or back indoors. No problem. But I'm there just in case. I just don't fuss.
Outside of the home...he can't stand beside me (with his stick!) for a minute...let's say at a Hotel Reception area for example, while I ask the receptionist to book us a taxi which only takes a second without him stumbling forward onto the desk (which is conveniently there to support him).
"Oh...oh...oh! I don't know what's wrong with me!" he whimpers.
"Nothing dad, you're fine. You just need a seat!" I tell him as I guide him into one.
There is no more mention of feeling dizzy...sick...ill...anything, because the taxi is on it's way and it's all of a sudden a "great day" according to planet Dad.
We went to the Circus in the Tower and dad was sitting in the wheelchair area which only allows one able bodied person to sit with him on the seats provided behind him. My trusty companion, Douglas and I decided to sit together in front of dad, on the back row of the standard seats so dad was directly behind us. I turned often to ask "are you okay?", "are you enjoying the show?", "are you warm enough?"
Every time he'd give me thumbs up...until the first interval. Douglas went off to get us ice-cream and I could feel dads footplates rattling at the back of my head. I turned to find him once again pulling at the blanket covering his legs and trying to lever himself forward out of his chair. Thankfully the barrier in front of him and the brakes on his chair prevented him from doing any of this.
"What are you trying to do dad?" I asked.
He pointed to the empty seat beside me. "I'm coming to sit there!" he said, quite matter-of-fact.
Dealing with a body that isn't able and a mind that thinks it can is a continuous battle.
I haven't earned all of my stripes for that one but I'm working on it.
Yesterday morning, it was time for us to leave. I called dad to the bathroom once I had everything set up for his wash. I watched as he shuffled towards me in his pyjama trousers. He was slower than normal and looking a bit puzzled as he scratched at his wee pot belly.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
He held out his arms. "Geez a cuddle," he said. (Translates: give me a cuddle for all you non Scots!)
He put his arms around me and I held him.
"I love you hen. I love you so I do," he said.
"Aw that's nice to know dad. I love you too," I replied.
My mother was with us in Blackpool dad. When you weren't watching, I set her free into the sea on the North Pier. Just enough of her to know that we had returned, and we'll come back again.
All of us.
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