This week has probably been one of the most restful weeks I've actually had so far since looking after my dad. Apart from a couple of nightmares and stupid dreams where I wake up angry in need of coffee to determine fact from fiction, I've actually slept for longer than I've been awake...I think! The medication he now takes before he goes to bed is certainly working as he has gone from shuffling back and forth to the bathroom up to 6 times during the night to 1 or 2 at the most. He is also going to bed a little earlier and sleeping a little later, with a nap during the day which has gone beyond 10 minutes and can last up to 2 hours. It sounds selfish really but I am so grateful for these moments of relaxation. I am still getting used to not being showered and dressed before 10 a.m. most mornings as my dad's personal care comes first. If I can manage to grab a shower as he eats his breakfast and be out before he finishes then it's a bonus. There is laundry every day as he likes to share his lunch time soup with his jumper. Every morning I ensure he is pristine and crisp with a slick of Brylcreem and a splash of aftershave whether he is going out or not. I on the other hand am washed and dressed with a dash of perfume, no make-up, hair pulled up and off my face and STILL manage to look like the love child of Ken Dodd and Phyllis Diller.
One of my new tasks is to always make sure there is a disposable hanky laying on the arm of the recliner for him...BEFORE I give him his cereal in the morning. It's only one little thing to add to my list as leaving the box of hankies beside him on the table is proving not to be enough of a clue. Dad sneezes a lot, and mostly during and after eating. As long as he has a tissue covering his nose and mouth I can live with it. But when he just blasts out a sneeze that almost blows the glass out of the windows and the dug bumping into walls in her hurry to escape then my patience is severely tested. He always has a hanky in his pocket but he can never remember which one and by the time he struggles to find it, it's too late. As much as I love him, he's not quite as adorable with soggy crunchy nut cornflakes flying from his mouth like an explosion of confetti and beating his personal best every day for distance upon landing.
I thought using paper tissues would stop him from laying his cotton hanky over the arm of the recliner to dry it out, or from putting it on the radiator which is even worse. Well it worked. Now he lays the paper tissues out flat instead!
I've practiced the sentence: "Dad, put a hanky in front of your mouth before you sneeze please, " over and over again in the gentlest of tones. When I get to perhaps the 10th time of having to repeat it, I feel my teeth grinding together and my jaw lock as I force a sweet grimace. This is also an improvement. Previously I'd get to around 5 times and I was already at the "FFS!" stage. I'm getting better. 😁
Coming up to Christmas, there's been a bit more TV that we can both enjoy in the evenings. My Uncle Columbo gets a rest and I regain part of my sanity. I sit beside dad on the recliner. (It's a double...ye cannae hide money!) He is more chatty the closer I am to him although if I sit on my bed chair and endure the numbness setting in on my arse, he'll still look towards me now and again and ask "Are you okay darling?"
"Yes dad," I'll reply. "I'm tickety-boo." This is usually followed by, "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"I *widnae mind," is his usual response. *wouldn't
He's been heading to bed just after 9 p.m. of late. The other night he rubbed his eyes then turned to me and asked, "Shall we just go to bed now?" I'm not Mum. I'm so sorry.
"You can go to your bed now if you want dad," I said, making no attempt to explain. "I'll just fetch your last pill."
With that, I went off as usual and turned down his bed, set out his pyjamas and left his bedside light on low. I have no tears, only a dull ache in the pit of my stomach. No matter how much effort I make to ensure each day is bright, my heart is heavy.
I took dad out this morning to buy him a Christmas hat and me some antlers with flashing lights. I'm determined to bring Christmas into this house and not let our glasses be half empty. Dad laughed as I tried on various hair bands with silly things attached. The shops were so busy and I wasn't planning to hang around too long. Before leaving I took him for coffee and cake. As I stood in the queue I watched dad sit at the table, nosing at everyone who passed. There was plenty to see in the hustle and bustle. The noise was getting a bit much. I could see his face starting to contort. By the time I got to the table and poured his tea, I could see him trying to get my attention with the corner of my eye. The 'dying swan' was about to be unleashed. I tried to ignore it and kept chatting away as I poured the tea and cut up his cake as I used to do for the kids. Finally I couldn't avoid eye contact.
"Oh," he swooned. "I feel dizzy."
"You'll be fine when you have a drink of tea," I said, sounding unsympathetic and trying to be encouraging instead. "Your ears are probably buzzing with the noise in here too. You'll be fine."
....and he was. Perfectly.
Although dad loves to get out of the house with me, he is better in less busy places. It never fails when there are too many people around and more especially in a café or restaurant, these 'dizzy' spells along with feigned lethargy arise. It's worse...for me that is...if he does it while he is walking with his stick. I've had to raise my voice in order for him to stand up and take his own weight as he has pushed himself onto me, knowing that I'm there to catch a fall, even if it meant him landing on top of me. I know the difference between this attention seeking behaviour and reality with him which is just as well on my part. To others I might appear heartless, but if I 'fussed' around him he would not be co-operative at all and with the attention of a doctor he would be acting the comedian. Frustrating as it can be, I try and predict and therefore avoid.
If it was just me, dad, the dug and these four walls...dad would be happy as a pig inshi muck! But I need to get out. Even though he's coming along with me, I need to get out. So feign away daddy dearest. You won't pull the wool over my eyes. I'm too feckin' smart for you!
"Aaaaaaaa-CHOOOOOOO!"
DAD! USE A FKN HAAANKYYYY!!
"Dad, put a hanky in front of your mouth please." 😬😷🙈
Every day I've made mention of Christmas, counting down the sleeps "til Christmas dad."
"Is it?" he'll say.
"Then it'll be your birthday...in January." I continue.
"What age am I again?" he'll ask.
"89 dad. You'll be 90 on your birthday," I tell him.
The last time I told him this he asked, "Does that mean I'll be a hundred next year?"
"No dad," I replied. "You've got another 10 years before you're 100."
"Oh," he said smiling. "That's alright then."
Meanwhile, I released my hair from my grasp and decided not to pull it all out just yet.
There is still time!
One of my new tasks is to always make sure there is a disposable hanky laying on the arm of the recliner for him...BEFORE I give him his cereal in the morning. It's only one little thing to add to my list as leaving the box of hankies beside him on the table is proving not to be enough of a clue. Dad sneezes a lot, and mostly during and after eating. As long as he has a tissue covering his nose and mouth I can live with it. But when he just blasts out a sneeze that almost blows the glass out of the windows and the dug bumping into walls in her hurry to escape then my patience is severely tested. He always has a hanky in his pocket but he can never remember which one and by the time he struggles to find it, it's too late. As much as I love him, he's not quite as adorable with soggy crunchy nut cornflakes flying from his mouth like an explosion of confetti and beating his personal best every day for distance upon landing.
I thought using paper tissues would stop him from laying his cotton hanky over the arm of the recliner to dry it out, or from putting it on the radiator which is even worse. Well it worked. Now he lays the paper tissues out flat instead!
I've practiced the sentence: "Dad, put a hanky in front of your mouth before you sneeze please, " over and over again in the gentlest of tones. When I get to perhaps the 10th time of having to repeat it, I feel my teeth grinding together and my jaw lock as I force a sweet grimace. This is also an improvement. Previously I'd get to around 5 times and I was already at the "FFS!" stage. I'm getting better. 😁
Coming up to Christmas, there's been a bit more TV that we can both enjoy in the evenings. My Uncle Columbo gets a rest and I regain part of my sanity. I sit beside dad on the recliner. (It's a double...ye cannae hide money!) He is more chatty the closer I am to him although if I sit on my bed chair and endure the numbness setting in on my arse, he'll still look towards me now and again and ask "Are you okay darling?"
"Yes dad," I'll reply. "I'm tickety-boo." This is usually followed by, "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"I *widnae mind," is his usual response. *wouldn't
He's been heading to bed just after 9 p.m. of late. The other night he rubbed his eyes then turned to me and asked, "Shall we just go to bed now?" I'm not Mum. I'm so sorry.
"You can go to your bed now if you want dad," I said, making no attempt to explain. "I'll just fetch your last pill."
With that, I went off as usual and turned down his bed, set out his pyjamas and left his bedside light on low. I have no tears, only a dull ache in the pit of my stomach. No matter how much effort I make to ensure each day is bright, my heart is heavy.
I took dad out this morning to buy him a Christmas hat and me some antlers with flashing lights. I'm determined to bring Christmas into this house and not let our glasses be half empty. Dad laughed as I tried on various hair bands with silly things attached. The shops were so busy and I wasn't planning to hang around too long. Before leaving I took him for coffee and cake. As I stood in the queue I watched dad sit at the table, nosing at everyone who passed. There was plenty to see in the hustle and bustle. The noise was getting a bit much. I could see his face starting to contort. By the time I got to the table and poured his tea, I could see him trying to get my attention with the corner of my eye. The 'dying swan' was about to be unleashed. I tried to ignore it and kept chatting away as I poured the tea and cut up his cake as I used to do for the kids. Finally I couldn't avoid eye contact.
"Oh," he swooned. "I feel dizzy."
"You'll be fine when you have a drink of tea," I said, sounding unsympathetic and trying to be encouraging instead. "Your ears are probably buzzing with the noise in here too. You'll be fine."
....and he was. Perfectly.
Although dad loves to get out of the house with me, he is better in less busy places. It never fails when there are too many people around and more especially in a café or restaurant, these 'dizzy' spells along with feigned lethargy arise. It's worse...for me that is...if he does it while he is walking with his stick. I've had to raise my voice in order for him to stand up and take his own weight as he has pushed himself onto me, knowing that I'm there to catch a fall, even if it meant him landing on top of me. I know the difference between this attention seeking behaviour and reality with him which is just as well on my part. To others I might appear heartless, but if I 'fussed' around him he would not be co-operative at all and with the attention of a doctor he would be acting the comedian. Frustrating as it can be, I try and predict and therefore avoid.
If it was just me, dad, the dug and these four walls...dad would be happy as a pig in
"Aaaaaaaa-CHOOOOOOO!"
DAD! USE A FKN HAAANKYYYY!!
"Dad, put a hanky in front of your mouth please." 😬😷🙈
Every day I've made mention of Christmas, counting down the sleeps "til Christmas dad."
"Is it?" he'll say.
"Then it'll be your birthday...in January." I continue.
"What age am I again?" he'll ask.
"89 dad. You'll be 90 on your birthday," I tell him.
The last time I told him this he asked, "Does that mean I'll be a hundred next year?"
"No dad," I replied. "You've got another 10 years before you're 100."
"Oh," he said smiling. "That's alright then."
Meanwhile, I released my hair from my grasp and decided not to pull it all out just yet.
There is still time!
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