The past few days have been fraught with memories, good and bad. Overthinking the future. Misinterpreting the past. Trying to give my brain a break, but every time I sit quietly, the little residents in my head compartments have a meeting and never reach a conclusion that will allow me to close my eyes and switch off the inner lights.
Other peoples doctors and carers perception of my dad bothers me more than I let on. His ability to seem 'normal' giving the impression that his capabilities are more than they are is an accident waiting to happen. I'm a bit fed up hearing that looking after him can't be "too difficult". He isn't in a wheelchair 24/7. He doesn't need a hoist or any other moving and handling aid. He isn't incontinent...not all of the time at least. He can feed himself. Easy peasy. I don't know why I'm so tired....and emotional, perplexed and powerless.
The weather has played some part in keeping us indoors most days. It's only a short walk from the door to the car but with slippery pathways and a dad who doesn't take instruction immediately, I've saved him from being caught in the car door as it's blown shut in a fierce wind, stopped him from falling backwards as he kept his grip on the wooden gate while the wind took over as soon as the gate was released from it's latch and swung in his direction without a care. Of course, instead of letting go of the gate, my dad's senses were telling him to reach further towards it and try to bring it back into position to close. With me behind him trying to direct his hips in a forward motion with my hand over his to ensure his walking stick remained on the ground taking some of his weight off of me. Going outside is much easier on a sunny day!
Dad has slept an awful lot more since he's had his heart checked. It gives me a little space to sit peacefully by myself with 'dug' but I remain on alert. I have a beautiful Poinsettia plant which is doing quite well since I bought it and hasn't reduced to a pile of shriveled leaves like every other real plant I've ever owned. So far so good. I watched as a single leaf fell from it onto the floor. I also watched my dad's attention drawn to it from his recliner. He looked at the leaf then looked away, then looked back at the leaf. Moments later he was wriggling around and trying to get his feet onto the floor in the most awkward way. He hasn't mastered the art of swinging his legs around to the side of the foot rest before trying to stand. I've caught him sliding forward until his weight dropped the foot rest to the floor but it doesn't click back into the chair unless you push it back with your hands. I watched in horror as his feet reached the floor from the front and he pushed himself up...or tried. The more he tried to get up, the more the foot rest tried to spring upwards into a resting position again, catching the back of his knees and would have knocked him into next week had I not been there to grab his hands and help him regain some balance. I've thought about a reclining chair for him with a hand control. The ads are on the TV all the time. But I already know that he wouldn't make sense of the controls and would still do his high dive off the edge no matter what. I'll make use of money on better things...like plasters, bandages and paracetamol...and maybe a baseball bat!
I could see that the fallen leaf was drawing itself to his attention too much.
"Just leave it dad," I said, foiling his recliner escape. "I'll pick it up later."
But later...I forgot.
Dad went off to have a lay down on his bed for a couple of hours. I sat back and caught up with all the reality TV rubbish on my laptop that keeps me going, scunnering myself (good old fashioned Scottish word meaning annoying) with how the other half live. As it grew darker outside, the living room lit up like Blackpool illuminations and cheered me up. We don't have a Christmas tree this year, but I've more than made up for it with everything else that twinkles. I won't let anything dull my sparkle!
After his nap, dad came back into the living room. I already started to make my way off the recliner, taking my time until I watch in slow motion as he reaches down for the fallen Poinsettia leaf. Right down to the floor he reaches and manages to pick it up. Unable to get back to a standing position, he leans forward as his legs begin to give way. I make it in front of him just in time for a rugby tackle, his head hitting my chest as I reach out to grab his shoulders and push him upwards. Still holding on to him, my mouth engaged before my brain....
"DAD!!! STOP BENDING FORWARD!!!" I SAID I'd get the leaf, didn't I?? Did I not say that?
But I forgot to pick it up immediately. I blame myself...I'm angry at myself. I always seem to be angry...at myself.
He laughed. He thinks he's funny when he stumbles. One day I won't be there to catch his fall. Neither of us will be laughing then.
A cup of tea and a bag of Walkers crisps fixes all. I'm thankful for the truck load of Maltesers that arrived in the post courtesy of my American bestie, Kyla Myers. You never give up. I love you.
I don't know if it's just the time of year that is weighing me down. Most likely a combination of things that I can't seem to get my head around. I feel like a broken jigsaw puzzle with more than one piece missing. I've gone from being over emotional to almost emotionless. I don't know which is worse. I keep it all wrapped up inside in a compartment of it's own. Unfortunately I can't stop revisiting and taking a peek through the window. I don't want to open the door just in case I can't close it again. The walls are decorated with cliché signs:
THERE'S LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL.
NOTHING IS AS BAD AS IT SEEMS.
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO HAVE IT WORSE THAN YOU.
YOU CAN BE WHATEVER YOU WANT TO BE.
CHRISTMAS IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT.
The doorway needs a 'DO NOT ENTER' sign in neon lights and a Houdini proof padlock to keep me away.
I've managed to retire Columbo for a little while. Santa Claus has taken over. ITV3 is showing Christmas movies although they repeat the same one at various times. I've seen Dudley Moore so often this week I feel we're related. But it keeps dad happy...and in his chair.
This morning he slept until 10 a.m. I grabbed a shower as he ate his cereal then got him washed and dressed with his usual grumpy face as I sprayed him with aftershave.
"It makes you smell nice dad," I said, smiling.
"Smell nice?" he questioned. "Some fkn smell!"
His use of expletives is a lot more common these days, although he doesn't do it in anger. Only once when 'dug' jumped up and caught his hand with her wee teeth. It wasn't intentional but she scurried off to the kitchen after hearing him shout "Stop fkn biting me ya wee b****ard (motherless hound!)"
At times like those, I say nothing. I retreat and try to console 'dug'.
I manage to make dad's days good and catered for, but I am struggling to find my own 'happy'. My stomach feels weighed down with bricks and my eyes are dull and empty. The pain in my hands is not alleviating in the slightest. In fact, if anything, it's gotten worse. I know I need to pick myself up. "You can't pour from an empty cup" to quote another. Bollocks!
Roll on 2019 and better organising, prioritising...
...and thicker skin!
The weather has played some part in keeping us indoors most days. It's only a short walk from the door to the car but with slippery pathways and a dad who doesn't take instruction immediately, I've saved him from being caught in the car door as it's blown shut in a fierce wind, stopped him from falling backwards as he kept his grip on the wooden gate while the wind took over as soon as the gate was released from it's latch and swung in his direction without a care. Of course, instead of letting go of the gate, my dad's senses were telling him to reach further towards it and try to bring it back into position to close. With me behind him trying to direct his hips in a forward motion with my hand over his to ensure his walking stick remained on the ground taking some of his weight off of me. Going outside is much easier on a sunny day!
Dad has slept an awful lot more since he's had his heart checked. It gives me a little space to sit peacefully by myself with 'dug' but I remain on alert. I have a beautiful Poinsettia plant which is doing quite well since I bought it and hasn't reduced to a pile of shriveled leaves like every other real plant I've ever owned. So far so good. I watched as a single leaf fell from it onto the floor. I also watched my dad's attention drawn to it from his recliner. He looked at the leaf then looked away, then looked back at the leaf. Moments later he was wriggling around and trying to get his feet onto the floor in the most awkward way. He hasn't mastered the art of swinging his legs around to the side of the foot rest before trying to stand. I've caught him sliding forward until his weight dropped the foot rest to the floor but it doesn't click back into the chair unless you push it back with your hands. I watched in horror as his feet reached the floor from the front and he pushed himself up...or tried. The more he tried to get up, the more the foot rest tried to spring upwards into a resting position again, catching the back of his knees and would have knocked him into next week had I not been there to grab his hands and help him regain some balance. I've thought about a reclining chair for him with a hand control. The ads are on the TV all the time. But I already know that he wouldn't make sense of the controls and would still do his high dive off the edge no matter what. I'll make use of money on better things...like plasters, bandages and paracetamol...and maybe a baseball bat!
I could see that the fallen leaf was drawing itself to his attention too much.
"Just leave it dad," I said, foiling his recliner escape. "I'll pick it up later."
But later...I forgot.
Dad went off to have a lay down on his bed for a couple of hours. I sat back and caught up with all the reality TV rubbish on my laptop that keeps me going, scunnering myself (good old fashioned Scottish word meaning annoying) with how the other half live. As it grew darker outside, the living room lit up like Blackpool illuminations and cheered me up. We don't have a Christmas tree this year, but I've more than made up for it with everything else that twinkles. I won't let anything dull my sparkle!
After his nap, dad came back into the living room. I already started to make my way off the recliner, taking my time until I watch in slow motion as he reaches down for the fallen Poinsettia leaf. Right down to the floor he reaches and manages to pick it up. Unable to get back to a standing position, he leans forward as his legs begin to give way. I make it in front of him just in time for a rugby tackle, his head hitting my chest as I reach out to grab his shoulders and push him upwards. Still holding on to him, my mouth engaged before my brain....
"DAD!!! STOP BENDING FORWARD!!!" I SAID I'd get the leaf, didn't I?? Did I not say that?
But I forgot to pick it up immediately. I blame myself...I'm angry at myself. I always seem to be angry...at myself.
He laughed. He thinks he's funny when he stumbles. One day I won't be there to catch his fall. Neither of us will be laughing then.
A cup of tea and a bag of Walkers crisps fixes all. I'm thankful for the truck load of Maltesers that arrived in the post courtesy of my American bestie, Kyla Myers. You never give up. I love you.
I don't know if it's just the time of year that is weighing me down. Most likely a combination of things that I can't seem to get my head around. I feel like a broken jigsaw puzzle with more than one piece missing. I've gone from being over emotional to almost emotionless. I don't know which is worse. I keep it all wrapped up inside in a compartment of it's own. Unfortunately I can't stop revisiting and taking a peek through the window. I don't want to open the door just in case I can't close it again. The walls are decorated with cliché signs:
THERE'S LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL.
NOTHING IS AS BAD AS IT SEEMS.
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO HAVE IT WORSE THAN YOU.
YOU CAN BE WHATEVER YOU WANT TO BE.
CHRISTMAS IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT.
The doorway needs a 'DO NOT ENTER' sign in neon lights and a Houdini proof padlock to keep me away.
I've managed to retire Columbo for a little while. Santa Claus has taken over. ITV3 is showing Christmas movies although they repeat the same one at various times. I've seen Dudley Moore so often this week I feel we're related. But it keeps dad happy...and in his chair.
This morning he slept until 10 a.m. I grabbed a shower as he ate his cereal then got him washed and dressed with his usual grumpy face as I sprayed him with aftershave.
"It makes you smell nice dad," I said, smiling.
"Smell nice?" he questioned. "Some fkn smell!"
His use of expletives is a lot more common these days, although he doesn't do it in anger. Only once when 'dug' jumped up and caught his hand with her wee teeth. It wasn't intentional but she scurried off to the kitchen after hearing him shout "Stop fkn biting me ya wee b****ard (motherless hound!)"
At times like those, I say nothing. I retreat and try to console 'dug'.
I manage to make dad's days good and catered for, but I am struggling to find my own 'happy'. My stomach feels weighed down with bricks and my eyes are dull and empty. The pain in my hands is not alleviating in the slightest. In fact, if anything, it's gotten worse. I know I need to pick myself up. "You can't pour from an empty cup" to quote another. Bollocks!
Roll on 2019 and better organising, prioritising...
...and thicker skin!
There may be people worse off but that doesn't negate your own hardship and struggles. Love you to pieces! Go easy on yourself! <3
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