Every precious day

We had a visitor this week, although dad's still trying to figure out who it was.  😆  It didn't really matter what her name is as his wee face lit up like a thousand candles when she walked into the room.  I got a reprieve from being the 'wife' for a weekend.  I was relegated to 'niece' somehow, until I returned from a quick trip to the supermarket one day when Vicky and her grandad were sitting on the recliner watching through the window as I walked down the path to the front door.

"Who's that?" Vicky asked him.

"It's my daughter," dad said.  WHAT??

"Do you remember her name?" Vicky went on.

Of all the names to come up with dear dead to me sister, it was YOURS.  But that's all you are...just a name with no conscience.

"No," said Vicky.  "Try again."

"Lorraine," came the reply...eventually.

"I nearly forgot your name," dad announced as I walked in the door.  Vicky was relaying their conversation without going into details that didn't deserve a visit.  We just looked at each other knowingly while dad sat as proud as punch at his recollection of our relationship.  If I can be his daughter for all of 5 minutes in any one day then I'll take it.

Vicky's visit was fleeting but most welcome.  I was able to unleash my shackles and leave the building to go and catch up with Jackie (Paul's mum) and have coffee and healthy sandwiches with a little scone on the side.  No wait....we put them back on the shelf when we spotted a huge slab of carrot cake and decided that the sweetness and the extra calories would suit our purpose most that day.  Our conversation on putting the world to rights was peppered with the occasional comment 

"Oh, that's awfy gid!"  Translate:  Oh that's awfully good!

referring to the gobfulls of carrot cake which went down without touching the sides.  A rare but most welcome treat.  The carrot cake...and Jackie.  💓

Those few hours flew by.  I took a little extra time to wander around Matalan before heading home.  I picked up some cheap and cheerful tops and a pair of jeans that will cover my ever growing arse and helping me to feel a bit more comfortable in my tired body.

To touch on that note briefly, I have received so so many messages of support from people who share my life story in their own way and also those who predict their own future to be similar one day.  Those messages are as much a comfort to me as my blog gives comfort to others.

This past year has been a tough one for sure.  I feel I haven't grieved properly.  Life has gone on with business as usual, mainly due to suppressing feelings around my dad and making sure his world isn't touched by anything that could destroy his soul.

I find myself having nothing but empathy for those who seek comfort in food.  It's easy for others to sit in judgement and offer options to pass the time in a more constructive way instead of larding it up on the sofa with Netflix on a loop.  I could call a hundred people on the phone and talk things through.  I have no shortage of friends who offer that outlet for me and I am and always will be forever grateful to know that they are there.

But when it comes down to it, I have to work some things out in my head and shut the world out.  If that means over indulgence of a sweeter kind then I'll work that out one day too.  I know I can...and I know I will.  The size of my arse isn't going to determine who I am or what my purpose in life is.  I'm still the same 'me' inside with just a little more on my plate (pardon the pun) to deal with than I'd prefer.  But know that I'm dealing with it in the best way I can...right now...in this moment.

So...to the person who sent me a message on Dementia, Dad and Me Facebook page to inform me that "you've gotten so big", I say all of the above and would like to add...the day when my arse outgrows my resilience, compassion and sense of humour is the day I'll start to worry.

This is ME!

Moving on...

Although the news of my dad's health was not good last week, he isn't quite bedridden yet.  He is not eating much at all although he has bursts where he will eat all four quarters of a sandwich and not just one.  I know it's a bad day when he folds over a packet of crisps leaving half of them still uneaten and places the packet on the table beside him.  Getting him to drink is an onward struggle although he also has bursts of thirst too.  I don't make him stand in the shower every day and I have changed my set up for this too making things a little less challenging...for both of us.

Dad has gotten used to having a catheter a lot quicker than I'd expected although he still questions why I need to help him in the toilet when he needs to sit down...which isn't often.  This is also a worry to me but unless dad shows discomfort there isn't a whole lot I can do.

Every night as I get him ready, he tries to assist me which always ends up with me like a contortionist as I 'fight' with his hands to keep them out of my way.  He bends over me so much when I'm already crouched and I'm scared one day that I'm going to head butt his chin on the way up.

"Stand up tall dad!" I repeat with a concentrated calm.

In my head it plays out as GET OUT OF MY WAY FOR FK SAKE!!

I retreat to the recliner once my final (maybe) duty is done and throw myself down like an old sack of spuds.  Netflix...tick!  Maltesers...tick!  Don't give a fck...double tick!!

The newly purchased baby monitor with little screen is an absolute bonus and I'd recommend it to anyone who is living in similar conditions to myself.  However, it should be noted that it isn't just the sounds of slumber that are picked up on the monitor.  Every now and again I am treated to a version of Colonel Bogey reverberating from dad's arse!

..................................................

The days are passing and time means nothing.  It's like Groundhog Day until something out of the ordinary happens and the routine is mildly interrupted.  My dad is having good days and bad.  I'm just having days I feel.  I keep thinking of my own mortality and all of the things I still want to do in this life....and all the things I don't.

When Vicky visited, dad was having his best days.  I put that down to the company of his granddaughter more than anything else.  Vicky was here while the nurse from SALT (speech and language therapy) visited dad to check on his swallow reflex.  This all took place while I was testing mine on the carrot cake with Jackie.  Dad was asleep in his bed when the nurse arrived.  Vicky woke him gently telling him that there was a lady here to see him.

"Is she beautiful?" dad asked.  "It's been a while since I've had a woman!"

😂😂😂

  It turns out that dad's swallow is in perfect order but he has reflux which can be helped with medication.  I await this prescription so that he might not cough and splutter as much when he eats or sleeps or more often now while he simply sits.  It isn't pleasant for him and I see his struggle...except for the daily workout he gives his jaw, treating me to ear piercing crunches as he wades through his Walkers crisps.  Even if it is just half a bag.

I was running out of my own pills and ordered online thinking that they'd be delivered along with my dad's prescription last Friday.  The pharmacy called to tell me that one of the items for my dad wouldn't be available until Monday and asked if they could wait until then to deliver all.  I said this would be fine, thinking that a weekend without my own pills wouldn't make much difference.

Once I brought myself down from the ceiling on Monday, I called the pharmacy to ask if my own prescription would be delivered that day along with dad's.  I was told that I'd need to go to the pharmacy to fill in a form to see if I qualify for having medications delivered to my door.

"Can't you just pop it in the bag with my dad's?  It's being delivered here today anyway," I said.

"No, it's our policy that the person requiring the medication needs to fill in the form," she said.

"Well can you send the form out for me to fill in?"  I asked.

"No," she said.  "It's our requirement that you come in to the surgery to fill it in."

"But if I'm not able to come and collect my prescription, how can I get there to fill in a form?"  I asked.  "I am full time caring for my dad.  I've now been 3 days without my prescription"  I tried to suppress the angst in my tone.

Wait for it....

"Your're not the one who is housebound.  You need to fill in the form," she continued.

"Well it looks like I will be off my medication then.  That's no help to me at all."  With that parting shot...I hung up the phone and retreated to the bedroom to release the frustrated tears before heading back to the living room.

"Cup of tea dad?"  I asked.

"I wouldn't mind hen," dad answered.

The next day after venting to Vicky, muddling my words and trying not to sound manic and betrayed (OTT I know...but stick with me...)

she took up the reigns and phoned the pharmacy.  After having virtually the same conversation as I'd had she threw in her 'nurse card' and explained to them in a manner which I couldn't about the reason for the medication and the effects quick withdrawal can have.  Also asking for a more reasonable explanation apart from having to fill in a form in person in the surgery while I AM housebound via my dad...what other option could they offer before I took the information back to my GP who prescribed this drug which keeps my head from disappearing up my arse most days.  Well...I might have added that bit at the end on myself but you get the picture.

My medication was hand delivered within the next few hours by the pharmacist herself as "a goodwill gesture".

Seriously...go save a third world country or something.

When she arrived at the door she said, "Prescription for Ms. Duffy?"

"Yes," I replied.

"What's your address?" she asked.

Your standing at my front door love.  I'm the one INSIDE the fkn address!

I managed to answer without the sarcasm and off she went.  4 days without my own medication and let me tell you...it hurts.  For me this is a welcome quick fix which I absolutely know takes the edge off anxiety and stress.  One day I won't need it at all as I'll have all my ducks in a row.  Right now my ducks are all scattered having a party of their own.  But I know this isn't how it's always going to be.  I know.

Living my best life the only way I know how...doughnuts included!