Month: February 2017

The Future is Here

/ Margaret / Leave a comment

Real generosity towards the future lies in giving all to the present – Albert Camus

In an ironic twist, our two eldest children have moved out of home within a week of each other, and our youngest, in his last year of school, recently got his drivers’ licence and is driving himself to and from school.

For a brief shining moment I could almost taste the freedom and the rewards of many hard  ( but of course rewarding and enjoyable) years of parenting.  Then all of a sudden, in a twist of fate, things changed dramatically for Dear Old Dad, I found myself caring for him – going from popping in once a day to spending many hours most days with him.

Last Friday night, I found myself home alone – with my spouse going to the rugby, my youngest out at a school event, and of course, the two eldest out of home.  Instead of dropping a meal down the road to Dad, I thought I would treat him to fish and chips so bought the fish and chips and a couple of drumsticks to eat with him at his home.

It was a nice change for him as he usually eats at home alone, unless he comes to or house for a meal.  But we ate early and dinner, including dessert,  was all over by 6.30pm

It was, as my spouse texted me, a glimpse into my own future – fish and chips at pensioner hours, and ice cream for dessert, followed by an early night. No Friday night frivolity for me.  The future is indeed here!

Just Keep Swimming

/ Margaret / 2 Comments

Just keep swimming – Dory, Finding Nemo

The loveable but forgetful blue fish in Finding Nemo (and of course Finding Dory) had a simple  and positive outlook on life.  When  things get tough or rough it’s important to ‘just keep swimming’.  A bit like Winston Churchill who once famously said that if you’re going through hell it’s important not to stop’.

Of course, caring for Dear Old Dad is nothing like hell, but there are plenty of rough times.

There are days when not much seems to go right.  And that’s just for me – not Dad!

When I’m having a frustrating day with Dear Old Dad (or myself as a result of what I do with Dad) I usually text my sister #justkeepswimming. Sometimes this is done with fingers stabbing at the keys or jaw clenched; more often with a wry smile. Yesterday was one of those days:

7 am – get to my PT (pretty much the only exercise I get each week due to chronic pain situation in my stupid feet). On the drive there, I calmly ponder the day ahead – before I go home I shall call into Dad’s place to change the dressing on his leg ulcer. This now has to be done only every three days instead of daily, and I had cancelled the daily visit from the Anglicare nurses only last week. The rest of the day stretched ahead of me. Monday is my day for not going out again once home – a day for ‘getting stuff done’.  At the moment I am still working part time until my replacement starts and I am anticipating a good start to the week. 

7.30 am. Regular three ring call from Dad to let me know he is alive and up and about. Three rings and he hangs up unless he needs to talk to me. I realise I wait with bated breath to not hear the fourth ring.

8.05  am. Phone call from Dad while I am in the car on the way home. 

“Where are you”

“I’m in the car on my way home”

“But you said you’d be here at 8”

“No darling, I said I would be there at 8.15; that you should get into the shower at 8”

“I’m sure you said you would be here at 8”

“Well I’ll be there as quickly as I can”

*remind self to make sure that he actually hears what I say when making arrangements.

8.15am Get to Dad’s house, right on time. Notice his wound is leaking through the dressing. Prepare dressing tray and take off old dressing. See his ankle is very red and angry looking and quite damp. Then notice a not so nice odour coming from his ankle. Take photo of wound. Clean wound and put new dressing on.  Make light of what I saw.

8.30am Go home. Send a photo to the wound nurse at the vascular specialist to ask if she thinks it is not right.

8.40am. Phone call from Dad. Reminds me that I was meant to call the physio to make an appointment for him at a time convenient to me.

8.45am Call physio and make appointment for Friday at 8am. Make cup of tea while on phone.

8.50am start working and I am on fire!  Kick a few goals in a short space of time.  Regrettably forget to drink cup of tea.

11 am Telephone call from nurse at vascular clinic. She tells me it looks infected and to get him to the doctor asap for antibiotics and immediately put the previous wound dressing on; the one that needs changing daily. Take a deep breath.

11.10am  Call GP and make appointment for 3.15 (earliest they could do).  Also call vascular specialist to make appointment for this coming Wednesday, just in case. 

11.30am  Back to Dad’s place to tell him I have to change the dressing again. The wound and the skin around it look even worse in the three hours that have passed. Change dressing according to the daily routine from the last three months and say a silent prayer that we won’t have to do this for the next three months. 

11.40am Go home. Work some more. 

1.00pm Go to my own appointment for deep tissue treatment for chronic foot pain. It hurts. A lot. 

1.35pm  Eat an entire packet of red frogs.  Not helpful.

2.55pm Collect Dad for the doctor. He is not happy he can’t see his regular doctor and I hide my annoyance because it is the only doctor who is available and he is lovely, kind, concerned and respectful. He thinks the infection has come from the adhesive from the new dressing, pulling on Dad’s thin skin. The nurse comes in and finds a new dressing to stay on until Wednesday when he sees the specialist. 

3.20pm Go to chemist for antibiotics. 

3.35pm Drive back to his house and have a cup of tea. I have thankfully remembered to put his dinner in the car in a small esky. It’s a small win for organisation skills and cooking enough food the night before for leftovers.

4.00pm Back home bit more work at my desk.

5.30pm Wonder if I could have some wine but don’t because I am doing Febfast and am committed and I would not be able to give myself a star on my star chart. Yes, really , I have a star chart.  But at this moment I am hating Febfast.

6.00pm. Start preparing dinner for my own family, wine glass full of diet lemon lime and bitters in hand. 

7.30pm Collapse in a heap on the couch and remind myself to #justkeepswimming.

In the words of Scarlett O’Hara, tomorrow is another day.

scarlett

It Takes a Village

/ Margaret / 1 Comment

It takes a village to raise a child – African proverb

It also takes a village to care for the elderly – Me

The old African proverb is absolutely true – the concept of a village has changed somewhat over the years and can now include people overseas via FaceTime rather than the people next door.

The proverb now needs to be applied to the elderly in our communities.  My Dear Old Dad lives on his own. He needs a village and he has one and it includes:

Me – chef, chauffeur, nurse, pincushion when he’s frustrated, shopper, postmistress, cribbage player, Oscar vomit cleaner, general organiser of his life, carrier pigeon for letters to his brother via email.

My husband – patient listener, conversationalist, light bulb changer, dinner companion, occasional chauffeur, hacker of plants and weeds, forgiver of how much money it costs us to look after him, occasional provider of free legal advice

Oscar – spoiled cat, companion, listener, sharer of his thoughts.

My sister – host when Dad goes to visit or when I am away.  See the reference to ‘Me’ above for when he visits and replace cribbage with scrabble. Also frequent visitor and sharer of photos of Dad’s great-granddaughter.  Also emotional scaffolding for me when required (often).  Is much more patient than me.

My brother-in-law – companion when Dad is visiting, willing cribbage player, chauffeur, also frequent visitor and dinner companion.

My brother – frequent visitor, scotch and red wine drinking companion, cribbage player and participator in theological discussions. Fish and Chip carrier

My children – bin putter-outers, mail collectors, Oscar carers when Dad away, patient repeaters of everything they say because he is a bit hard of hearing and they keep forgetting

My sister’s friends – caring people who take an interest and listen to him, also occasional scrabble players

Neighbours – keeping an eye out, bringing the bins in.

My uncle  – Dad’s brother who lives in Wales who has visited regularly over the last few years, companion, pen pal, sharer of thoughts, provider of scotch for Dad and champagne for me (favourite uncle)

My cousins – occasional visitors, lunch companions, and provider of meals

Outside helpers – cleaners, gardener, ironing lady, handymen

Church friends – sharers of his faith, occasional chauffeurs, providers of stamps for his philately hobby, telephone correspondents, and one cribbage player

His GP – not my favourite part of the village to be honest, but DOD has complete faith in him and is a regular visitor to the medical practice

Other specialists – at 94, things are starting to not work as well as they should so we visit quite a few medical specialists, most of whom are very kind and caring

This is a big villagefor one person!!  But it’s necessary to enable DOD to stay in his own home.  He is eligible for a government funded care package – however my experience with My Aged Care has not been happy and I don’t want to leave his care at home in the hands of government agencies when they have proven that they are incapable of responding in a timely way to requests for assistance (more on that in another post)

As Honore de Balzac once said:

Bureaucracy is a giant mechanism operated by pygmies

There are now private businesses which can provide home based care, and I am sure I will be using their services in the not too distant future.  I honestly believe that the best care the elderly can have is where there is an emotional attachment between the carer and the person for whom care is provided.  Will that work if people are paid to be carers?

Time will tell.

A Company Cat

/ Margaret / 2 Comments

What greater gift than the love of a cat? – Charles Dickens

Disclosure:  I am a cat person.  Some might refer to me as a crazy cat lady.  So be it. I have always had at least one cat in my life and the stories around the acquisition of cats in my life since being married are quite hilarious, to me anyway if not my husband.  In summary – ” My wife wanted to get a cat. I didn’t so we compromised and got a cat.”

About a year before my mother died, my daughter and I were in the process of colluding to get a kitten.  Not just any kitten but a kitten whose mother was a Ragdoll and father a Birman.  Possibly the most beautiful cats I had ever seen.  The deal was done; but the breeder had one more kitten left to sell, so I convinced my parents (who were also cat people but were without one since retirement) to let me buy him for them.  I was prepared for all objections.

So two little kittens came home with us for 24 hours before Mum and Dad took possession of one the following day. Or rather the kitten took possession of them and their hearts.  Their names are George (ours) and Oscar.

What a good decision that turned out to be (in many ways).  Oscar soon became the light of their lives, and whenever I called or called in, I would get a blow-by-blow description of what Oscar had been up to.  He was like a new child, and treated as such.  A spoiled child.

When Mum died, Oscar became even more important – he was Dad’s sole companion.  It is now well recognised the impact pets have on humans, but particularly the elderly.  Decreased blood pressure, decreased depression and stress, increased communication and motivation.  Personally I’m not sure it has that much to do with the pets themselves, but the company and activity they provide.  I have seen nursing homes with chooks who become very attached to the residents.  Then there is the nursing home with a resident cat who seems to know when someone is about to die and settles on their bed.  Not so keen on the Grim Cat Reaper to be honest.

But back to Oscar.  I now get even more detail about Oscar and his day – what time he went to bed, what time he demanded food in the middle of the night, how much he ate for breakfast, how many lizards he ate and then threw up, and his preference for organic chicken breast rather than regular chicken breast.

It became abundantly clear exactly how much Oscar means to Dad in the early hours of one morning.  I had a call at 4am – Oscar was very distressed and panting heavily. My first thought was snake bite so I threw on a dressing gown, grabbed the cat basket, drove to Dad’s place, caught Oscar and off we went to the 24 hour vet (or Vee Eee Tee, as we refer to them in the pets’ hearing), which was a 25 minute drive away, silently praying to every deity that he keep breathing.

The vet found a large engorged tick on Oscar’s back and he had to stay in for 24 hours for treatment and observation, as the poison could still cause more damage.  Dad reached out to hold the vet’s hand and said ‘please don’t let him die; since my wife died, he’s all I’ve got’.

So I’m standing there, bare feet, pyjamas and gown, holding the car keys, feeling like the third wheel, but feeling a bit weepy at hearing this vulnerability from Dear Old Dad.  But I get it – Oscar had become someone Dad could look after and talk to. I saw him once a day, whereas Oscar was the permanent resident and listener to Dad’s stories, and sharer of his thoughts.

We drove home just as the sun was coming up and shared a cup of tea before I returned to my own home.  His farewell hug was a little bit tighter, and his ‘thank you’ a little bit more intense that morning.

Oscar resumed normal programming shortly after losing one of his nine lives.

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