I really want to blog. Sadly the words just won't seem to leave my head, not the ones I really want to say anyway.
The week after dad died I thought I was going to be ok. The second week proved that actually that wasn't the case and that I had built a wall up around me the first week for protection. I kidded myself that it was easier because dad had been declining for so long, and I had watched that decline every single day and was used to the fact that he was only really there in body for quite some time. The dad we all knew and loved had disappeared, leaving a shell behind. Not even a shell that resembled him. I don't want to dwell, because those are the memories I really do want to erase. I haven't really told anyone of the way dad changed after entering the hospice. Obviously Matthew knows because he was there too a lot of the time. I really cannot praise the hospice staff enough, their care extended to relatives as well as the dying, and they never stinted on it or made you feel a nuisance.
Needless to say, I miss dad. I miss asking him questions, he never let me down by not knowing an answer. I miss his telephone calls, and his standard message left on the answer machine if we were out - "this is a speaking machine, I called". I even went through all the old messages in the hope of finding one so I could hear his voice again. No luck. I spent so much time with him I am now aimless. I cry in shops because he's not with me. The ready meals in Morrisons today did it for me. Then the spring flowers section. I am crying as I type with silly little memories. Little memories that join up to make my dad the person he was.
When I am feeling stronger I will write him, a sort of eulogy maybe. I have had a stinking cold and sore throat, which made me very indignant, and now I cant breath through my nose again from crying and my head is pounding. Knew I shouldn't have started writing. Instinct is a wonderful thing, and I have learned to ignore mine at my peril!
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Teardrops in abundance
Well after my last blog I did indeed fall apart. I knew it was coming and at the time it felt like the end of the world. I cried at home, then took the dog out and cried some more. Stood looking at the stars and cried and came home feeling like a bag of poo! Took myself off to bed and had yet another sleepless night. Tuesday morning my eyes were beautifully puffy and red, but I felt better in myself. Managed work ok, but I have noticed I am suffering from a severe lack of patience. Not good in my job!! One patient in particular had me wanting to hit him round the head, but luckily for him the closest thing to hand of any substance was the suction tube. Being made of plastic it wouldn't have done much harm. Could have gouged his eyes out I suppose had I taken his glasses off!
Sleeping is becoming a bit of a problem, but I guess if I am honest I would admit to that being normal for me. Yet another M.E symptom. I am very tired, but again, normal. I need to phone my sister, but am balking. It's hard when you are struggling with your own grief to be surrounded by someone else's. That sounds selfish but I noticed it when mum died too. You can hide from friends but I guess you shouldn't do it with family. Maybe a day in bed hiding under the covers would do us all good.
Sleeping is becoming a bit of a problem, but I guess if I am honest I would admit to that being normal for me. Yet another M.E symptom. I am very tired, but again, normal. I need to phone my sister, but am balking. It's hard when you are struggling with your own grief to be surrounded by someone else's. That sounds selfish but I noticed it when mum died too. You can hide from friends but I guess you shouldn't do it with family. Maybe a day in bed hiding under the covers would do us all good.
Monday, 16 January 2012
Time to fall apart
I feel like a volcano building up to errupt at the moment. The week after Dad died I had a mental wall very firmly in place, a bit of preservation I guess. This is rapidly slipping and I am in the falling apart zone. Little things set me off into floods of tears. I feel so unbelievably low at the moment, not helped by trying to keep the dreaded M.E under control. I know it will pass in time but it's all too new at the moment. I am struggling and would like to do my bear hibernating trick. Maybe things will be easier after the funeral,closure as everyone says. Not sure of that because I know that Dads soul has gone already and it's only his shell left. At least the stress of the organisation will be gone, and I can begin life with a new normality.
How I will fill my hours I don't yet know, that will evolve hopefully. I have spent the last 11 years adding the status of "friend" to father, and adding the role of carer to myself. When you take on the role of carer for someone they become an even bigger part of your life and there is a gaping hole left when they are no longer there.
It has been a difficult and stressful 6 months for my family and myself. The time will soon be here when we can start to live normally again. Having said that I have just been reminded that Dads house needs sorting, emptying and selling .......
How I will fill my hours I don't yet know, that will evolve hopefully. I have spent the last 11 years adding the status of "friend" to father, and adding the role of carer to myself. When you take on the role of carer for someone they become an even bigger part of your life and there is a gaping hole left when they are no longer there.
It has been a difficult and stressful 6 months for my family and myself. The time will soon be here when we can start to live normally again. Having said that I have just been reminded that Dads house needs sorting, emptying and selling .......
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
The final chapter?
Catkins in January! Dad would have had something to say about that, along with the magpie trying out a last years' nest for size. Not sure what is happening to our seasons! I am sure he would have enlightened me with some snippet of his wisdom.
My life has been on hold for a long time, and I guess it won't be mine again until after Dads funeral next week. I have mourned the gradual loss of my Father over the past 6 weeks, and the pain of him finally dying is not as raw as it was when my Mother died. None the less it is, obviously, still painful. I think I am ok and then something sneeks past the barrier set up in my mind and triggers the flood gates. Today I am very, very sad. I have found myself talking to him already in the same way I talk to Mum. I can do this out loud or in my head, I am not bothered! I seem to have the habit of talking to myself anyway, so now its a three way conversation.
The night before Dad died we had a good visit. I had a natter with him, well, to him, he lost his power of speech a while ago, about the days events. One of the nurses had put some classical music on the radio for him to listen to and I did threaten to change it to something Will Young orientated. Dad would probably have raised his hands and mock screamed "ahhh, Will" as he did whenever I talked about him, knowing my er affection for him! The hospice wasn't terribly full so the nurses seemed to drift to Dad's room and it was more like a coffee morning at some points. The lovely thing about the nurses, or one of the lovely things, was that they always spoke to Dad as if he was able to hear and answer. No one knew how aware of anyone he was, but with the premise that hearing is the last sense to be lost, they were always cheerful around him and included him. When one of the nurses phoned me at 4.15am to say he had died, as well as being numb, I was comforted by the fact that they were still looking after him at that time of the morning. The St Peters Hospice nurses are very special ladies, and we owe them a lot. They looked after Dad as if he was their own father and they looked after my sister and myself too, bless them.
Monday night I had a dream about Dad, he was still ill, but was recovering. It was a weird dream, as most of mine are, but at the very end of it Dad gave me a really big, tight hug. I am happy to go along with the belief that he came to me to say goodbye. I know all the rational thoughts and explanations, but I do feel better for it and am happy to think it really was Dad.
I had another strange occurrence last night as well. When I went into my bedroom it smelled bad! I checked for cat poo or wee, flippin cat, will say no more about her, and the room was yuk free. I kept smelling the smell and realised it was a cigar like smell, and out loud said "If there is someone in here I will be a bit cross because its a bit rude to wander into peoples bedrooms!" I then got into bed and had a voice in my head say "He's arrived now" and the smell went. Weird. I am 100pc certain that I wasn't consciously thinking about Dad. I have had no thoughts of him being anywhere other than dead because of his absolute belief that when he died that would be it. I used to ask him to pop back and leave me a message or sign and he would say in no uncertain terms that when he died that would be the end, he wouldn't go on anywhere, reincarnate or anything because there was nothing after death. Maybe I am having the last laugh .............
My life has been on hold for a long time, and I guess it won't be mine again until after Dads funeral next week. I have mourned the gradual loss of my Father over the past 6 weeks, and the pain of him finally dying is not as raw as it was when my Mother died. None the less it is, obviously, still painful. I think I am ok and then something sneeks past the barrier set up in my mind and triggers the flood gates. Today I am very, very sad. I have found myself talking to him already in the same way I talk to Mum. I can do this out loud or in my head, I am not bothered! I seem to have the habit of talking to myself anyway, so now its a three way conversation.
The night before Dad died we had a good visit. I had a natter with him, well, to him, he lost his power of speech a while ago, about the days events. One of the nurses had put some classical music on the radio for him to listen to and I did threaten to change it to something Will Young orientated. Dad would probably have raised his hands and mock screamed "ahhh, Will" as he did whenever I talked about him, knowing my er affection for him! The hospice wasn't terribly full so the nurses seemed to drift to Dad's room and it was more like a coffee morning at some points. The lovely thing about the nurses, or one of the lovely things, was that they always spoke to Dad as if he was able to hear and answer. No one knew how aware of anyone he was, but with the premise that hearing is the last sense to be lost, they were always cheerful around him and included him. When one of the nurses phoned me at 4.15am to say he had died, as well as being numb, I was comforted by the fact that they were still looking after him at that time of the morning. The St Peters Hospice nurses are very special ladies, and we owe them a lot. They looked after Dad as if he was their own father and they looked after my sister and myself too, bless them.
Monday night I had a dream about Dad, he was still ill, but was recovering. It was a weird dream, as most of mine are, but at the very end of it Dad gave me a really big, tight hug. I am happy to go along with the belief that he came to me to say goodbye. I know all the rational thoughts and explanations, but I do feel better for it and am happy to think it really was Dad.
I had another strange occurrence last night as well. When I went into my bedroom it smelled bad! I checked for cat poo or wee, flippin cat, will say no more about her, and the room was yuk free. I kept smelling the smell and realised it was a cigar like smell, and out loud said "If there is someone in here I will be a bit cross because its a bit rude to wander into peoples bedrooms!" I then got into bed and had a voice in my head say "He's arrived now" and the smell went. Weird. I am 100pc certain that I wasn't consciously thinking about Dad. I have had no thoughts of him being anywhere other than dead because of his absolute belief that when he died that would be it. I used to ask him to pop back and leave me a message or sign and he would say in no uncertain terms that when he died that would be the end, he wouldn't go on anywhere, reincarnate or anything because there was nothing after death. Maybe I am having the last laugh .............
Thursday, 22 December 2011
emotional rollercoaster
Lets see, can't remember the last blog, but it probably contained the words "only four weeks to live" or something very much like it. Since then I have been an emotional wreck, alternating between nursing mode and daughter mode at the drop of a hat. I have dreaded the phone ringing when I not at my Dad's house, and dreaded the pause in breaths from upstairs when I have been there. Its amazing how the human ear is able to detect the sound of breathing despite other sounds being present. Rob and I have shared the care, but he has done the donkey work, me doing 10 till 3.30 and then him taking over.
My father has been very poorly, very weak, not eating, in pain and bedridden for most of the past three weeks. We have had help from the fabulous Marie Curie nurses who have come and Dad sat every other night. Their support has been for us as well as Dad. The district nurses have been daily and for the past week we have had 2 carers to come in and give Dad a good wash and freshen him up. When he is awake he is very grumpy and sharp on occasions, frustration I know, but still hard to ignore sometimes.
The decision was made last Friday to place Dad in a hospice because Rob is going away over Christmas, and we are unable to give him the 24hr care he needs. Dad agreed to this, we would have been unable to give the go ahead without his say so. He brightened up over the weekend, demanding food, complaining about it, but being very lucid in his conversations, which he hasn't been for a while.
Tuesday he was admitted to St Peters Hospice. He said he was relieved, but didn't seem very happy to be honest. The doctor is worried about his mood, he is hardly speaking to anyone and is very low. Hardly surprising given the circumstances, so she has started a course of anti depressants.
Okay, here comes the rollercoaster bit. The doctor informed me that although Dad is very poorly and his mind is ready to die, his body is not. What?! Remember, we have all been living with the notion that he could die at any moment. I told the doctor what I have been told and how he has been at home, but she still feels he is not about to die. She is planning to send him back home on 3rd January. I should be happy, I know, but he is soooo ready and this is partly why he is depressed. He is a very proud man and hates it that he is unable to do anything for himself and is reliant on others. I can't get my head around everything. He does not speak to me unless I get into his face almost. I took Specks in to see him today and after a minute he told me to take him away. This is not my father. I know it is probably because of toxins and illness, but I just cannot take it all in. I feel like my brain has now totally shut down and is unable to process any more information, good or bad. To be honest I can't really express how I feel, except maybe to say that a dark den, cosy and warm might just be the way to go!
By the way, Speckle enjoyed his visit to the hospice, once he realised it wasn't the vets clininc. He said hello to everyone he met and the staff nurse found him biscuits. What more could a dog want!
My father has been very poorly, very weak, not eating, in pain and bedridden for most of the past three weeks. We have had help from the fabulous Marie Curie nurses who have come and Dad sat every other night. Their support has been for us as well as Dad. The district nurses have been daily and for the past week we have had 2 carers to come in and give Dad a good wash and freshen him up. When he is awake he is very grumpy and sharp on occasions, frustration I know, but still hard to ignore sometimes.
The decision was made last Friday to place Dad in a hospice because Rob is going away over Christmas, and we are unable to give him the 24hr care he needs. Dad agreed to this, we would have been unable to give the go ahead without his say so. He brightened up over the weekend, demanding food, complaining about it, but being very lucid in his conversations, which he hasn't been for a while.
Tuesday he was admitted to St Peters Hospice. He said he was relieved, but didn't seem very happy to be honest. The doctor is worried about his mood, he is hardly speaking to anyone and is very low. Hardly surprising given the circumstances, so she has started a course of anti depressants.
Okay, here comes the rollercoaster bit. The doctor informed me that although Dad is very poorly and his mind is ready to die, his body is not. What?! Remember, we have all been living with the notion that he could die at any moment. I told the doctor what I have been told and how he has been at home, but she still feels he is not about to die. She is planning to send him back home on 3rd January. I should be happy, I know, but he is soooo ready and this is partly why he is depressed. He is a very proud man and hates it that he is unable to do anything for himself and is reliant on others. I can't get my head around everything. He does not speak to me unless I get into his face almost. I took Specks in to see him today and after a minute he told me to take him away. This is not my father. I know it is probably because of toxins and illness, but I just cannot take it all in. I feel like my brain has now totally shut down and is unable to process any more information, good or bad. To be honest I can't really express how I feel, except maybe to say that a dark den, cosy and warm might just be the way to go!
By the way, Speckle enjoyed his visit to the hospice, once he realised it wasn't the vets clininc. He said hello to everyone he met and the staff nurse found him biscuits. What more could a dog want!
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
Nearing the end
Three to four weeks left. Do I live with the hope that the doctor is only guessing, and that it could be longer? Live hoping that Dad will see my birthday and christmas? Her estimate is based on test results and experience. Or do I take the fatalistic approach and think 4 weeks max and that anything longer is a bonus? I just don't know. I do know that Dad would like to die right now and that if there was a button he could press he would summon the energy and do it.
I am numb, not sure I can cry anymore, yet as I type the tears start to flow again. I need to phone my sister and tell her, but just don't want to because saying it out loud makes it more real. Kidney failure has set in, and the doctor thinks that in another 2 weeks Dad will reach the stage that donates dialysis. Obviously this is not an option for him so it will be the end.
Its all crappy to say the least :o(
I am numb, not sure I can cry anymore, yet as I type the tears start to flow again. I need to phone my sister and tell her, but just don't want to because saying it out loud makes it more real. Kidney failure has set in, and the doctor thinks that in another 2 weeks Dad will reach the stage that donates dialysis. Obviously this is not an option for him so it will be the end.
Its all crappy to say the least :o(
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Frailty - it just shouldn't happen!
Its not right that your parents should get old and frail. My Dad has always been a strong man, in mind, manner, and also the way he has cared for my Mum, sister and myself. To see him as he his now is demoralising. He has been out of hospital for 3 weeks now, and been back once as a day case to have another 10 litres of fluid drained from his abdomen. He is very shaky on his feet, and yesterday had a fall in the bathroom, hitting his head. Typically, he was alone when this happened but he managed to struggle up and not fall down the toilet! He remembers nothing of yesterday at all, and wonders why today he is back in hospital, despite me reminding him every half an hour or so!
The physio came yesterday afternoon to assess him and has told us he is not to be discharged until she has arranged to have a bed put in his room. He has got a bed, before you all think he is sleeping on the floor! He can't get in and out of the bed he has without a huge struggle, and as its a double bed, its not easy to help him. The bed she wants will be like a hospital bed, so he will be able to sit up at the touch of a button and will have bed rails to help him manoeuver himself about.
The GP's at the surgery and the intermedary staff have been fantastic, The physio was on her phone before she left the house arranging what she could for Dad, and the gp ordered an ambulance to transport Dad back into his "old ward" at Frenchay. He is gradually working his way around all the beds, they should pay him to be a bed tester.
There is a young lad on the ward with severe learning disabilities, and he has been in and out of the same ward for the last 3 months. I have said hello to his parents, but never really spoken to them before. Today I just felt the need to give his Mum a hug. They have had a rocky journey and its far from over. How they cope is beyond me. They remarked on the difference in Dad since he was in a month ago and can see how much downhill he has gone. It ended up as a sort of mutual consolation session, but did us all good I think.
Hubby makes sure that I talk to him about Dad and not bottle things up. He is very pro active and makes sure I am able to stay on top of things, always guiding me, looking after me. My sister and I talk too, keeping up to date. She came to visit him today and it was lovely to see her and her hubby. She has had her eye removed and seems to be coping ok, so brave. Eerie too tho seeing her, same eye as Mum lost, jangled a nerve.
I think I might be rambling a bit. My head is so muddled lately. Am back at work now, knackered of course, back to the unrest! In a way all the "stuff" with Dad is good for me because its forcing me to concentrate and focus - I might just find a brain cell somewhere after all!
The physio came yesterday afternoon to assess him and has told us he is not to be discharged until she has arranged to have a bed put in his room. He has got a bed, before you all think he is sleeping on the floor! He can't get in and out of the bed he has without a huge struggle, and as its a double bed, its not easy to help him. The bed she wants will be like a hospital bed, so he will be able to sit up at the touch of a button and will have bed rails to help him manoeuver himself about.
The GP's at the surgery and the intermedary staff have been fantastic, The physio was on her phone before she left the house arranging what she could for Dad, and the gp ordered an ambulance to transport Dad back into his "old ward" at Frenchay. He is gradually working his way around all the beds, they should pay him to be a bed tester.
There is a young lad on the ward with severe learning disabilities, and he has been in and out of the same ward for the last 3 months. I have said hello to his parents, but never really spoken to them before. Today I just felt the need to give his Mum a hug. They have had a rocky journey and its far from over. How they cope is beyond me. They remarked on the difference in Dad since he was in a month ago and can see how much downhill he has gone. It ended up as a sort of mutual consolation session, but did us all good I think.
Hubby makes sure that I talk to him about Dad and not bottle things up. He is very pro active and makes sure I am able to stay on top of things, always guiding me, looking after me. My sister and I talk too, keeping up to date. She came to visit him today and it was lovely to see her and her hubby. She has had her eye removed and seems to be coping ok, so brave. Eerie too tho seeing her, same eye as Mum lost, jangled a nerve.
I think I might be rambling a bit. My head is so muddled lately. Am back at work now, knackered of course, back to the unrest! In a way all the "stuff" with Dad is good for me because its forcing me to concentrate and focus - I might just find a brain cell somewhere after all!
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