How I’ll remember him

Like a character from a Dickens novel
Originally uploaded by Ms. Moll.

It’s a very strange feeling when you’ve lost both your parents, like you are suddenly free to do whatever the hell you like with your life (without comment or needing to worry what Mum or Dad will think) – but there is nothing you can think of that you want to do!

Dad finally slipped away on Monday afternoon – about 5.30pm – bit like finishing work!

I wasn’t with him as I’d come back up to Sheffield the day before, but Richard and my Aunt (Sue) and Uncle (Neil) were there in the hospice with him (see blog entries below about the hospice and the lead up to this week).

It’s not really sunk in yet that both Mum and Dad aren’t still down there in Gloucestershire. I guess that’s one of the advantages, (or maybe disadvantages) of living so far away – they were never really part of my life up here in Sheffield, so day to day I’m not going to miss them in the same way I would if I had still been living down there.

The end for Dad was so different to Mum in so many ways, he was in the hospice, the doctors and nurses had got his pain under control, and he was not distressed (well, not most of the time).

For both Richard and I the funeral (on February 12th) will be the closure on a very upsetting and unsettling few years of our lives – we now have to build a new future for ourselves.

I truly believe that Mum and Dad are still ‘here’ with us, and take part in everything that we do – I’ll miss talking things over with them both, but I guess that Richard and I have Kim and John now for that.

This photo is how I’ll remember Dad.

Blue Monday

Blue
Originally uploaded by Ms. Moll.

According to the Daily Mail (no, I didn’t buy it, someone left one in the lounge at the hospice), today is the gloomiest day of the year – hell, every day this year has been gloomy – it couldn’t get much worse!

There is even a stupid formula – [W+(D-d)]TQxMxNA – what a load of crap!

Well, if you are interested this is what it means –

W = weather – rain, sleet and cloud make these January days feel so gloomy

D = debt – that mountain of festive bills is barely offset by your next pay cheque

T = time – three weeks into 2008 – just enough for monotomy to set in

Q = quit – most of us have now given up on those tricky New Year’s resolutions

M = motivation levels – generally very low at this time of year

NA = need to take action – overwhelmed by the need to do something to lift the gloom

Add to these D x 2 = dying father and depression.

The formula was devised by a psychologist who is an expert in depression and he has used it to pinpoint today as ‘Blue Monday’.

Who are they trying to kid?

Dinky Toys 27D – Land Rover (1)

Originally uploaded by Stephen Edmonds.

In last weeks Saturday Independent, and no doubt other newspapers and magazines, Land Rover had a full page advert – telling us how wonderful they are, and how GREEN they are?!

I’m supposed to be impressed that they have just unveiled a new concept vehicle with potential CO2 emissions of 120g/km – note the two words there –

CONCEPT – so not something that any of us will be driving, not something that is likely to make it onto the streets at all.

POTENTIAL – even if it does make it onto the roads, it only has the potential for emissions of 120g/km, and let’s be honest – do you know if that’s a low or high amount of emissions, we are left to assume that it’s low. And even then it’s only a potential, the actual emissions will depend on how the vehicle is driven and a myriad of other factors.

I’m supposed to be impressed that they have, since 1997, reduced the emissions in their plant by 30% – but what they don’t tell us is how high they were in the first place?

I’m supposed to be impressed that they are ‘offsetting the first 45,000 miles of all new Land Rovers sold in the UK (what about the ones sold overseas?) – but they don’t say how they are doing this, and anyway ‘offsetting’ seems to me just a way for companies and individuals to feel better about their energy consumption.

I am impressed that many conservation and humanitarian organisations choose to use Land Rover vehicles – but that is because they have little choice given the tough conditions in many parts of the world, not because they are environmentally friendly. These are places where hardy four-wheel drive vehicles are not a fashion accessory, or something to impress clients – these are places where having a four-wheel drive is the only way to move around.

Bodily Functions and coping

Yet again I find myself unable to help, feeling that I’m not there for my parent when he needs me.

Dad now has a catheter fitted, which like Mum he spends half the time forgetting he has and the other half trying to pull out. But when he needs to ‘go’ for anything more than a pee he’s unable to control himself and invariably ends up sitting in his own mess.

It’s not a nice thing to write about, and I don’t take any pleasure in reporting it here – but dying isn’t easy or pleasant – certainly not for those doing the dying, and or for the family who are around.

My brother, yet again, is being wonderful – coping amazingly with the various bodily functions of our now exceptionally ill father. I can’t deal with it, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that it’s Dad – I couldn’t do it for Mum either, but my brother could.

I’m not going to worry about not doing this for Dad, it’s just not my way of helping. But on this occasion due to the circumstances I am not able to help in my usual way – which is to organise.

It seems very likely that Dad will die in the next few days (his body is shutting down), and I have no knowledge of any of the arrangements for his funeral. With Mum I arranged everything, and it kept me busy and able to cope. Things are so different this time.

My stepmother, I think, has everything arranged but is not communicating anything to me – I haven’t asked, she wouldn’t want to talk to me about it anyway. I know that Dad is having a church service (which is for my stepmother’s sake, not because he is in anyway religious), I know that he is being buried at the local cemetery in a coffin which a friend made for him. I also know that the wake will be back at my father’s house – the plans have changed as the original plan was to have the wake in a local pub – and I expect they will change again before the time comes.

I’ll go to the church service to support my brothers, I’ll go to the burial too – but I’m not sure about the wake. My partner is highly allergic to animals, and Dad’s house is full of three uncontrollable dogs – even if they weren’t there he wouldn’t be able to go in as the allergens would make him ill for months. So, at a time when I know I’ll need him the most I’m going to have to cope without my partner.

All the care we could have asked for – and more.

The Sue Ryder Care home in Leckhampton near Cheltenham is a wonderful Tudor manor house set in it’s own grounds. With only a dozen or so beds for those who are unable to be cared for at home, and not wanting to be in the impersonal environment of a hospital; we were lucky to get Dad a room.

One of the wonderful elements of Dad being here is the care and support that everyone receives from the staff – not just Dad, but his family too. It’s such a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere – not unlike an exclusive country hotel (which I guess the building would be if it hadn’t become a hospice).

Nothing is too much or too difficult for the staff to arrange, if Dad wanted one of the dogs to visit and spend some time here that would be okay; or something particular to eat – he’s taken to pineapple juice – it can be arranged.

The staff have been keen to make sure that we are comfortable; there is a lounge just outside Dad’s room with radio, television, microwave and tea/coffee making facilities – and they make a point of ensuring that we have lunch and dinner if we are in at the time.

If we need someone to talk to the staff are always willing, they seem to find the time for us if need be.

What is most amazing is that we aren’t paying for this – the whole thing is just being provided. Apparently the hospice is funded through the NHS (about 75%) and donations (the remainder) – they will be getting a big cheque from me when all this is over. For more information visit their website.

Smells and sounds

It is said (by who I have no idea!) that smells and sounds stay with you longer than the things you see – a certain smell has the power to transport you back to your childhood in a moment.

For me it’s the smells of autumn, bonfires and leaves; and the smell of old rotting plaster. The autumn smell might be easy to understand, the reason for the plaster is that for the majority of my youth we lived in a 500 year old house which my parents were renovating. This meant that there was constant banging and crashing, a continuous layer of fine dust coating everything and the smell of the old plaster as it was being removed from the walls.

Unfortunately I have other familiar smells in my nose at the moment – the smells I have come to associate with death, decay and dying. Smells that most of you wouldn’t give a second thought to – actually you would probably welcome them in your home.

The two are related – flowers and air freshener.

When Mum was ill many people brought her flowers, the house was full of them all the time – and their sickly smell. Especially lilies – bloody horrid pong.

Air freshener – even worse, artificial flower smell – yuk! Unfortunately this was necessary to mask some of the other smells.

So now the sickly smell of illness is yet again being masked by air freshener – so far we haven’t had any flowers, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

The other sense that brings back memories is sounds. In the later stages of Mum’s illness she had a syringe driver fitted to administer the drugs, every few minutes there was a couple of second ‘whir’ noise as the driver gave Mum another dose.

With Dad, it’s two noises; syringe drivers (he has two) and the air mattress that circulates so that he doesn’t get bed sores. The noise of the bed sounds like a fox ’screaming’ at night (if you’ve ever heard that you’ll know what I mean), and yet again I find myself listening for the syringe noise – especially since he keeps knocking them on the floor and I’m never sure if they are still working.

I guess the final noise we have to look forward to is the ‘rattle’, known as the ‘death rattle’ it comes when people are near to death and fluid is building up in their lungs – with Mum this was thankfully only the last couple of hours of her life, but it was horrible to listen to.

Here we go again!

WARNING – this is not a happy blog entry.

So, 16 months after watching Mum die a painful distressing death I find myself once again at the bedside of a dying parent – thankfully things are different this time.

Mum had been completely adamant that she was going to die at home, no way was she going into a hospice. The doctors and nurses promised her that she would get the care she needed and that the pain would be well controlled. Mum had watched her father die screaming in agony of pancreatic cancer 40 years before and was terrified that it would happen to her.

Despite the reassurances from the medical profession, nothing had changed in those intervening 40 years. The pain steadily increased, and she had to take more and more morphine. She couldn’t eat or drink (taking pills became impossible so a syringe driver was put in to administer the drugs at regular intervals), and she lost weight rapidly.

The last week of her life was a living hell for her, and for those of us who were caring for her – myself, my brother and my aunt. Mum was unable to control her bowels and so the bed needed changing regularly (an endless round of washing), which was difficult as touching her hurt so much and she didn’t have the strength to move herself. She had bed sores which required cream to be rubbed in, and she was still in constant pain.

Sleeping most of the time, and after having an ‘accident’ whilst my brother was trying to carry her to the toilet, she finally had a catheter fitted – something she never wanted or really got to grips with – my lasting memory of my mother will be her screaming that she wanted to go for a wee-wee.

The care that she got in the last week of her life was terrible – we just didn’t have the training or knowledge to look after a dying person. One night it was very obvious that she needed more pain relief, but the district nurses were unable to administer it and since it was 3am it wasn’t possible to call her GP. So I called the ‘on call’ doctor number.

After fobbing me off twice, asking if we could wait until morning and saying that it wasn’t possible, I finally lost my temper with them. This had the desired affect – but a doctor would not be available for 3 hours as they had to come from north of Gloucester. By the time he arrived we were completely strung out and Mum was wincing and moaning with the pain.

Mum died early on a Saturday morning at the beginning of September, she’d not been aware of much for about a week – thankfully. To be honest I’m amazed that she held on for as long as she did. When she finally went my aunt was with her; my brother was stuck 13 miles away with a puncture and I was downstairs.

I can honestly say that I felt nothing but relief when she’d gone, not only was her suffering over, but so was the torment of watching my mother reduced to a child.

And now, here we are again. 13 months ago Dad was diagnosed with cancer, they tried to operate but it was too late. The tumours had spread from his kidney to the surrounding tissue and there were tumours in his neck. We knew what was going to happen.

This time things have been different, for Dad, and for those of us around him. The fact that Dad had remarried meant that his children did not have to be the primary carers. Dad continued to work full time (often having a nap in the afternoon), and my stepmother worked along side him, learning the business.

I visited, but not often, and things continued as ‘normal’.

In December 2007 things finally caught up with me, and I was diagnosed with severe depression and signed off work. I guess it was going to happen at some time.

The other difference with Dad is that having seen the way that Mum suffered he had agreed to go into a hospice when he got really ill. Something that I probably would have pushed for anyway.

So, here I am sat in the ‘quiet room’ of the Sue Ryder Hospice near Cheltenham. Dad is downstairs in bed. I’m holding things together, but only just. My partner can’t be here with me at the moment and I really miss his calming influence, and loving hugs. At the moment I know that I have to keep things together, but I have to admit to being worried about how I’m going to cope.

There is nothing of Dad, he looks like an 80 year old man – a very ill 80 year old man. He has the syringe driver and is sleeping most of the time. He still knows what is going on around him, and who everyone is, although he does get confused.

My stepmother is with him at the moment, she’s not coping at all. My brother, my aunt and I are having to stay in a hotel as she wants to be alone in the house now (I completely understand that feeling, when Mum was ill I just wanted everyone to go away!), but what I am finding difficult is the lack of communication. I spoke to her last night for the first time in months, and she really wants nothing to do with anyone.

I have no idea what is going on, and what arrangements have been made for Dad – but on this occasion it’s not my responsibility. However, it’s in my nature to ‘organise’, so I’m finding it very difficult.

I arrived here about two and half hours ago and saw Dad for about 5 minutes before he told us to ‘bugger off’ as he wanted to sleep! The next few days are going to be a lot of waiting around – waiting around for him to die.

When the time comes for me I hope that I’ll have the nerve to end my life before my body gives up on me – maybe by that time the law will have changed to allow people to end their lives with some dignity.

At the age of 35 I’m about to become an orphan having watched both of my parents die in a slow painful way whilst they are still young (Mum was 59 and Dad 60).

Richard & Kim’s ‘Furkids’

B AND B
Originally uploaded by prokillrat.

I’d never heard the expression before, but it appears that there is a word for pets who are treated like children by their owners – Furkid.

‘Couples like furkids because they usually don’t live long enough to need expensive private schools. And their friends like furkids because, unlike real children, you can plausibly claim to be allergic to them.’
(ABC Network, Australia, 2004)

If only it were this simple -

When she walks away from you mad….

One of my contacts put the following text on my ‘Funwall’ on Facebook. It kind of sums up what relationships are all about – everyone (male and female) should read it and remember it.

When she walks away from you mad
[ Follow her ]

When she stare’s at your mouth
[ Kiss her ]

When she pushes you or hit’s you
[ Grab her and dont let go ]

When she start’s cussing at you
[ Kiss her and tell her you love her ]

When she’s quiet
[ Ask her whats wrong ]

When she ignore’s you
[ Give her your attention ]

When she pull’s away
[ Pull her back ]

When you see her at her worst
[ Tell her she's beautiful ]

When you see her start crying
[Just hold her and dont say a word ]

When you see her walking
[ Sneak up and hug her waist from behind ]

When she’s scared
[ Protect her ]

When she lay’s her head on your shoulder
[ Tilt her head up and kiss her ]

When she steal’s your favorite hat
[ Let her keep it and sleep with it for a night]

When she tease’s you
[ Tease her back and make her laugh ]

When she doesnt answer for a long time
[ reassure her that everything is okay ]

When she look’s at you with doubt
[ Back yourself up ]

When she say’s that she like’s you
[ she really does more than you could understand ]

When she grab’s at your hands
[ Hold her's and play with her fingers ]

When she bump’s into you
[ bump into her back and make her laugh ]

When she tell’s you a secret
[ keep it safe and untold ]

When she looks at you in your eyes
[ dont look away until she does ]

When she misses you
[ she's hurting inside ]

When you break her heart
[ the pain never really goes away ]

When she says its over
[ she still wants you to be hers ]

When she repost this bulletin
[ she wants you to read it ]

- Stay on the phone with her even if she’s not saying anything.

- When she’s mad hug her tight and don’t let go

- When she says she’s ok dont believe it, talk with her

- because 10 yrs later she’ll remember you

- Call her at 12:00am on her birthday to tell her you love her

- Call her before you sleep and after you wake up

- Treat her like she’s all that matters to you.

- Tease her and let her tease you back.

- Stay up all night with her when she’s sick.

- Watch her favorite movie with her or her favorite show even if you think its stupid.

- Give her the world.

- Let her wear your clothes.

- When she’s bored and sad, hang out with her.

- Let her know she’s important.

- Kiss her in the pouring rain.

- When she runs up at you crying, the first thing you say is;
“Who’s ass am I kicking babe?”