So, it’s been about 10 months since I first wrote about Mum and her Alzheimer’s. I had planned on writing more regularly, but the stress of actually dealing with life has precluded writing about it, and actually living it.
So, where are we now?
The time has come when we have had to admit defeat. Mum is in need of more care than we can provide, and so we face the prospect of putting her in a home. Emergency respite care at first, which will happen tomorrow, or the day after. Things can deteriorate fast with dementia.
I will not feel guilty.
I say this to myself a lot, but of course I do. I feel absolutely devastated, guilty, sad, hopeless, discouraged, distraught and heartbroken.
If it was just the mood swings, or just the incontinence, or just the aggression, or just the feeding, or just the washing, or just the lack of speech, or just the frailty, or just the wandering; maybe we could carry on for longer. But it’s all of these, picking Mum up from the police for the third time in a week because she’s wandered off with no coat or shoes on again, picking Mum up from the floor because she’s slipped and can’t get up, never being able to relax because Mum is up and wandering again, being shouted at incoherently, Mum weeping with frustration as she loses another skill.
We can’t cope, Mum needs specialised care 24/7, and we’re not strong enough.
When I feel like this, I want my Mum so badly it hurts and she’s not here anymore.
I’ll try to hold on to the memories of before, and try not to feel guilty.
Today it hurts.
“Trigger warning” for talking about rape.
The last week or so has been difficult. Rape has been a major discussion point on Twitter.
After reading everything, this where I am right now.
Things that rape isn’t;
1. An intellectual exercise for liberal dudes
2. An opportunity to discuss the meaning of consent
3. An excuse to blame
4. A party political opportunity
5. Something that just happens to young, virginal women in dark alleys
6. Something that just happens outside of relationships
7. A “sex crime”
Things that rape is;
3. Soul destroying
4. Life limiting
6. The fault of the rapist
7. A crime
To all the survivors, please stay strong.
To all the rape apologists, the “in the sex game” believers, the “real rape” adherents; I have nothing to say.
It’s been 18 months since Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
It’s been hard, losing the person you love a piece at a time.
Most of the time, I don’t have my Mum anymore, not the strong woman of my childhood anyway. She’s still there, and glimpses of her flash through with such sharp clarity it takes my breath away. Other times, watching her cry helplessly because she can’t remember how to do something simple, I feel such immense pain and sadness that I wonder if I will be able to cope with it.
So, we are in the middle of the long goodbye, a drawn out process of grieving that colours every waking moment of our lives.
Today it hurts.
Haven’t blogged in a very long time. Yes, totally rubbish at the blogging thing!
I have a post to come which is personal, and might be something that I use this space for more often.
I do still get really mad sometimes, and will rant more soon, but in the meantime, bear with me!
Okay, so I probably hate most adverts. This is because most of the advertising industry treat consumers (i.e. people) like moronic idiots who live in 1950′s white, middle class nuclear families.
This time of the year the rush to get people to spend money they haven’t got on crap they don’t need reaches its absolute zenith. Therefore I am spoilt in my choice in adverts to hate.
The adverts that currently irritate beyond belief are the dancing showgirls, that’s why mums gone to Iceland ones. I mean, seriously? To make it worse, they often appear FIVE times in one advert break! Yes, FIVE!!
I can’t even begin to explain how wrong these adverts are, but I’ll try anyway.
- Dancing show girls a la Moulin Rouge – What the fuck? It’s food (sort of) you’re selling. There is no reason to dress women up in sexay costumes to dance and pose seductively to sell food – unless we’re living in some kind of patriarchal society – oh, right, I get it now!
- Jason Donovan as ringmaster – Jason’s shining moment was in ’87/’88 when he married Kylie on tv. Now he gets to be served ‘food’ by dancing girls on TV. Highlight of this advert is when Jason is shown in stockings and high heels, emasculation of the first order.
- “that’s why mums go to Iceland” – This has to be the most craptastic slogan ever. I don’t think I need to explain why this is just so wrong, if I have to, my head will probably explode.
- The ‘food’ – Mums go to Iceland to serve their loving family cheap, processed crap. Doner kebab pizzas? Seriously?
A catastrophe occured yesterday. My trusty MacBook Pro stopped running windoze 7 (perhaps a dodgy update, or just disgust?). Alas, repair gave a blank screen for 30 minutes, and system restore sent the message ‘a catastrophic failure has occurred’, that’s how catastrophic it was!
Diagnosis in safe mode to no avail, heavy heartedly I backed up my data, and prepared for reinstallation of windoze 7.
(I hasten to add at this point, I have to work in windoze, because of SharePoint and it’s pesky desire for SharePoint Designer and damned ActiveX)
It was at this point the miracle occurred; I was in possession of ALL necessary discs, AND I knew where they were! This includes my Snow Leopard disc which, for reasons that escape me, normally resides in the Bermuda Triangle.
Of course, reinstalling is never a simple task. Hard drive needed repairing, and this is where I realise how much I love OSX. 5 minutes later was ready to go.
Despite this miracle, I am blogging this from my iPad whilst in bed…laptop gets too hot and is too heavy for longwinded post creations whilst suffering heavy cold!
I have a love/hate relationship with the Daily Mail, actually that’s a morbid curiosity/hate relationship.
Whenever I want to have a good laugh I peruse the Daily Mail Online site, it is a treasure trove of inconsequential celebrity crap, unabashed misogyny, homophobia, and racism. On top of this is sprinkled a heap of cancer and other health related scare stories as well as a fascination with all things Diana.
That, unbeknownst to me until recently, my sister joins me in this rather insidious hobby is somewhat of a relief, as I thought I was alone.
Unfortunately, whilst I start off being amused, I soon end up needing another glass of wine in order to calm my nerves.
I am sure that I shall spend many of my words on this blog venting on the sheer idiocy of this publication, and therefore apologise for any increase in blood pressure this may cause.