Gone

When our mum died last Friday morning, my brother and I were present. I held her hand and we talked to her as her breathing slowed, slowed until it stopped completely.

I was glad that we were there at the end. But I don't know if she was aware of us.

She was probably aware of our presence the night before, after the doctor had given her something to calm her down, after she urged us to come to the rest home because this might be our last chance to see mum alive.

When we saw her that night mum was snoring loudly, sleeping deeply. Probably, it was the best sleep she'd had in weeks if not months. There was a moment when she was semi-awake and made us think she wanted to get up and go to the loo. Then we realised mum was still asleep, so we and the nurse and the carer lay her back down on her bed.

That was probably the time to talk to mum, when she was still not so deeply asleep that I couldn't be sure she was still with us.

The next morning we returned to the bedside and mum was no longer snoring, just breathing. I worry now that she was already gone by then and we were just watching her body go through the motions until it couldn't any more. By then it is too late to hold hands and say comforting things, isn't it?

Home, but not as we know it

On Monday, the rehab unit at the hospital will discharge my mum into a rest home. Hallelujah.

I hope I'm not jinxing the whole thing by talking about it before she's actually moved in, but it has been a long and arduous journey and I can't wait to get to the destination.

First, there was the assessment at the end of last year, in which the lady from the Care Coordination team asked mum how things were and mum insisted everything was fine (until she left - then mum's tune changed).

Then there was the in-home care programme which consisted of three daily visits by mostly lovely carers - but the visits were short, often mis-timed (e.g. the morning visit at 10.30 was sometimes followed by an 11.30 lunchtime visit), and - for a period of two weeks - hideously inadequately scheduled.

Then we decided that we had more trust in mum's ability to take her meds correctly that we did in the ability of the administrator to ensure that someone would actually turn up when they were supposed to (to get mum her meds, among other things). That resulted in a reduction in the number of daily carer visits, but at least I didn't have to chase them up when they didn't show up for one reason or another. By now mum had decided she wanted to live in a resthome, but in New Zealand you don't get to live in a resthome until some authority says you need to.

Then there was the heart attack that landed mum in hospital again, and this time mum got her wish which was to be allowed to move into a resthome.

And today I got a text from my brother which (to paraphrase him) said something along the lines of "Great news! Someone died! There's now a great room available at the most recommended home in the city!"

But the best, best thing about this is that for the first time ever, my mum told me how good my brother and I have been to her. It felt good to hear.

A respiteful Easter

On Monday morning I got a call from the manager of the rest home - there was a place available for my mother.

So we booked her in for a week of respite care (she's entitled to two weeks funded). It was really short notice, as we had to confirm with them in about 24 hours or else they'd offer the space to someone else on the waiting list.

After the rigmarole of getting mum moved in, her medications list signed and faxed by her doctor, her dietary restrictions discussed and her slippers brought in from home (which had been omitted during the packing), I wondered whether it was going to feel at all like respite for me.

After all, I still had to take her to the podiatrist to get her talons trimmed and to the dentist to get her new false teeth.

But after at the first two stressful days (and the onset of a cold for me), I suddenly felt like this was actually working:

• Because she has no personal telephone (and doesn't know where the communal one is), my mother has not been calling me frequently to remind me of things I already remember. 
• Due to my cold, I'm not expected to visit every day to check on her (neither of us are, but my brother seems to be doing it anyway).
• I'm not having to chase up carers who run late or don't show up at all. This last one is a real serenity-buster.

These (especially the last one), plus the fact that I've made a conscious decision to prioritise sleep this long weekend, mean that I really am feeling rested right now.

Mmmmmm...

The cost of taxis

In my rush to get my mum out of her house, down the steps and into my car, I accidentally locked my keys in her house.

Her appointment was in ten minutes.

My mum had not brought her house key with her.

So I called a taxi to take us down the road to the medical centre (that cost $8, which my mum complained about even though she wasn't the one paying), then I called my brother to ask him to come and give us a lift back and let us back into her house.

While this was happening, my mum - who is obviously feeling much better lately, because she now has the energy to complain about everything under the sun - was telling me in a loud voice that she no longer wanted to get her injections because "everybody" says you only need to get them monthly rather than weekly.

My brother couldn't leave work any earlier than 6pm, so after her appointment I got another taxi to take mum and I back to my place. We would wait for my brother there.

That taxi cost just under $20.

We got home, my brother arrived, he drove us to mum's house and let us in.

I could not find my keys. Anywhere.

Then my brother found them outside on the grass, where I'd dropped my bag while helping my mum down the stairs two hours before.

The last of our summer holiday

Just before Christmas last year I had spontaneously decided to take a couple of week off in January in addition to several days over Christmas and New Year. It meant I'd have only crumbs of annual leave for the rest of the year, but while I'm on holiday at home it feels like the right decision.

We'd had restful mornings followed by leisurely lunches followed by splashing at the beach. We've had visits from TLM's friends, I've managed to cover our porch (as well as my hair, some of the concrete around the porch, and some of my clothes) in a couple of coats of paint. I've nearly finished my non-classic denim jacket and finished my Japanese-inspired linen maxi dress (to be posted here later).

Although it hasn't been all fun and games, what with my elderly mum requiring visits to the doctor, the practice nurse and the medical lab, as well as many visits to cook for her while waiting for her home health service to kick in.

At the same time, the boy was diagnosed with shingles in his optic nerve. That was pretty scary at the time but the big box of various drugs seems to have worked because he looks normal now and didn't lose his sight. He still gets a lot of pain though, unsurprisingly.

I sure hope the rest of 2015 isn't so medically stressful as it's been so far...

It's been a funny old Christmas

It started with having to take my mum to the hospital on Christmas eve, because her GP was concerned about mum's blood test results. We spent all day in there.

The red-bearded Irish doctor told me my mum was cute and even went as far as asking the nearest Cantonese-speaking doctor to tell her in her own language. One day I must remind mum that "I love you" is not what you say when you want to tell someone that you think they have a nice bedside manner.

Afterwards I returned her to my brother's house, where she'd been staying. As I left, my sister-out-law said a few words about Christmas lunch - I could have sworn she said that we should turn up any time after 2pm.

On Christmas morning, we opened our presents and covered the entire lounge floor with discarded wrapping paper. The boy seemed very pleased with his manly jewellery box.

It turned out I was quite mistaken about the start time for Christmas lunch....and we'll just leave it at that...

At least, I thought, this would be one Christmas lunch when my mum won't nag us to take her home right after we've eaten, because she is already at home (albeit a temporary one). Wrong again - as soon as we'd eaten and finished shared desserts, she was nagging us to pack up her stuff and transport her away. I left my brother to sort it out, as mum doesn't listen to me anyway (I'm just her daughter).

Today my mum has been back at her home for two days, with my brother and I taking turns at 3 visits per day (which is what her home service package will be when it starts on 5 Jan). She has already rejected all three pieces of disability equipment, including the walking frame which had initially been indispensable. There is, as they say, life in the old bird yet.

I leave you with a photo of the hand made fridge magnets I told you about in an earlier post. Pretty, no?

From barfing to babysitting

The weekend after TLM came down with a vomiting bug (thankfully very short-lived), I was struck by the very same bug.

I spent all of Monday dozing, shuffling (to the loo, to the back door to gaze at the sunny day outside), and drinking Powerade. And finding out that my mum had finally been discharged from hospital, and that my brother had taken her to his place until she was fit enough to go home.

By Tuesday I was feeling a hundred times better than I had the day before. I was still cautious about eating and was avoiding caffeine for the time being, but definitely well enough to go back to work.

The same day, the boy complained of a bad feeling in his gut. You can predict how that progressed.

Also on that day, I called my mum to ask how she was doing. All she wanted to do was to go home.

"There's laundry that needs doing, and my bed is still unmade from before I went to hospital". But we didn't believe she was ready to go home yet - it took her five minutes just to get from sitting down to standing up, and she couldn't walk for more than a few metres (with a walking frame) without needing a rest.

I applied for an emergency couple of days leave to give my brother some respite.

I went in this morning and mum was already up. "Alright" I said, "if you want to go home let's see if you can make your own breakfast."

Mum got as far as putting the jug on before complaining bitterly at my lack of customer service.

The rest of the day went a lot better, especially once she realised we weren't trying to force her into a rest home - because in NZ you can't get into a restroom even if you really want to, unless either you are willing to pay unlimited costs to get into one or the local health assessor thinks there's no other way for you to survive.

And that assessor is coming over on Friday, so we shall soon see...

A bit going on

I've been a bit distracted lately, because my mum's health has been a bit of a worry. She's just spent the last few days in hospital, which frankly was a relief because that followed several days of her feeling miserable and very tired. Being at hospital meant we didn't have to worry so much about her.

Now that her discharge from hospital is imminent, my bro and I will have to figure out how to ensure that she gets all the support she needs without driving anyone insane. Seriously, she can be a terrible grump, bossy and an extreme micro-manager.

A place at her retirement village of choice became free, but the prices have all gone up so that the cost of a studio there is only slightly less than my whole house is worth - and that's not including the weekly fees and others besides. So we have to look around to see if anything comparable (and not to far from us) is available that is more affordable.

On a more pleasant note, I was able to attend my work Christmas do. We had an Amazing Race type of thing at the Botanic Gardens, and spent a good couple of hours walking about the place, trying to find clues and taking many selfies. We took more selfies yesterday than I have ever taken before that day, or ever will after that day. After lunch we had the Secret Santa gifts. Mine was a set of six handmade fridge magnets, made using a variety of surprisingly attractive recycled objects. Honestly it was the best Secret Santa present I have ever received. Thank you Santa!

The Chinese patient goes back to the drawing board

My mother's shingles (which sounds like an interesting title for a novel, don't you think?) has caused us all much anguish and stress over the last few weeks.

First there was the pain, which must have been excruciating (though of course I can only guess) - bad enough that at one point I think my mum believed she was going to die from it.

There were multiple visits to doctors - to her GP and to after-hours doctors. They variously prescribed her four different medications to treat the pain:

One acted as a muscle super-relaxant and nerve sensitiser, so that she felt as though she could hardly stand and walk - and it hurt her feet when she did.

The next two, prescribed in unison, gave her the shakes (like Parkinsons on the proverbial speed) and pushed her blood pressure to scary heights. (One of the meds is called Tramadol - a more appropriate name would be Tremor-dol.) This lot put her in hospital for a few days.

The last was a cream which apparently works by distracting the nerves with red hot chilli pepper. My mum had to wash this off quick-smart because it made her feel like her skin was on fire.

So she's back on the plain-Jane paracetamol, which probably does little more than shave a wafer-thin edge off the pain.

Boy, is she grumpy.

Yet more hats

This weekend I finished two hats which are for a friend of mine and her partner. One of them is made from stash yarn that she gave me, which I thought she'd appreciate -

She's going back to the Northern hemisphere soon, so hopefully they'll come in handy! I used the same pattern for both (Washington Square Hat from Metropolitan Knits) but they look really different eh?

In other news, TLM is very unhappy about starting her school holiday programme tomorrow. When I pressed her, she revealed that it's because there's a mean girl who is is horrible to her - a bully who hasn't hit TLM yet but keeps threatening to. So when I sign her in tomorrow I'll have to have a talk to the manager about keeping an eye on them. I'll also have to reinforce to TLM that she'll need to be assertive and clear about telling the caregivers when the mean girl gets out of line.

And last of all, my mum has the dreaded shingles - at 89! I've heard it's a terrible affliction to get even if you're in the flush of otherwise-best health. For someone like her it must be intolerable. And the pain meds actually make her feel worse, so it's back to the doctor's tomorrow.