My Mum

Blogging can be therapeutic for some but I think for me I need to feel resourceful to put myself 'out there'. And I haven't of late.

Mum passed away on the 10th of January 2015, a few days after celebrating her 80th birthday. She had a chest infection working on her but her passing was much more sudden than any if us expected. She died fairly peacefully at home with me & my brother close by and John & the kids in the next room.

The strange thing was her passing when she did was her last gift to me as I had only just accepted that I was no longer coping when I place in the care home we used for respite came up. She was due to move in the next week and passed away before that dilemma came up. Could I have moved her while she was ill into a new place? Could I have coped if she had rallied again after turning down the place?

That day was the first day I called my brother and told him with no doubt I needed him with me. And he heard me and came. For that I am forever grateful. And I know he is too.

So the last wee while has been hard, grieving is rubbish but I'm learning to ride it - the way I've described it is being sad but glad. I miss her but I'm so glad she's not suffering any more and I got to love her as much as i did.

She told me she loved me.
And she told me brother to be good.

Pat, a lady who will always make me smile xx

Bambi Legs

So mums bambi legs are causing us all trouble. Bless her spirit but she doesn't remember nor realise her frailty as in her mind she is a perfectly fit and healthy 30 odd year old.  Her thigh muscles have wasted so she finds it difficult to stand up herself but once standing she is pretty steady.  The issue is her trying to stand up when none of us are there to help her.

And so the falls began.  At night.  The only time she is left alone, other than taking the kids to and from school.

Mum has a hospital bed now, one of the many amazing things provided by the NHS, which has sides that can be lifted to prevent her falling out.  The only problem is if I put these up, she tries to climb over them which I reckon is a greatest risk than her 'just' falling out the bed. So I leave them down, which means mum is free to get out of her bed, alone, at night, with no help.

Which meant when she needed the loo, she would try to to get up and go herself - as any other fit and healthy person would.  Only she would fall over.  I would hear her cry out for help and find her on the floor, pick her up, help her back into bed and settle her down.  One night when I found her on the floor, she had broken her ribs in the fall and it would take weeks to recover.  This started another downturn in her health as it was sore to breathe in fully she ended up with a chest infection and her already small appetite for food decreased even more together with her appetite for life.  It was horrible to see her deteriorate - again.

Back in the swing

I've not written in a while for a variety of reasons, the main one is the last few months have been really tough and I have been getting my head round things.  So I've been in a bit of a bubble, getting things figured out, coping, readjusting, working, living and loving. And I'm back, of sorts, and looking forward to being in the swing again.

 

Mum had a run of chest infections since spring resulting in a number of hospital admissions culminating in me being taken into a wee room and being told she didn't have long left to live. I'd been waiting for someone to say that but somehow when it's actually said it's a bit unreal. Cue bubble.

Mum rallied to the degree she was discharged home with an 'advanced anticipatory care plan' and the expectation that we'll love her at home, make her comfortable but another infection would likely be her last. And so she came home. And I became a death obsessed wreck with a grim obsession with googling anything that would help me understand and reconcile myself with death. From 'How to tell when someone is dying', 'Life expectancy of people with dementia and copd' to 'what to do when someone dies'. I learned a lot.

It's strange looking back as not much had actually changed other than having been told what I was told in the wee room.  Mums needs hadn't changed much, she was more fragile than before, painfully thin with wobbly legs like a newborn deer from her weeks of being bed bound.  The change was in me as I felt I was entering uncharted territory and as a result was nervous.  So I cancelled the work I had lined up as I didn't want to let anyone down at the last minute and I also felt I needed to free my energy and not be distracted by work.  It was the summer holidays so the kids were off and I wanted to focus on loving mum and making sure we were all ok.

And so a slightly different journey began...

Mothers Day dread

It's Mothers Day soon & part of me is dreading it.  We're off to see the Muppets which will be fab but it's sad that mum doesn't realise she's my mum.  She thinks we're taking her just because we're being nice. It's awkward sometimes when folk ask if she's my mum and while I say yes, she looks at me like I'm a nutter! I call her Pat a lot now to side step the confusion.

Is having a mum who doesn't know who you are worse than not having your mum?

Both are crap.

I just read a post about a husband continuing to visit his wife who no longer knows him due to Alzheimers. He does because he still knows who she is.  I suppose my answer is in there too...to enjoy what I've got now but knowing that doesn't take away the feeling of a strange kind of mourning.

Freedom

I long to be free. But what is freedom anyway?

Just now, I crave for the freedom to take the kids to the park, to go out for the day - just us. No mission mum. No convincing her to come, no pushing her wheelchair instead of skipping with our girls. Being free to focus on them and not concern myself with making sure mum is ok. Being free to go out with friends and not have that niggle of how mum is at home.

Freedom is at my fingertips though, it might to be the free flowing freedom I imagine but does anyone have that? We all have responsibilities of sorts, so I have what you have and that is time organised freedom.  I have to plan what I'm going to do and when. 

And ask for help. 

And accept it.

Do I really want to be free? Free for the responsibility that love and commitment bring? 

I'll choose what I've got. And work on being better organised....anyone brave enough to want to help with that biggy? 😉

Selfless or Selfish?

I'm not this selfless woman that some people think I am.  I am looking after mum because for now it's the best thing for her but also for me. I'm putting my own needs before that of my partner and my kids and for that I'm selfish. And that's ok, for now.

I need to do this so that when she's not in my life anymore I can sit back and know that I've done the best I could and have memories to warm my cockles.  Dementia has given me my mum back.  Well, it hasn't given me my mum back but it has rekindled a relationship with a woman who is my mother and I want to make hay while the sun is still shining.

Our relationship was strained throughout my adulthood as Mum had schizophrenia and when she was having an episode it was horrible and she would say and do really awful things.  No girl should have her mum call her a whore.  No child should be chased and threatened with a dog lead.  No new mum should be woken in the early hours with ranting phone calls.  I feel a bit uncomfortable saying that as I don't want anyone to think badly of mum or pity for me so I say it only because it's real and too common and not talked about enough - mental ill health is a horrible thing and difficult to live with, especially when you're the kid.  But what was hardest was her point blank refusal to admit there was anything wrong, that maybe, just maybe, she had done something hurtful. I adored my mum growing up but I was also really confused by her.  Why did she say and do these things?  I sometimes wish I was more forgiving or more understanding back then but we each make choices that suit the circumstance at the time. And it was far from being bad.  But it was definitely strained.

So as time went on I chose to protect myself from her chaos.  Our relationship was an awkward dance until dementia came along.

Dementia took mums memories which meant she no longer remembered that she didn't approve of my life choices and she no longer focused on what I was (a daughter with all those unwritten expectations) but who I am (Colette) and who she is (Pat). Dementia stripped of all her 'shoulds' - how a mum should be, how a daughter should be, how children should be, and for now revealed her essence - free to do and be whatever and whoever she wants.  It also brought back her honesty - she's not hiding or kidding on anymore.  And while the ripple effect of this freedom isn't all positive with other 'should's' & social norms that I'd love to still there, for our relationship it's been surprisingly positive.

In the past couple of years we've had more open, honest conversations then we have ever had - because I'm no longer her daughter and she is no longer a mother we get to create a whole new relationship.  Don't get me wrong, if I could choose, I wouldn't choose this.  I would love to have a mum who cherished me and her grandchildren but I don't.  What I do have though, is a woman who loves me as her friend, who enjoys my company and thinks my kids are cute but a bit on the noisy side.

I am a selfish woman and happily so.  The time is approaching when I can no longer indulge myself as it's not just about me, I've a gorgeous family to nurture and create memories with too.  But for now, I'm glad I've had the chance to make some new ones with mum.
 

The pear #mumism

As usual, I brought mum through her variety of pills sprinkled over a chocolate mousse (puddings I've long since discovered are brilliant bribery). And a pear on a plate.  I thought I was being nice, and I left her & Kim to continue their blether and getting ready for bed. 

I peeked my head round the door to find mum looking a bit shell shocked and Kim heehawing laughing.  Mum had thought I'd given her a potato to eat and had been staring at the 'potato' asking why on earth I'd given her a tatty to eat.

It'd be funnier if you were there. Honest ;-)