It's now two weeks since Mum came home from her brief stay at Greenwich Hospital, and we are settling into a routine, albeit one that is slightly different to how it was BH (before hospital).
Mum has always slept well, and still does; which is something that we are both extremely thankful for. However, since her time in hospital (AH), Mum has been regularly waking up with quite severe pain. Sometimes the pain is in her back, sometimes it radiates from the back around to her abdomen, sometimes it's sharp, stabbing pain when she breathes in, sometimes it's a colicky, gut pain, and sometimes it's a combination of two or more of these different kinds of pain.
The medication Mum takes for this breakthrough pain is quite effective, but the problem is that it usually takes up to 2 hours to fully kick in. So this makes the first hour or two of her day pretty rugged going.
Now those of you who know me well, will realise that I am Not A Morning Person, especially these days, as my sleep patterns have been mucked about a bit since being here in Sydney, and I seem to have become even more a 'creature of the night' than I normally am. So it's been getting difficult, as Mum is becoming more dependent on me to help her get up in the morning.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of Mum calling me. When I got into her room, I found her sitting on the side of her bed. She asked me for a pain pill, as she was in a lot of pain and didn't feel that she could get up and go to the bathroom without my help. She told me she'd been sitting there for about an hour, and had called me a number of times, but I didn't hear her at first because I was asleep.
As I looked down at her frail, wasted body, wracked with pain, and the simple, gentle way that she explained how long she'd been waiting for me to respond to her calls, I just melted inside. After getting her a pain pill, I helped her into the bathroom, and then to get dressed.
One of the hardest things for me right now is to see the extent that Mum's body has wasted in the last few months. When I dress her in the mornings, and help her in the shower at night, there is no hiding the sharp angles of her bones, that are covered by skin and not much else; her stick-like arms and legs, and how small and pathetic she appears as she looks up at me with such simple and complete trust.
After Mum is dressed, she wheelie-walks herself to the loungeroom, where she parks herself in her chair, and after I ensure that she's comfortable and settled (with the TV on Fox Sports channel), I give her her pre-breakfast tablets and then have my shower before organising breakfast.
This morning, the first drops to hit the floor of the shower recess were not from the shower; they were my tears, as I considered what it must have been like for Mum to be sitting in pain on the side of her bed for an hour, calling me, and receiving no response. The shower is often my crying place after being confronted by the reality of Mum's situation; a refuge where I can let it all out without having to worry about Mum's or anyone else's reactions. As I have told many people in the course of my ministry, a good cry can be quite cathartic, and for me, crying in the shower is a bit like crying at the beach- there's already so much water around, that you don't notice a little extra.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
The need to help
This week my thoughts are with a special friend.
S has lived with significant depression for many years now, and in the course of his illness has experienced just about every possible treatment, medication, and therapy modality for depression. He's had his ups and downs, and for a while was on a fairly even keel. However, in the last little while things have been gradually getting worse for him, and this week he commenced a regimen of ECT treatment (electro-convulsive therapy). It will take about three months before he's able to go back to work after the treatment.
Because I'm a natural born 'Rescuer', my default position is to want to do everything I can to 'help'. And in fact, it's not just that I want to help, but I need to help. (I suspect most people who work in one of the helping professions would probably resonate with this need). But the hard thing is that there is really nothing much I can do that would be helpful to S, apart from praying for him, and just being there for him (a bit like the friends of Job, who sat with him in silence).
When S initially told me about his depression (quite a number of years ago now), I discovered that my driving need to help can be a problem, because back then it caused me to make things more about me and my need to help rather than about S and his needs. I'd like to think that I am now older and wiser; that I learned something from that experience, which will equip me to be a better friend to S now, and also to others who are going through hard times.
S has lived with significant depression for many years now, and in the course of his illness has experienced just about every possible treatment, medication, and therapy modality for depression. He's had his ups and downs, and for a while was on a fairly even keel. However, in the last little while things have been gradually getting worse for him, and this week he commenced a regimen of ECT treatment (electro-convulsive therapy). It will take about three months before he's able to go back to work after the treatment.
Because I'm a natural born 'Rescuer', my default position is to want to do everything I can to 'help'. And in fact, it's not just that I want to help, but I need to help. (I suspect most people who work in one of the helping professions would probably resonate with this need). But the hard thing is that there is really nothing much I can do that would be helpful to S, apart from praying for him, and just being there for him (a bit like the friends of Job, who sat with him in silence).
When S initially told me about his depression (quite a number of years ago now), I discovered that my driving need to help can be a problem, because back then it caused me to make things more about me and my need to help rather than about S and his needs. I'd like to think that I am now older and wiser; that I learned something from that experience, which will equip me to be a better friend to S now, and also to others who are going through hard times.
Friday, November 09, 2012
Friendship
Friendship is an interesting thing. I know I've said this before, but it never ceases to amaze me how God brings people into my life at different times, in different ways, and how significant those people can be.
Through the years, there have been quite a few people with whom I have had a special bond, and who, for the life of me, I really don't know how or why we should have become so close.
Back in the 80s, when I was working for Fusion, there was a couple of other Fusion workers who were based on the other side of the country. I can't remember how it came about, but they commenced supporting me financially, and we exchanged newsletters, and there was a bond. I cried when their son, who had cystic fibrosis, died at the age of 12 after an unsuccessful liver transplant. That was in 1989. We still keep in touch.
When I was living in Melbourne, I became friends with a man who worshipped at the same church I did, and lived a couple of blocks away in my street. I enjoyed his extravagant 'hospitality of the BBQ' on many occasions, and again a bond formed. He sold his house in Melbourne and moved to France to start a new life with the woman of his dreams, and when he finally proposed to her formally, and gave her the ring he'd had made specially, the first call from France to Australia that he made to share the good news was to me. After he'd shared the news with me, he said he would then call his family to tell them. He and his wife have stayed with me in Myrtleford when they have been in Australia and passing through. When I travelled to England and France, I stayed with them and had a wonderful time in the south of France (and am looking forward to a return visit).
And now, I have connected with a new friend via Facebook. We kind of knew each other back when I was in Hobart (although neither of us can remember ever actually meeting, but Hobart is the kind of place where everyone seems to know each other, especially in the Church). There's a certain closeness that's developing between us, as he grapples with some significant issues in his life, and I am here in Sydney grappling with my mother's declining health. Our chats provide mutual support, as when we talk about his stuff, he gets the chance to share, and have a listening ear, and I get to talk to someone about something other than my own issues. When we talk about my stuff, I get the chance to share and be heard, and he gets the chance to talk to someone about something other than his stuff. It works well for both of us.
Tonight as we were chatting, he made a profound discovery about himself, and how some of his behaviours affect other significant people in his life. It was a great privilege to be part of that process. All I did was listen to him, and ask a few questions about what he was telling me- simple reflective listening, (via written word in live chat on the internet). The resultant personal discovery was something that neither of us was expecting.
In this specific incident, in all of these friendships, and in so many other things, I continue to find that God is indeed a God of surprises.
Through the years, there have been quite a few people with whom I have had a special bond, and who, for the life of me, I really don't know how or why we should have become so close.
Back in the 80s, when I was working for Fusion, there was a couple of other Fusion workers who were based on the other side of the country. I can't remember how it came about, but they commenced supporting me financially, and we exchanged newsletters, and there was a bond. I cried when their son, who had cystic fibrosis, died at the age of 12 after an unsuccessful liver transplant. That was in 1989. We still keep in touch.
When I was living in Melbourne, I became friends with a man who worshipped at the same church I did, and lived a couple of blocks away in my street. I enjoyed his extravagant 'hospitality of the BBQ' on many occasions, and again a bond formed. He sold his house in Melbourne and moved to France to start a new life with the woman of his dreams, and when he finally proposed to her formally, and gave her the ring he'd had made specially, the first call from France to Australia that he made to share the good news was to me. After he'd shared the news with me, he said he would then call his family to tell them. He and his wife have stayed with me in Myrtleford when they have been in Australia and passing through. When I travelled to England and France, I stayed with them and had a wonderful time in the south of France (and am looking forward to a return visit).
And now, I have connected with a new friend via Facebook. We kind of knew each other back when I was in Hobart (although neither of us can remember ever actually meeting, but Hobart is the kind of place where everyone seems to know each other, especially in the Church). There's a certain closeness that's developing between us, as he grapples with some significant issues in his life, and I am here in Sydney grappling with my mother's declining health. Our chats provide mutual support, as when we talk about his stuff, he gets the chance to share, and have a listening ear, and I get to talk to someone about something other than my own issues. When we talk about my stuff, I get the chance to share and be heard, and he gets the chance to talk to someone about something other than his stuff. It works well for both of us.
Tonight as we were chatting, he made a profound discovery about himself, and how some of his behaviours affect other significant people in his life. It was a great privilege to be part of that process. All I did was listen to him, and ask a few questions about what he was telling me- simple reflective listening, (via written word in live chat on the internet). The resultant personal discovery was something that neither of us was expecting.
In this specific incident, in all of these friendships, and in so many other things, I continue to find that God is indeed a God of surprises.
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
Bodily Functions 'R' Us
Given that Mum is on a quite substantial dose of serious pain medication, and the usual side effects of such medications, one of the common conversations in our house these days revolves around poo.
Don't you wish you lived here?
With all this in mind, I laughed my head off when I saw this cartoon on Facebook the other day. I've been meaning to share it, but have only just gotten around to it. It kind of describes my life (or at least a significant part of it) at the moment :-)
- have you done one today?
- what was it like?
- runny or hard?
- what colour was it?
- how much did you do?
Don't you wish you lived here?
With all this in mind, I laughed my head off when I saw this cartoon on Facebook the other day. I've been meaning to share it, but have only just gotten around to it. It kind of describes my life (or at least a significant part of it) at the moment :-)
My heart melts
Yesterday morning after breakfast, as I was taking Mum's dentures into the bathroom to clean them for her, she looked up at me with her big, brown eyes, and said, "You know, I do appreciate you doing this for me?"
"Yes Mum, I do know."
This morning, as I was doing the same, she asked me, "You don't mind doing this do you?"
"Of course not, Mum."
Such a small thing,
that makes her feel so much more comfortable,
and means a lot.
"Yes Mum, I do know."
This morning, as I was doing the same, she asked me, "You don't mind doing this do you?"
"Of course not, Mum."
Such a small thing,
that makes her feel so much more comfortable,
and means a lot.
Monday, November 05, 2012
If that's Monday morning, I've had it.
Phew! A productively busy, busy, busy morning here at Chez Field.
The lovely lawnmowing man came this morning and so our back yard is looking very spiffy. The stamp of approval of the lovely lawn was given by a pair of water dragons, who came out to frolic on the grass for a bit. When the bigger one saw me watching, he dove into the nasturtiums, and then scrambled up the bottle brush tree, whilst his mate watched him.
All this activity was observed as I was back and forth from the laundry; first to put a load of towels etc into the washing machine, and then back into the bathroom with Ajax and a long handled scrubbing brush to scrub out the shower recess. (For some reason, even though I've asked our cleaner to scrub out the shower, she never seems to do it, and the tiles get a bit slippery underfoot. Whilst Mum now uses a shower chair, we are both a bit paranoid about the possibility of me slipping in the shower, because if I go down and break a leg or something, Mum will be really stuffed. So a good scrub was given).
Then I attacked Mum's bedroom, and stripped the bed, remade it with fresh sheets (a challenge at the best of times, but even moreso now with the mobility aid bar attached to the bed), and now the first load of washing is out, and the sheets are on. My bed can wait for another day.
All in all, I seem to have worked up quite a sweat... very uncharacteristic for a Monday, which is usually my 'day off', and I'd often still be abed at this time of the morning. So now, time to sit down (or more accurately, flop) and put my mind to the Sudoku in yesterday's paper.
Mum is having a pretty good day so far. After a bit of back pain this morning, she is now pain free, enjoyed a substantial (for her) breakfast, and her innards seem to be working well. So the next step is to think about what I can tempt her with for lunch. It never stops, really.
The lovely lawnmowing man came this morning and so our back yard is looking very spiffy. The stamp of approval of the lovely lawn was given by a pair of water dragons, who came out to frolic on the grass for a bit. When the bigger one saw me watching, he dove into the nasturtiums, and then scrambled up the bottle brush tree, whilst his mate watched him.
All this activity was observed as I was back and forth from the laundry; first to put a load of towels etc into the washing machine, and then back into the bathroom with Ajax and a long handled scrubbing brush to scrub out the shower recess. (For some reason, even though I've asked our cleaner to scrub out the shower, she never seems to do it, and the tiles get a bit slippery underfoot. Whilst Mum now uses a shower chair, we are both a bit paranoid about the possibility of me slipping in the shower, because if I go down and break a leg or something, Mum will be really stuffed. So a good scrub was given).
Then I attacked Mum's bedroom, and stripped the bed, remade it with fresh sheets (a challenge at the best of times, but even moreso now with the mobility aid bar attached to the bed), and now the first load of washing is out, and the sheets are on. My bed can wait for another day.
All in all, I seem to have worked up quite a sweat... very uncharacteristic for a Monday, which is usually my 'day off', and I'd often still be abed at this time of the morning. So now, time to sit down (or more accurately, flop) and put my mind to the Sudoku in yesterday's paper.
Mum is having a pretty good day so far. After a bit of back pain this morning, she is now pain free, enjoyed a substantial (for her) breakfast, and her innards seem to be working well. So the next step is to think about what I can tempt her with for lunch. It never stops, really.
Thursday, November 01, 2012
Bitchin...
Strong Language Advisory:
Warning- the following blog post is an angry rant, and contains strong language, including the 'F-bomb' and various crass and crude turns of phrase. If you have a problem with that, don't read on. I make no apologies. You have been warned.
After a steady decline for a couple of weeks, Mum went into hospital on Monday of last week, for some symptom management, and will be coming home tomorrow morning. During this time, I took the opportunity to go home to Myrtleford for a break, as I mentioned in an earlier post. I returned to Sydney on Monday evening, and of course went straight to the hospital. It was great to see Mum looking so bright :-)
Tuesday morning, as I was having breakfast and preparing to go to the hospital, the phone rang. It was one of my cousins. I can't remember the last time I would have seen or heard from him (and I'm talking decades here), and likewise, Mum (who is much more diligent in keeping up with family than I am) also hasn't had any contact with him in ages. Both of his siblings have been in pretty regular contact with Mum over the years, and especially since she's been sick, but not him.
So imagine my surprise to answer the phone and find myself speaking to this cousin, but not only that, but that he had the temerity to commence the conversation with:
"I came to visit on Saturday, but nobody was home!"
I replied with: "Yes, Mum is in hospital, and I went home for a few days' break."
At this point, things started to feel a bit surreal.
"Yes, I found that out from the neighbour."
"Well, why didn't you ring before coming all that way, to check that there would be someone home?"
"I was just concerned about my aunty, and wanted to see her".
(This cousin lives in Mt Druitt, which is quite a hike from North Ryde, and he seemed somewhat annoyed that he had made the trip in vain, as if it was somehow our fault that we weren't home when he came. I found out later, from talking to his brother, that he had apparently sat in his car outside our house for an hour and a half, thinking we might have been out shopping or something).
At this point I felt like screaming at him, "How dare you blame me for your own fucking stupidity?! You haven't been in touch with Mum for so many years, and now suddenly you decide that because she's dying, you want to see her, and don't even have the fucking decency to check with us that it would be convenient for you to visit, knowing how sick she is!? What kind of person travels that kind of distance to visit someone without even contacting them to say they're coming? That's just rude. Plain fucking rude. And now, you're annoyed with me?!?!?!" *
(And even if we had been home, given how Mum was feeling before she went into hospital, there was a good chance she wouldn't have wanted to see him - and he wouldn't have been the first person that I've had to turn away from the door because Mum wasn't up to visitors).
It was almost as if he was wanting to be able to make a big deal out of the fact that he'd travelled so far to visit his dear old aunty... but in my dark place, I wanted to compete with him in this pissing competition he created. ("You want me to be impressed that you drove for an hour or so to visit Mum? Well, I've put my whole life on hold for six months or more, and moved myself interstate so I can be here to care for her and stand by helplessly and watch her die slowly and painfully. So I win. My dick is bigger than yours, and I'm not even a man."**)
This came hot on the heels of a phone message that was waiting for me the previous night, from a different cousin, saying how concerned she is for 'Aunty'. She and her husband had been to visit Mum not long after her diagnosis, but Mum hadn't heard from them since, and has commented on her puzzlement at this a number of times. So this was also a bit of a bolt out of the blue.
For a while now, Mum has been making dark mutterings about how all these relatives that have never bothered to be in touch normally, have suddenly been all over her now that she's sick; and it seems to me that she resents that a bit. I had always tried to talk Mum through this resentment, and point out that it's natural that they would want to be in touch and try to express support for her under the circumstances.
However, after these two phone interactions, I have also started to feel angry and resentful, because it feels like these two cousins are expecting Mum and I to be at their convenience; as if it's our role to meet their needs to feel good about themselves because they've 'made the effort to see poor, sick Aunty'.
I'm angry; really angry. And now I feel guilty about feeling angry and resentful (don't you wish you were inside my head right now? ;-).
Am I a bitch? Am I being unreasonable to judge so harshly, and to not want to make allowances for the feelings and circumstances of these cousins? Is it unreasonable for me to expect them to realise that Mum and I already have enough to deal with, and they should be supporting us, and not the other way round?
I guess these are the questions that will cheat me out of sleep in the next little while.
Families are funny animals, that sadly, don't always bring out the best in us.
OK, angry, sweary rant is now over, and we return you to normal transmission.
* Of course, I didn't say any of this... but really wanted to.
** Again, I didn't, and would never, say this, but by golly it felt cathartically good to write it.
Warning- the following blog post is an angry rant, and contains strong language, including the 'F-bomb' and various crass and crude turns of phrase. If you have a problem with that, don't read on. I make no apologies. You have been warned.
After a steady decline for a couple of weeks, Mum went into hospital on Monday of last week, for some symptom management, and will be coming home tomorrow morning. During this time, I took the opportunity to go home to Myrtleford for a break, as I mentioned in an earlier post. I returned to Sydney on Monday evening, and of course went straight to the hospital. It was great to see Mum looking so bright :-)
Tuesday morning, as I was having breakfast and preparing to go to the hospital, the phone rang. It was one of my cousins. I can't remember the last time I would have seen or heard from him (and I'm talking decades here), and likewise, Mum (who is much more diligent in keeping up with family than I am) also hasn't had any contact with him in ages. Both of his siblings have been in pretty regular contact with Mum over the years, and especially since she's been sick, but not him.
So imagine my surprise to answer the phone and find myself speaking to this cousin, but not only that, but that he had the temerity to commence the conversation with:
"I came to visit on Saturday, but nobody was home!"
I replied with: "Yes, Mum is in hospital, and I went home for a few days' break."
At this point, things started to feel a bit surreal.
"Yes, I found that out from the neighbour."
"Well, why didn't you ring before coming all that way, to check that there would be someone home?"
"I was just concerned about my aunty, and wanted to see her".
(This cousin lives in Mt Druitt, which is quite a hike from North Ryde, and he seemed somewhat annoyed that he had made the trip in vain, as if it was somehow our fault that we weren't home when he came. I found out later, from talking to his brother, that he had apparently sat in his car outside our house for an hour and a half, thinking we might have been out shopping or something).
At this point I felt like screaming at him, "How dare you blame me for your own fucking stupidity?! You haven't been in touch with Mum for so many years, and now suddenly you decide that because she's dying, you want to see her, and don't even have the fucking decency to check with us that it would be convenient for you to visit, knowing how sick she is!? What kind of person travels that kind of distance to visit someone without even contacting them to say they're coming? That's just rude. Plain fucking rude. And now, you're annoyed with me?!?!?!" *
(And even if we had been home, given how Mum was feeling before she went into hospital, there was a good chance she wouldn't have wanted to see him - and he wouldn't have been the first person that I've had to turn away from the door because Mum wasn't up to visitors).
It was almost as if he was wanting to be able to make a big deal out of the fact that he'd travelled so far to visit his dear old aunty... but in my dark place, I wanted to compete with him in this pissing competition he created. ("You want me to be impressed that you drove for an hour or so to visit Mum? Well, I've put my whole life on hold for six months or more, and moved myself interstate so I can be here to care for her and stand by helplessly and watch her die slowly and painfully. So I win. My dick is bigger than yours, and I'm not even a man."**)
This came hot on the heels of a phone message that was waiting for me the previous night, from a different cousin, saying how concerned she is for 'Aunty'. She and her husband had been to visit Mum not long after her diagnosis, but Mum hadn't heard from them since, and has commented on her puzzlement at this a number of times. So this was also a bit of a bolt out of the blue.
For a while now, Mum has been making dark mutterings about how all these relatives that have never bothered to be in touch normally, have suddenly been all over her now that she's sick; and it seems to me that she resents that a bit. I had always tried to talk Mum through this resentment, and point out that it's natural that they would want to be in touch and try to express support for her under the circumstances.
However, after these two phone interactions, I have also started to feel angry and resentful, because it feels like these two cousins are expecting Mum and I to be at their convenience; as if it's our role to meet their needs to feel good about themselves because they've 'made the effort to see poor, sick Aunty'.
I'm angry; really angry. And now I feel guilty about feeling angry and resentful (don't you wish you were inside my head right now? ;-).
Am I a bitch? Am I being unreasonable to judge so harshly, and to not want to make allowances for the feelings and circumstances of these cousins? Is it unreasonable for me to expect them to realise that Mum and I already have enough to deal with, and they should be supporting us, and not the other way round?
I guess these are the questions that will cheat me out of sleep in the next little while.
Families are funny animals, that sadly, don't always bring out the best in us.
OK, angry, sweary rant is now over, and we return you to normal transmission.
* Of course, I didn't say any of this... but really wanted to.
** Again, I didn't, and would never, say this, but by golly it felt cathartically good to write it.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Home, there's no place like it
On Monday this week Mum went into hospital for some symptom management, and as she is going to be there for over a week, I thought I'd take the opportunity to head home to Myrtleford and Beechworth for a flying visit (and an overnighter to Melbourne to catch up with my favourite kidlet, Miss Sophia... oh, and her parents ;-)
Today has been a lovely day. Pottering around the house, and doing three loads of washing (towels, sheets and clothes that have been languishing about the place since I went to Sydney in July). I was also rather pleased and impressed that the house hasn't been overtaken by arachnids, cockroaches and other pesties, and apart from a slight musty smell from being locked up for so long, the house is pretty much as I left it.
This morning whilst pottering about the house, I had a visit from a couple of Myrtleford parishioners, and it was lovely to catch up with them and hear some of the news of what's been happening in my absence. Then I had lunch at Cafe Fez (including a pot of their legendary Moroccan Mint Tea).
In the afternoon, I met up with a group of folks from the Myrtleford church for afternoon tea at the Alpine Gate Cafe. It was good to chat and talk about what's been happening for them, as well as bringing them up to date on the latest news about Mum.
After this, I went out to visit a lady whose husband passed away recently, and we spent a precious time together remembering, laughing, crying, praying, and talking about all manner of things.
When I got home, I had a bit of a frolic in the manse garden. In my absence the lovely man who mows my lawns and keeps the garden under control has been doing his thing (and it looks as though his last visit was not very long ago). I noticed that the rose bush in the back yard was starting to bloom, so I got out my secateurs and cut some of the buds, so that I can enjoy them inside whilst I'm here. When I was doing this, I noticed that the rose bushes were being strangled by sticky weed, so I got my gloves on and enjoyed a very therapeutic 15 minutes or so of ripping the sticky weed out by the roots. Very satisfying it was, too.
The day concluded with some yummy takeaway noodles from the local Chinese, and a phone call to Mum, who has had a full day, with a number of visitors dropping in, and some of them even bringing flowers, which we both had a giggle about.
Tomorrow, I drive to Melbourne, where I will stay in my favourite hotel, the Grand. I intend to set out early enough to check in at the earliest possible opportunity, and make use of the pool and spa at the hotel, and maybe even have a luxurious soak in the bath before heading out to dinner (and being sure to arrive early enough to have some quality reading and cuddle time with Miss Sophia before dinner).
I am so grateful for the opportunity to have this little break: the knowledge that Mum is being well cared for in my absence so I really can relax; the chance to reacquaint myself with 'home' (and pick up some more summery clothes and other bits and pieces to take back to Sydney with me).
Today has been a lovely day. Pottering around the house, and doing three loads of washing (towels, sheets and clothes that have been languishing about the place since I went to Sydney in July). I was also rather pleased and impressed that the house hasn't been overtaken by arachnids, cockroaches and other pesties, and apart from a slight musty smell from being locked up for so long, the house is pretty much as I left it.
This morning whilst pottering about the house, I had a visit from a couple of Myrtleford parishioners, and it was lovely to catch up with them and hear some of the news of what's been happening in my absence. Then I had lunch at Cafe Fez (including a pot of their legendary Moroccan Mint Tea).
In the afternoon, I met up with a group of folks from the Myrtleford church for afternoon tea at the Alpine Gate Cafe. It was good to chat and talk about what's been happening for them, as well as bringing them up to date on the latest news about Mum.
After this, I went out to visit a lady whose husband passed away recently, and we spent a precious time together remembering, laughing, crying, praying, and talking about all manner of things.
When I got home, I had a bit of a frolic in the manse garden. In my absence the lovely man who mows my lawns and keeps the garden under control has been doing his thing (and it looks as though his last visit was not very long ago). I noticed that the rose bush in the back yard was starting to bloom, so I got out my secateurs and cut some of the buds, so that I can enjoy them inside whilst I'm here. When I was doing this, I noticed that the rose bushes were being strangled by sticky weed, so I got my gloves on and enjoyed a very therapeutic 15 minutes or so of ripping the sticky weed out by the roots. Very satisfying it was, too.
The day concluded with some yummy takeaway noodles from the local Chinese, and a phone call to Mum, who has had a full day, with a number of visitors dropping in, and some of them even bringing flowers, which we both had a giggle about.
(There's a story here: When Mum was first admitted to the hospital on Monday, she was placed in a lovely single room, with huge windows that give a lovely view, lots of light - and they even open to let in fresh air. There is a broad window ledge, which visitors can sit on if required. Mum's first comment was, "I'd better get lots of flowers while I'm in here". When I asked her why, she replied, "well, look at that ledge, lots of space for flowers to brighten up the room."
So the next morning, I took in a lovely arrangement of green-toned orchids, and since then, have been dropping lots of very unsubtle hints to various friends and neighbours about taking some flowers in to Mum when they visit.)
Tomorrow, I drive to Melbourne, where I will stay in my favourite hotel, the Grand. I intend to set out early enough to check in at the earliest possible opportunity, and make use of the pool and spa at the hotel, and maybe even have a luxurious soak in the bath before heading out to dinner (and being sure to arrive early enough to have some quality reading and cuddle time with Miss Sophia before dinner).
I am so grateful for the opportunity to have this little break: the knowledge that Mum is being well cared for in my absence so I really can relax; the chance to reacquaint myself with 'home' (and pick up some more summery clothes and other bits and pieces to take back to Sydney with me).
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Cancer is (still) a bastard
And now my attention turns to colleagues' wives and cancer.
Today I learned that the wife of a UCA ministry colleague in my home presbytery passed away yesterday. Loloma had been ill with leukaemia for some time, and finally succumbed.
In addition to this, just before I left home to come to Sydney, I heard that Kate, the wife of my Anglican colleague, had discovered she had cancer, although at that stage it was uncertain how serious the prognosis was. Having heard this week from some folks back home, it seems that her prognosis is not good, and palliative care is likely to feature in her not too distant future. This woman is younger than I, and has three young children, the youngest of which would be about 12 months old now.
Since Mum got sick, after getting over the initial shock of her prognosis, she's been quite philosophical about the prospect of dying. She says that she has had a good and full life, and so for her to die a little earlier than expected is not such a tragedy, and there's no point sitting in a corner and crying.
However, what made Mum really sad was when she was having chemotherapy, and would see others coming in for their treatment, many of whom were quite young: teenagers, young mums, and others who Mum thought should have their whole lives ahead of them, so it was unfair for them to be struck down by this bastard disease.
Whilst Loloma was an older woman (although not quite as old as Mum), with a grown up family, I think this is very true for Kate, who is still young, and has three little girls who will miss their mum.
Sometimes, in such circumstances, words fail. However, I think a friend was spot on when he sent me the following words about this kind of situation:
Today I learned that the wife of a UCA ministry colleague in my home presbytery passed away yesterday. Loloma had been ill with leukaemia for some time, and finally succumbed.
In addition to this, just before I left home to come to Sydney, I heard that Kate, the wife of my Anglican colleague, had discovered she had cancer, although at that stage it was uncertain how serious the prognosis was. Having heard this week from some folks back home, it seems that her prognosis is not good, and palliative care is likely to feature in her not too distant future. This woman is younger than I, and has three young children, the youngest of which would be about 12 months old now.
Since Mum got sick, after getting over the initial shock of her prognosis, she's been quite philosophical about the prospect of dying. She says that she has had a good and full life, and so for her to die a little earlier than expected is not such a tragedy, and there's no point sitting in a corner and crying.
However, what made Mum really sad was when she was having chemotherapy, and would see others coming in for their treatment, many of whom were quite young: teenagers, young mums, and others who Mum thought should have their whole lives ahead of them, so it was unfair for them to be struck down by this bastard disease.
Whilst Loloma was an older woman (although not quite as old as Mum), with a grown up family, I think this is very true for Kate, who is still young, and has three little girls who will miss their mum.
Sometimes, in such circumstances, words fail. However, I think a friend was spot on when he sent me the following words about this kind of situation:
I remember when I was a chaplain in the Inter-Church Trade and Industry Mission (ITIM), my friend’s mother was dying and I asked Fr George Mainprize, of the Anglican Diocese of Newcastle, what appropriate words could I offer.
George said, “It’s a bastard of a thing.”
I said, “Yes it is a bastard not knowing what words are appropriate.“
He looked at me and said “They are the words.”
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Playing guard dog
Mum has been pretty low lately. Because of her fatigue and breathlessness, she can't walk or get around the house independently, and even getting out of her chair and onto the seat of the wheelie walker is such an effort. We're currently waiting for a bed to become available at Greenwich Hospital for a brief period of symptom management and respite. This will hopefully happen early next week.
In the meantime, Mum is not feeling at all sociable, and when people have asked to come and visit in the past week (or even turned up at the door on the off chance), I have had to tell them that Mum isn't up to visitors, and put them off.
Whilst I don't at all mind having the role of guarding Mum's space, sometimes I feel a bit torn about always saying no to people.
I understand that Mum is tired and feeling totally 'blah', and as such just doesn't want to be bothered dealing with visitors. But, without wanting to trivialise what Mum's going through, it strikes me as one of those kinds of situations like going to the gym on a cold and miserable morning. You so don't want to leave the warmth and comfort of bed to get out and go, knowing that it will be hard work and maybe even painful; but once you've done it, you feel good and invigorated for the rest of the day.
Whilst I understand that for Mum, the effort of facing people coming to visit is hard, but at the same time, as she isn't really able to get out any more, it can't be a good thing for mine to be the only face that she sees day in and day out. Surely brief visits from people who care, and who understand how tired and sick Mum is would have to be beneficial?
As I see it, there are two sides to this issue. One is that people want to visit Mum to let her (and me) know that they care, and want to be supportive, for Mum's sake. But there's also the other aspect- that we all know Mum is going to die sometime soon, and friends and relatives want to see her, as part of the ongoing farewell, for their own sakes.
I think it's important for us to allow our friends and family to participate in this journey with us, as we draw closer to the pointy end. It will be good for them, and good for us... so now my challenge is to convince Mum to say yes to visits. There will obviously be some days when she's not having a good day at all, and so it will be appropriate for me to be the guard dog, and send people away from the door, or when they phone, tell them not to come; but on days like today, which has not been a particularly bad day, it would be nice to say yes to a visit, for all of our sakes.
In the meantime, Mum is not feeling at all sociable, and when people have asked to come and visit in the past week (or even turned up at the door on the off chance), I have had to tell them that Mum isn't up to visitors, and put them off.
Whilst I don't at all mind having the role of guarding Mum's space, sometimes I feel a bit torn about always saying no to people.
I understand that Mum is tired and feeling totally 'blah', and as such just doesn't want to be bothered dealing with visitors. But, without wanting to trivialise what Mum's going through, it strikes me as one of those kinds of situations like going to the gym on a cold and miserable morning. You so don't want to leave the warmth and comfort of bed to get out and go, knowing that it will be hard work and maybe even painful; but once you've done it, you feel good and invigorated for the rest of the day.
Whilst I understand that for Mum, the effort of facing people coming to visit is hard, but at the same time, as she isn't really able to get out any more, it can't be a good thing for mine to be the only face that she sees day in and day out. Surely brief visits from people who care, and who understand how tired and sick Mum is would have to be beneficial?
As I see it, there are two sides to this issue. One is that people want to visit Mum to let her (and me) know that they care, and want to be supportive, for Mum's sake. But there's also the other aspect- that we all know Mum is going to die sometime soon, and friends and relatives want to see her, as part of the ongoing farewell, for their own sakes.
I think it's important for us to allow our friends and family to participate in this journey with us, as we draw closer to the pointy end. It will be good for them, and good for us... so now my challenge is to convince Mum to say yes to visits. There will obviously be some days when she's not having a good day at all, and so it will be appropriate for me to be the guard dog, and send people away from the door, or when they phone, tell them not to come; but on days like today, which has not been a particularly bad day, it would be nice to say yes to a visit, for all of our sakes.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Rocky road
Today was the 5th anniversary of Dad's death. As this day was approaching, I'd been wondering what (if anything) I should suggest to Mum that we do to observe the anniversary. In past years I know Mum has watched the DVD of Dad's funeral, but we didn't do that today. In fact, we didn't do anything special to mark the anniversary. At about 10pm, I mentioned to her that it was the day, and she said she knew, but didn't want to make a big deal of it. Dealing with her own situation is enough for her for now.
Since her fall a week and a half ago, Mum's general state has been up and down. Although she now has a wheelie walker, she can't use it to walk, as even the slightest exertion causes her to become quite breathless. So now, we use the wheelie walker as a wheelchair; Mum sits on the walker's seat, and I wheel her around on it.
Yesterday, Mum had a bad day. In the morning she was breathless and distressed. We both thought she might have ended up in hospital, but it didn't happen. After ringing the Greenwich hospital palliative care team, I gave her another Endone tablet, and that settled her breathing down, and calmed her down generally. She spent most of the day sleeping; but trying to do anything, even the least strenuous movement was excruciating for her.
When she went to bed last night, her sleep sounded troubled, and her breathing laboured. When she snored, it sounded like she was moaning in her sleep, and it was hard to listen to as I lay awake in the next room. I prayed for God to take her in her sleep, as it pains me to see her suffering and so miserable.
Today was a slightly better day, without the distress, but still hard work for Mum to do anything other than sitting in her chair. She said again that she thinks she should be in hospital, mainly because she thinks that her dependence on me to help her with everything is too much for me to have to bear. I don't mind having to do all the things I do to support her, but it is hard to see my mother, who has always been so strong, active and capable, so helpless and scrawny.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring? We're trying to just take one day at a time.
Since her fall a week and a half ago, Mum's general state has been up and down. Although she now has a wheelie walker, she can't use it to walk, as even the slightest exertion causes her to become quite breathless. So now, we use the wheelie walker as a wheelchair; Mum sits on the walker's seat, and I wheel her around on it.
Yesterday, Mum had a bad day. In the morning she was breathless and distressed. We both thought she might have ended up in hospital, but it didn't happen. After ringing the Greenwich hospital palliative care team, I gave her another Endone tablet, and that settled her breathing down, and calmed her down generally. She spent most of the day sleeping; but trying to do anything, even the least strenuous movement was excruciating for her.
When she went to bed last night, her sleep sounded troubled, and her breathing laboured. When she snored, it sounded like she was moaning in her sleep, and it was hard to listen to as I lay awake in the next room. I prayed for God to take her in her sleep, as it pains me to see her suffering and so miserable.
Today was a slightly better day, without the distress, but still hard work for Mum to do anything other than sitting in her chair. She said again that she thinks she should be in hospital, mainly because she thinks that her dependence on me to help her with everything is too much for me to have to bear. I don't mind having to do all the things I do to support her, but it is hard to see my mother, who has always been so strong, active and capable, so helpless and scrawny.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring? We're trying to just take one day at a time.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Simple things, small things, things to be grateful for
As Mum's strength and energy continue to wane, I have so much to be grateful for.
I am grateful for the team from Greenwich; for Robyn the RN, for Alyssia the OT, for Hanna and Cam the physios, for Geoff the psychologist, for Ruth and Kat the doctors and everyone else on the team. I am grateful for the efficiency, patience and compassion with which they have cared for Mum and for me so far.
I am grateful for the shiny green wheelie-walker that has enabled Mum to be more confident to move around the house since her fall last week, and, the shower chair that will also help her to maintain her independence for a little longer.
I am grateful for the Shanghai Rolex Masters tennis comp, and the golf tournaments in exotic places like Turkey and Portugal that no-one has ever heard of, that have been keeping Mum amused since we got Foxtel on our TV earlier this week.
I am grateful for the box of fruit and veges that I found on the front porch this morning, and other gifts of food from loving neighbours and friends. Even though the main purpose of these fresh yummies is to try to tempt Mum to eat, the givers are well aware of the fact that I am most likely to be the one who benefits most from them, so it's a gift of love for me too.
I am grateful for the love of friends and family who come to visit (often travelling significant distances to get here), or call to see how we're going; and that I had a long phone conversation this afternoon with a cousin whom I haven't seen or spoken to for longer than I can remember.
I'm grateful for the colourful and cheeky lorikeets that squawk and squeal to be fed, and for the especially tame pair that come right up the steps to the back deck and warble gently at me for food; and for all the different birds (and the water dragons) in our backyard, all of whom remind me that there is a strong and vibrant life going on in the world around us, in contrast to the journey towards death that I am taking with Mum.
I'm grateful for the support of my church congregations back home, who regularly send me emails, letters and call me to assure me of their care and prayers; and also for the church family at North Ryde Community Church, who have welcomed me among them, and offered care and support.
I'm grateful for the 'Princess of Pain' (aka Linda, the gym trainer) who has helped me to work out an exercise program at the local gym, and the opportunity to get out and use my body in ways that it hasn't experienced in a long time.
So, when I think about it, there is an awful lot to be thankful for (and I have really only scratched the surface here- many things and people I haven't mentioned).
I am grateful for the team from Greenwich; for Robyn the RN, for Alyssia the OT, for Hanna and Cam the physios, for Geoff the psychologist, for Ruth and Kat the doctors and everyone else on the team. I am grateful for the efficiency, patience and compassion with which they have cared for Mum and for me so far.
I am grateful for the shiny green wheelie-walker that has enabled Mum to be more confident to move around the house since her fall last week, and, the shower chair that will also help her to maintain her independence for a little longer.
I am grateful for the Shanghai Rolex Masters tennis comp, and the golf tournaments in exotic places like Turkey and Portugal that no-one has ever heard of, that have been keeping Mum amused since we got Foxtel on our TV earlier this week.
I am grateful for the box of fruit and veges that I found on the front porch this morning, and other gifts of food from loving neighbours and friends. Even though the main purpose of these fresh yummies is to try to tempt Mum to eat, the givers are well aware of the fact that I am most likely to be the one who benefits most from them, so it's a gift of love for me too.
I am grateful for the love of friends and family who come to visit (often travelling significant distances to get here), or call to see how we're going; and that I had a long phone conversation this afternoon with a cousin whom I haven't seen or spoken to for longer than I can remember.
I'm grateful for the colourful and cheeky lorikeets that squawk and squeal to be fed, and for the especially tame pair that come right up the steps to the back deck and warble gently at me for food; and for all the different birds (and the water dragons) in our backyard, all of whom remind me that there is a strong and vibrant life going on in the world around us, in contrast to the journey towards death that I am taking with Mum.
I'm grateful for the support of my church congregations back home, who regularly send me emails, letters and call me to assure me of their care and prayers; and also for the church family at North Ryde Community Church, who have welcomed me among them, and offered care and support.
I'm grateful for the 'Princess of Pain' (aka Linda, the gym trainer) who has helped me to work out an exercise program at the local gym, and the opportunity to get out and use my body in ways that it hasn't experienced in a long time.
So, when I think about it, there is an awful lot to be thankful for (and I have really only scratched the surface here- many things and people I haven't mentioned).
Tuesday, October 09, 2012
A little bit shaky
'Up and down' is the order of the day right now.
Since her last radiotherapy treatment, Mum hasn't been quite right. Although the radiotherapy seems to have been successful in alleviating the pain in her back and hip (which is why she had the treatment), there are a couple of new things that have emerged since the treatment. I'm not sure if these new symptoms (light-headedness and a colicky pain in her gut) are the after effects of the radiation therapy, which will eventually resolve, or if they are part of the next stage of the overall disease progression.
On Friday morning, Mum had a fall. After feeling light-headed, she lost control and ended up hitting the floor hard. She wasn't injured, but was shaken up pretty severely, and has lost a lot of confidence since then, often needing me to support her ('just in case') when she walks around the house. She's also been feeling miserable, wishing to die now, rather than going through all this pain and misery.
It's been as if Mum is crumpling in on herself, both physically and emotionally, and that's been so hard to watch. I've cried a lot in the past few days, whilst all the time trying to remain strong in front of Mum. I'm grateful for the incredible support of the Greenwich Hospital Community Palliative Care Team, who have responded to my latest cry for help more promptly and thoroughly than I expected, or could have hoped for.
Some of the allied health professionals from the team will be visiting us at home during the week and given how shaky Mum's been feeling since her fall on Friday, it's good that they can come to us this time, rather than having to take Mum out to Greenwich.
Meanwhile, I still try to tempt Mum to eat, as her appetite continues to decrease, and at the moment she derives no joy at all from food or eating. We have started trialling some different nutritional supplements in addition to the vanilla Sustagen Mum's been having, and some of these have been quite well received, so that's good (especially since the Resource Plus and Fortisip varieties are even more nutritionally dense than the Sustagen).
In addition to the medical appointments that have now popped into our calendar for this week, tomorrow (or today, technically) is a day of excitement, as we are having Foxtel installed, so Mum can watch her favourite sports (ie ALL the cricket), which are ignored by free to air TV. I'm hoping that Mum will be able to get excited about this 'new toy' and that that might lift her mood a bit.
Through everything I remain hopeful that Mum will be able to latch onto the good things to celebrate amidst the pain and difficulty that she finds so exhausting.
Since her last radiotherapy treatment, Mum hasn't been quite right. Although the radiotherapy seems to have been successful in alleviating the pain in her back and hip (which is why she had the treatment), there are a couple of new things that have emerged since the treatment. I'm not sure if these new symptoms (light-headedness and a colicky pain in her gut) are the after effects of the radiation therapy, which will eventually resolve, or if they are part of the next stage of the overall disease progression.
On Friday morning, Mum had a fall. After feeling light-headed, she lost control and ended up hitting the floor hard. She wasn't injured, but was shaken up pretty severely, and has lost a lot of confidence since then, often needing me to support her ('just in case') when she walks around the house. She's also been feeling miserable, wishing to die now, rather than going through all this pain and misery.
It's been as if Mum is crumpling in on herself, both physically and emotionally, and that's been so hard to watch. I've cried a lot in the past few days, whilst all the time trying to remain strong in front of Mum. I'm grateful for the incredible support of the Greenwich Hospital Community Palliative Care Team, who have responded to my latest cry for help more promptly and thoroughly than I expected, or could have hoped for.
Some of the allied health professionals from the team will be visiting us at home during the week and given how shaky Mum's been feeling since her fall on Friday, it's good that they can come to us this time, rather than having to take Mum out to Greenwich.
Meanwhile, I still try to tempt Mum to eat, as her appetite continues to decrease, and at the moment she derives no joy at all from food or eating. We have started trialling some different nutritional supplements in addition to the vanilla Sustagen Mum's been having, and some of these have been quite well received, so that's good (especially since the Resource Plus and Fortisip varieties are even more nutritionally dense than the Sustagen).
In addition to the medical appointments that have now popped into our calendar for this week, tomorrow (or today, technically) is a day of excitement, as we are having Foxtel installed, so Mum can watch her favourite sports (ie ALL the cricket), which are ignored by free to air TV. I'm hoping that Mum will be able to get excited about this 'new toy' and that that might lift her mood a bit.
Through everything I remain hopeful that Mum will be able to latch onto the good things to celebrate amidst the pain and difficulty that she finds so exhausting.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Twinkle toes
A little while ago, I wrote a post about the nightly foot massage ritual I have established with Mum.
I noticed a few weeks ago, that when I finish massaging the cream into Mum's feet, before I put her socks on, she tends to wiggle her toes, rubbing them together. When I asked her about this, she said it was a last attempt to make sure that her toes weren't too slippery from the cream before the socks went on. I teased her gently and called her 'Twinkle Toes', and she laughed.
Ever since then, every time I massage Mum's feet, when I finish each foot, before putting the sock on, I say, "come on, Twinkle Toes," and she wiggles and twitches her toes accordingly, and grins like a little girl.
Seeing that look on her face, and the shared joke that elicits that grin, makes my heart melt. I'm so thankful for these precious times we are able to share.
I noticed a few weeks ago, that when I finish massaging the cream into Mum's feet, before I put her socks on, she tends to wiggle her toes, rubbing them together. When I asked her about this, she said it was a last attempt to make sure that her toes weren't too slippery from the cream before the socks went on. I teased her gently and called her 'Twinkle Toes', and she laughed.
Ever since then, every time I massage Mum's feet, when I finish each foot, before putting the sock on, I say, "come on, Twinkle Toes," and she wiggles and twitches her toes accordingly, and grins like a little girl.
Seeing that look on her face, and the shared joke that elicits that grin, makes my heart melt. I'm so thankful for these precious times we are able to share.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Blowing a trumpet... but not my own
I feel compelled to sing the praises of my mother's local pharmacy. The Naim Pharmacy, located in the same complex as Mum's GP, (2a/124A Epping Road North Ryde) is owned and run by Joe and Charbel Naim, two brothers who are both pharmacists.
Joe and Charbel took over the pharmacy a number of years ago, before the construction of the purpose-built medical centre complex where it's currently located. The previous pharmacist had been very well regarded by all her clientele, and when she was preparing to leave the business, predictions that no other pharmacist could possibly fill her shoes were common. But the reality is that Joe and Charbel have not only filled her shoes, but well and truly exceeded her in the way they run their business.
Many of their customers are regulars, who are also patients of the GP located in the same complex. Every time I've gone into the pharmacy (which has been quite often since I've been here in Sydney), they always greet me by name (as they do to most people who enter the shop). They are often busy, but are never rushed. Every time I've had a prescription filled there, whether it's Joe or Charbel who serves me, they are very particular about going through the medications that they have dispensed, so I know that what I'm getting is what was on the prescriptions. They have also been very good at pointing out side effects and possible interactions to look out for, especially when Mum was recently prescribed a new medication, and Charbel queried it with me, as he said there might be an interaction with one of the other drugs she was on.
But the thing I'm most excited about right now is the great PBS refund I just received from Medicare. Although most of my visits to Joe and Charbel are to fill prescriptions for Mum (who has well and truly reached the Medicare Safety Net, so gets most of her meds free now), I do have two medications I take on a regular basis, which cost me around $35 each. One day when I paid the $70 to get my two prescriptions filled, I happened to mention to Charbel that I had applied to Centrelink for Carer Payment and was looking forward to the receipt of my Pensioner Concession Card, which would entitle me to cheaper prescriptions ($5.80, as opposed to $35). He said that it would be likely that when I received the card, it would be back-dated, so I should come in and get tax invoices for any prescriptions I'd paid full price for after that date so I could claim the difference back from Medicare.
I had no idea that this would be possible, and wouldn't have thought anything of it if Charbel hadn't mentioned it to me. So after receiving my Pension Concession Card yesterday, I went in to see Charbel, who printed out receipts for all of the prescriptions I'd had filled since 23 July (which was the start date of the card). He also printed out the relevant Medicare claim form and gave me advice on how to fill it in.
So today I toddled off to the local Medicare office, and processed the claim, and for 6 different items, I received a refund of $105. I was very impressed, and grateful to Charbel for taking the initiative to tell me of the entitlement to claim for those prescriptions.
Now at one level, the kind of service that Joe and Charbel provide is nothing extraordinary, and merely what one would expect from a local pharmacist, but I don't think any other pharmacy I've been to has been that good. The way Joe and Charbel have cared for Mum (and for me since I've been here) has been exemplary, and we really appreciate the 'extra mile' that they often seem willing to go. So I wanted to acknowledge how amazing they are, and encourage anyone in this neck of the woods to support their business.
I've commented before how blessed we have been by the wonderful professional people God has sent to care for Mum- the various doctors who have treated her, the community nurses who visit us at home, the palliative care team from Greenwich Hospital, and the staff from Catholic Community Services, who provide domestic and counselling services. Joe and Charbel are certainly right up there with all of these people, as one (or two) of the greatest blessings we have in professional care for Mum.
Joe and Charbel took over the pharmacy a number of years ago, before the construction of the purpose-built medical centre complex where it's currently located. The previous pharmacist had been very well regarded by all her clientele, and when she was preparing to leave the business, predictions that no other pharmacist could possibly fill her shoes were common. But the reality is that Joe and Charbel have not only filled her shoes, but well and truly exceeded her in the way they run their business.
Many of their customers are regulars, who are also patients of the GP located in the same complex. Every time I've gone into the pharmacy (which has been quite often since I've been here in Sydney), they always greet me by name (as they do to most people who enter the shop). They are often busy, but are never rushed. Every time I've had a prescription filled there, whether it's Joe or Charbel who serves me, they are very particular about going through the medications that they have dispensed, so I know that what I'm getting is what was on the prescriptions. They have also been very good at pointing out side effects and possible interactions to look out for, especially when Mum was recently prescribed a new medication, and Charbel queried it with me, as he said there might be an interaction with one of the other drugs she was on.
But the thing I'm most excited about right now is the great PBS refund I just received from Medicare. Although most of my visits to Joe and Charbel are to fill prescriptions for Mum (who has well and truly reached the Medicare Safety Net, so gets most of her meds free now), I do have two medications I take on a regular basis, which cost me around $35 each. One day when I paid the $70 to get my two prescriptions filled, I happened to mention to Charbel that I had applied to Centrelink for Carer Payment and was looking forward to the receipt of my Pensioner Concession Card, which would entitle me to cheaper prescriptions ($5.80, as opposed to $35). He said that it would be likely that when I received the card, it would be back-dated, so I should come in and get tax invoices for any prescriptions I'd paid full price for after that date so I could claim the difference back from Medicare.
I had no idea that this would be possible, and wouldn't have thought anything of it if Charbel hadn't mentioned it to me. So after receiving my Pension Concession Card yesterday, I went in to see Charbel, who printed out receipts for all of the prescriptions I'd had filled since 23 July (which was the start date of the card). He also printed out the relevant Medicare claim form and gave me advice on how to fill it in.
So today I toddled off to the local Medicare office, and processed the claim, and for 6 different items, I received a refund of $105. I was very impressed, and grateful to Charbel for taking the initiative to tell me of the entitlement to claim for those prescriptions.
Now at one level, the kind of service that Joe and Charbel provide is nothing extraordinary, and merely what one would expect from a local pharmacist, but I don't think any other pharmacy I've been to has been that good. The way Joe and Charbel have cared for Mum (and for me since I've been here) has been exemplary, and we really appreciate the 'extra mile' that they often seem willing to go. So I wanted to acknowledge how amazing they are, and encourage anyone in this neck of the woods to support their business.
I've commented before how blessed we have been by the wonderful professional people God has sent to care for Mum- the various doctors who have treated her, the community nurses who visit us at home, the palliative care team from Greenwich Hospital, and the staff from Catholic Community Services, who provide domestic and counselling services. Joe and Charbel are certainly right up there with all of these people, as one (or two) of the greatest blessings we have in professional care for Mum.
... and where are we zapping you today?
This is the question Mum was asked by the radiotherapy technicians this afternoon when she went in for her latest treatment (not because they didn't know what she was there for; the question was one of their cross-checks to ensure against any mistaken patient identity issues).
This time, she had a one-off treatment at a higher dose rate, rather than the lower-dose, daily treatments for a fortnight that she had last time.
This time, the second spinal tumour (at T8) was the main target, as well as a spot on Mum's right hip that was shown up as a 'hot spot' on her recent bone scan, and which may be connected in some way with the pain Mum experiences in her hip when walking.
When Mum was receiving her treatment today, the technicians warned her that she might feel 'pretty sick' in the next few days, as the radiation dose was 'pretty high'. In preparation for this, I had already increased her dose of dexamethasone (an anti-inflammatory steriod given to reduce inflammation at the site of treatment, that also helps to decrease nausea and increase appetite); and given her one of the super-duper anti-nausea tablets (that are only allowed to be prescribed for patients undergoing chemo or radiotherapy), so we were as prepared as we could be.
Tonight, after what could euphemistically be called 'dinner' (all Mum could stomach was one-and-a half party pies and a few sips of orange juice- not because of the treatment; this is a pretty normal representation of her appetite in recent days), Mum started to feel some tight pain in her upper back and stomach. The pain was similar to what she experiences with reflux, but the usual things that relieve her reflux didn't make any impact on the pain this time. It seems that the pain was probably an after-effect of today's radiation, so I suggested she take an Endone and lie down on the lounge to try to get comfortable. Fortunately, once the Endone kicked in, the pain abated a bit, and she was able to have her evening cuppa and go to bed.
I have I feeling that tonight's episode was a foretaste of things to come in the next few days, so I'm girding my loins, making sure we have plenty of stock of all the meds Mum will need to keep her comfortable over the weekend, and praying hard.
This time, she had a one-off treatment at a higher dose rate, rather than the lower-dose, daily treatments for a fortnight that she had last time.
This time, the second spinal tumour (at T8) was the main target, as well as a spot on Mum's right hip that was shown up as a 'hot spot' on her recent bone scan, and which may be connected in some way with the pain Mum experiences in her hip when walking.
When Mum was receiving her treatment today, the technicians warned her that she might feel 'pretty sick' in the next few days, as the radiation dose was 'pretty high'. In preparation for this, I had already increased her dose of dexamethasone (an anti-inflammatory steriod given to reduce inflammation at the site of treatment, that also helps to decrease nausea and increase appetite); and given her one of the super-duper anti-nausea tablets (that are only allowed to be prescribed for patients undergoing chemo or radiotherapy), so we were as prepared as we could be.
Tonight, after what could euphemistically be called 'dinner' (all Mum could stomach was one-and-a half party pies and a few sips of orange juice- not because of the treatment; this is a pretty normal representation of her appetite in recent days), Mum started to feel some tight pain in her upper back and stomach. The pain was similar to what she experiences with reflux, but the usual things that relieve her reflux didn't make any impact on the pain this time. It seems that the pain was probably an after-effect of today's radiation, so I suggested she take an Endone and lie down on the lounge to try to get comfortable. Fortunately, once the Endone kicked in, the pain abated a bit, and she was able to have her evening cuppa and go to bed.
I have I feeling that tonight's episode was a foretaste of things to come in the next few days, so I'm girding my loins, making sure we have plenty of stock of all the meds Mum will need to keep her comfortable over the weekend, and praying hard.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Family likeness
I never really thought that I looked much like Mum. All of my relatives on Mum's side of the family claim that I'm the spitting image of my maternal grandmother (whom I never met, as she died when I was a baby). When I was in my early 20s, Mum showed me a photo of Grandma in her late teens, claiming that my resemblance to her was striking. I couldn't see it at all.
Some years later, after I moved to Hobart, I was looking through some family photos at my uncle and aunt's house, and saw a photo of Grandma, and suddenly it hit me. The likeness was indeed quite striking. I think it has a lot to do with the dark, puffy bags I have under my eyes, and the fact that my eyes always look saggy and tired, just like Grandma's. After this significant epiphany, I got a copy of that photo of Grandma and have it in a frame at home now.
In more recent years, friends who meet Mum for the first time often comment that there is a strong resemblance there between her and me, but I still can't see it. Or at least I couldn't... until today.
I was swanning around on Facebook (as you do) and as my mouse cursor hovered over my own name on a post I'd made, it brought up a picture of my FB 'profile picture' (of me wearing my glasses, which I rarely do) inset into my FB 'cover picture' (one of Mum, at a similar angle). It suddenly hit me that yes, there is a resemblance there (even though Mum is now much thinner than I am).
Funny how it takes a particular picture, angle or juxtaposition of photos to be able to see this. (I think the resemblance is in the cheekbones and glasses ;-)
Some years later, after I moved to Hobart, I was looking through some family photos at my uncle and aunt's house, and saw a photo of Grandma, and suddenly it hit me. The likeness was indeed quite striking. I think it has a lot to do with the dark, puffy bags I have under my eyes, and the fact that my eyes always look saggy and tired, just like Grandma's. After this significant epiphany, I got a copy of that photo of Grandma and have it in a frame at home now.
In more recent years, friends who meet Mum for the first time often comment that there is a strong resemblance there between her and me, but I still can't see it. Or at least I couldn't... until today.
I was swanning around on Facebook (as you do) and as my mouse cursor hovered over my own name on a post I'd made, it brought up a picture of my FB 'profile picture' (of me wearing my glasses, which I rarely do) inset into my FB 'cover picture' (one of Mum, at a similar angle). It suddenly hit me that yes, there is a resemblance there (even though Mum is now much thinner than I am).
Funny how it takes a particular picture, angle or juxtaposition of photos to be able to see this. (I think the resemblance is in the cheekbones and glasses ;-)
 |
| My Facebook banner, with the picture of Mum inset with my profile picture |
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Crossing Borders
Sermon for North Ryde Community Church 16 Sept 2012
Mark 7:24-37; Proverbs22:1-2, 8-9,
22-23; James 2:1-10, 14-17
(and yes, I know these readings are really set for the previous Sunday)
(and yes, I know these readings are really set for the previous Sunday)
When the Gospel of Mark was
written, one of the biggest questions for the early church was: “Who is IN, and
who is OUT?”
The followers of Jesus were
initially Jews, as Christianity developed as a cult out of Judaism, but before
long, the Good News spread and many non-Jewish, formerly ‘unclean Gentiles’
joined the believing community. The community was then faced with dilemmas-
should Gentile believers be required to follow the Jewish laws? Should the
males be circumcised? Should they adhere to the holiness code, of what was
clean and unclean to eat, and other practices that are outlined in Jewish law?
The Apostle Paul had a lot to say about this in his epistles to the early
church.
The question about who is in
or out is important to us as we read today’s Gospel reading (and I’ll be
focussing on the first section of the reading today), because:
* Mark’s Gospel was written
to, and in the context of, a community of Gentile Christians,
* A lot of the ‘action’ in
this Gospel happens in Gentile regions
* the action often involves
Gentiles, or ‘outsiders’ to the faith community of Jesus’ time, and
* more often than not, it’s
those ‘outsiders’ who actually ‘get’ what Jesus is on about. (Indeed, New
Testament scholar Bill Loader comments that, “It’s a common feature in Mark
that he portrays the disciples as particularly dense”. With the benefits of
hindsight, it’s easy for us to laugh at how dense the disciples are, but in the
same position, we probably wouldn’t have fared much better.)
So, with all this in mind,
we can see that a major theme of Mark’s Gospel is one of inclusion; demonstrating
the breadth of God’s love and welcome. I would encourage you to read the whole
of Mark’s Gospel through. It’s the shortest of the four Gospels, and is a
rollicking read, full of action; a bit like the ‘Boys’ Own Adventure’ of the
Bible.
We see this theme of
inclusion in the story of Jesus’ encounter with the Syro-Phonoecian woman. When
it comes to being an outsider or second-class citizen, this woman has the
double-whammy. Not only is she a woman (seen as a second class citizen in most
cultures of the day), but she is also a Gentile. Therefore it would be pretty
outrageous and unlikely that she would dare approach Jesus… but she does.
Jesus’ initial response is
to refuse her request; and not only does he refuse her, but he does it in a
very insulting way, mouthing a common prejudice of the time.
He says, “Let the children
first be fed; for it is not good to take the children’s bread and throw it to
the dogs.” (Mark 7:27).
I don’t know about you, but
this doesn’t sit well with my picture of a loving, kind, ‘sweetness and
light’ Jesus. In saying these words, Jesus is reinforcing that his primary mission is
to the ‘children’ of Israel, and that the Gentiles (ie everyone else) are dogs.
The image of dogs here is not one of cute pets, as we might thing of dogs in
our society today. No, dogs back in Jesus’ day were wild, dirty, smelly animals
(hmm... not much difference really :-) that were not pets, but nasty, scavenging animals, that were not at all nice.
So calling Gentiles dogs is both insulting and demeaning.
We can never know if what we
have here is ‘accurate history’ (as we must remember that the Gospels were
written as theological documents, not detailed, historical accounts), or a
story where the story-teller was a little careless. He certainly had no
compunction about portraying Jesus as saying what many would have said- ie that
Israel are God’s children, and the Gentiles are like dogs.
But the good news is that whether in story or reality, Jesus refuses to remain bound by such distinctions.
He crosses the boundary when
challenged and convinced by the Syro-Phonoecian woman, and demonstrates the
inclusiveness of God’s kingdom by healing her daughter.
Crossing such boundaries and
borders is something Jesus did a lot of.
As humans we take great
delight in creating and protecting borders. We’ve all heard in recent news
about our own country’s border issues, as this week the first shipment of
asylum seekers (including unaccompanied minors) was sent to Nauru.
This week’s Old Testament
reading from Proverbs also speaks to this contemporary scenario:
“Do not rob the poor because they are pooror crush the afflicted at the gate;for the Lord pleads their causeand despoils of life those who despoil them.” (Prov 22:22-23)
What do we do for the poor and
afflicted (like asylum seekers) who come to our gate?
According to the news, we
pack them off to some off-shore tent city processing centre where they will
languish, possibly for years, before their cases for asylum and refugee status
will be properly heard.
All because in our country, there
is so much fear of the different, of the outsider, that all our politicians see
our borders and the boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’, between in and out, as
sacred (and it’s doubly tragic that both sides of politics: the government and
opposition, are equally evil on this matter).
They say:
“Let the fair dinkum Australians first be fed
(and housed and given jobs, healthcare and services);
for it is not good to take the fair dinkum Australians’ bread
and throw it to the foreign dogs
(no matter how desperate and starving they are).”
Sound familiar?
Just as Jesus crossed a
well-established boundary when he acknowledged the Syro-Phonoecian woman, and
opened his ministry of healing and God’s love and grace to her and others who
were ‘outsiders’; so we as followers of Jesus are called to follow his example
of love, acceptance and inclusion- reaching across the boundaries that exist in
our own society.
Let us pray:
God of outsiders, and of those whose ears are slow to hear
and whose tongues are hesitant to sing,
please make us the agents of your joy.
Help us to hear your word more clearly, to serve you more gladly, and to sing your praises more eagerly.
Then will our daily lives be in tune with your love,
our deeds become channels of Christ’s grace,
and our souls revel in the fellowship of your Spirit.
For your love’s sake. Amen.
(prayer © Bruce Prewer. Used with permission)
God of outsiders, and of those whose ears are slow to hear
and whose tongues are hesitant to sing,
please make us the agents of your joy.
Help us to hear your word more clearly, to serve you more gladly, and to sing your praises more eagerly.
Then will our daily lives be in tune with your love,
our deeds become channels of Christ’s grace,
and our souls revel in the fellowship of your Spirit.
For your love’s sake. Amen.
(prayer © Bruce Prewer. Used with permission)
Thursday, September 13, 2012
A Tale of Two (or Three) Cities
In my 29 years (and some months) I have lived at various times in three different capital cities and two country towns.
I grew up in Sydney, but haven't lived there permanently since I was in my mid-twenties, back in 1989, when I moved to Hobart. Despite what some people say about the excitement factor of Sydney, it's not a place that I would ever choose to live again. Of course, since moving away, I have returned many times, mainly for the purpose of catching up with special people - family and friends - and not for the sake of visiting the city itself.
Hobart is a completely different kettle of fish. In the 17 years I lived there, I fell totally and utterly in love with the place. Actually it took me far less than 17 years to fall in love with Tasmania. I think it was only a year or so after moving to Hobart that I found myself driving into Bright, Vic, to attend a national meeting of Fusion leaders. As we entered the town, I remember looking around at the breathtakingly beautiful scenery, and thinking, "Wow, this is beautiful! Almost as nice as... ooohhh!!!" (because that sentence was heading towards the ending: "... Almost as nice as the Midlands of Tasmania".) It was at this moment that I realised that I had become a Tasmanian- in spirit at least.
Hobart to me is the perfect city. It has all the facilities and advantages of a capital city, without any of the disadvantages. No huge skyscrapers, no pollution or traffic, and people actually look at you on the street, and you often see people you know around town (which can be an advantage or disadvantage, at times). Wherever you go in the Hobart city and suburbs, there is always a view of either the river, the mountain, or both. (The flat I bought in the northern suburbs has a great view from the balcony- the river to the left, the mountain to the right, and straight ahead, a wonderful vista of the Glenorchy industrial estate- what more could a girl want?!) Hobart is the place that I think of when I think of my true 'home', and since moving to Victoria, I have been dreadfully homesick for Tassie.
And then there's Melbourne.
There are good reasons why Melbourne was recently feted as the world's most liveable city. I lived in Melbourne for just over three years, whilst I was doing my theological training. For the first six months, I lived in Kew, a painfully silvertail suburb, where I felt nervous every time I drove up the street where I lived, as there were so many Porsches and other very expensive cars with which I definitely did not want to have a close encounter with my humble little Ford Festiva. For the remaining 2.5 years, I lived in Brunswick, and loved it.
During my time in Melbourne, I always felt safe when walking around the city or catching public transport at night, and actually enjoy coming back to the city whenever I can get down from the north east of the state (or Sydney, where I am based at the moment).
There's just something about Melbourne. I love the feel of Sydney Road in Brunswick, the buzz of the inner city, the trams zipping around, and it's quite easy to drive around and find your way around the city in Melbourne.
I learned to drive in Sydney, and for the two years I studied at UNSW, I drove every day to Kensington from North Ryde, so I was quite experienced at driving in traffic. However, I would never choose to drive around the inner city in Sydney, much preferring to use public transport or taxis. There has always been something scary to me about the prospect of driving around the city or inner suburbs of Sydney.
Melbourne, on the other hand is much easier to get around in a car. In the time I lived there, and in the almost four years since (of living in a country town that doesn't even have traffic lights), the prospect of driving in Melbourne's CBD has never fazed me. Whenever I go to Melbourne I often choose to stay in hotels in the inner city, and have no problems navigating my way around the city to get to my hotel, and wherever else I need to go. I just look up my route on Google Maps, or consult my trusty Melway, and off I go. I have even become quite proficient in the execution of the infamous 'hook turns' of Melbourne's CBD, where you have to turn right from the left hand lane. This may sound a bit counter-intuitive, and many people criticise hook turns, but I think the hook turn is eminently sensible, as it facilitates traffic flow, which is not held up by cars waiting to turn right in the middle of the street.
It's interesting how two big cities can be so different (at least different in how I experience them).
I grew up in Sydney, but haven't lived there permanently since I was in my mid-twenties, back in 1989, when I moved to Hobart. Despite what some people say about the excitement factor of Sydney, it's not a place that I would ever choose to live again. Of course, since moving away, I have returned many times, mainly for the purpose of catching up with special people - family and friends - and not for the sake of visiting the city itself.
Hobart is a completely different kettle of fish. In the 17 years I lived there, I fell totally and utterly in love with the place. Actually it took me far less than 17 years to fall in love with Tasmania. I think it was only a year or so after moving to Hobart that I found myself driving into Bright, Vic, to attend a national meeting of Fusion leaders. As we entered the town, I remember looking around at the breathtakingly beautiful scenery, and thinking, "Wow, this is beautiful! Almost as nice as... ooohhh!!!" (because that sentence was heading towards the ending: "... Almost as nice as the Midlands of Tasmania".) It was at this moment that I realised that I had become a Tasmanian- in spirit at least.
Hobart to me is the perfect city. It has all the facilities and advantages of a capital city, without any of the disadvantages. No huge skyscrapers, no pollution or traffic, and people actually look at you on the street, and you often see people you know around town (which can be an advantage or disadvantage, at times). Wherever you go in the Hobart city and suburbs, there is always a view of either the river, the mountain, or both. (The flat I bought in the northern suburbs has a great view from the balcony- the river to the left, the mountain to the right, and straight ahead, a wonderful vista of the Glenorchy industrial estate- what more could a girl want?!) Hobart is the place that I think of when I think of my true 'home', and since moving to Victoria, I have been dreadfully homesick for Tassie.
And then there's Melbourne.
There are good reasons why Melbourne was recently feted as the world's most liveable city. I lived in Melbourne for just over three years, whilst I was doing my theological training. For the first six months, I lived in Kew, a painfully silvertail suburb, where I felt nervous every time I drove up the street where I lived, as there were so many Porsches and other very expensive cars with which I definitely did not want to have a close encounter with my humble little Ford Festiva. For the remaining 2.5 years, I lived in Brunswick, and loved it.
During my time in Melbourne, I always felt safe when walking around the city or catching public transport at night, and actually enjoy coming back to the city whenever I can get down from the north east of the state (or Sydney, where I am based at the moment).
There's just something about Melbourne. I love the feel of Sydney Road in Brunswick, the buzz of the inner city, the trams zipping around, and it's quite easy to drive around and find your way around the city in Melbourne.
I learned to drive in Sydney, and for the two years I studied at UNSW, I drove every day to Kensington from North Ryde, so I was quite experienced at driving in traffic. However, I would never choose to drive around the inner city in Sydney, much preferring to use public transport or taxis. There has always been something scary to me about the prospect of driving around the city or inner suburbs of Sydney.
Melbourne, on the other hand is much easier to get around in a car. In the time I lived there, and in the almost four years since (of living in a country town that doesn't even have traffic lights), the prospect of driving in Melbourne's CBD has never fazed me. Whenever I go to Melbourne I often choose to stay in hotels in the inner city, and have no problems navigating my way around the city to get to my hotel, and wherever else I need to go. I just look up my route on Google Maps, or consult my trusty Melway, and off I go. I have even become quite proficient in the execution of the infamous 'hook turns' of Melbourne's CBD, where you have to turn right from the left hand lane. This may sound a bit counter-intuitive, and many people criticise hook turns, but I think the hook turn is eminently sensible, as it facilitates traffic flow, which is not held up by cars waiting to turn right in the middle of the street.
It's interesting how two big cities can be so different (at least different in how I experience them).
Monday, September 10, 2012
Fading slowly away
In the last little while Mum has had found it difficult to eat anything much. Her appetite is quite measly, and sometimes we resort to a mug of Sustagen instead of a meal, because she just doesn't feel like eating anything (and thankfully, she quite enjoys vanilla Sustagen).
She is also still losing weight. The Mum I see before me now is 'the real Mum' to me, although people who have only really known her in the past ten years or so (since she gave up smoking and put on a lot of weight) are quite shocked at how thin she is now. However, even this image of Mum is starting to fade away a bit as she continues to shrink before my eyes, and become weaker and more tired. (A few weeks ago we bought her some new slacks, and one pair, size 12, were a little bit tight the first time she wore them. On Friday, Mum wore those same slacks, and had to wear a belt with them- and make a new hole in the belt as it wasn't tight enough.)
In addition to the weight loss, Mum is also starting to decrease in strength. The other day, she had trouble lifting the garage roll-a-door, and is starting to find it hard to lift dinner plates and bowls, to put them away in the cupboard over the bench.
As I watch Mum gradually shrinking and growing physically weaker before my eyes, it has occurred to me that maybe it won't be the cancer that kills her, but rather she will just waste away.
She is also still losing weight. The Mum I see before me now is 'the real Mum' to me, although people who have only really known her in the past ten years or so (since she gave up smoking and put on a lot of weight) are quite shocked at how thin she is now. However, even this image of Mum is starting to fade away a bit as she continues to shrink before my eyes, and become weaker and more tired. (A few weeks ago we bought her some new slacks, and one pair, size 12, were a little bit tight the first time she wore them. On Friday, Mum wore those same slacks, and had to wear a belt with them- and make a new hole in the belt as it wasn't tight enough.)
In addition to the weight loss, Mum is also starting to decrease in strength. The other day, she had trouble lifting the garage roll-a-door, and is starting to find it hard to lift dinner plates and bowls, to put them away in the cupboard over the bench.
As I watch Mum gradually shrinking and growing physically weaker before my eyes, it has occurred to me that maybe it won't be the cancer that kills her, but rather she will just waste away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
