The Word Cloud

There’s a page missing from my emotional dictionary – so I have had to create the following entry.

 

Shadppiness – an incongruous mix of sadness and happiness; the feeling of euphoria at finding a really nice nursing home for someone close to you.

 

See also: life saving amputations.

 

I could accept the relief and gratitude at finding the right place - the happiness will take a while to reconcile. All a bit odd.

 

My mum has improved enormously since last week but it is obvious at 87 she can't continue to live completely on her own without any help.  Over the last couple of weeks I have been immersed in a world I had paid little attention to before now. The world of 'the elderly'.  It does make you start thinking about your own mortality.  I visited a care home a couple of years ago to visit my mother's cousin.  The first and everlasting impression was the smell - urine.  I came home and swore to my husband I was never going to end up in the place like that.   I have since visited two residential homes, one of which is a couple of minutes walk from my own home.  My mum could live in her own self-contained flat with wonderful views over  our farm and have as much, or as little involvement in the 'home' as she wanted.  She would have lots of opportunity for chat to other like minded residents and have lunch served up in what I can only describe as a posh restaurant! It is very expensive and although my Mum is not rich, she's not poor either.  She could afford it if she sold her bungalow and I could see her every day.  However she is reluctant as she has friends in the village where she lives (an hour's drive from me).  I am feeling guilty trying to persuade her to come and live close to me but her friends are all old and what happens is they fall of their perches before she does?  Anyway, these are all just thoughts whizzing round and round my head at the moment and keeping me awake at night but my main reason for this second blog is wondering how other people, of other ages feel about this:

My husband and I are both adamant we don't want to be living in a care home, incontinent, with our marble jar half empty being cared for by a load of people who, possibly, don't care at all and as such we have a sort of suicide pact.  With some research, my plan is to have a secret stash of suitable pills to be swallowed with a large quantity of something alcoholic and never wake up again, before I get to the point when I am unable to take that action myself.  Now, my point is, when I was 20 I thought 50 was old.  Now that I am at this great vantage point of 52 I can look back and look forward.  52 seems no great age at all  now and just because I am no longer 20 doesn't mean I am not enjoying life to the full, despite not being able to do all the things I did at 20.  Does this mean if I'm fortunate enough to get to 80 I will still be glad to be alive, despite not being able to do the things I did when I was 50?  Do you get my drift?  How does everyone, of different ages feel about old age?  For instance, some of the Clouders are are lot younger than me - I wonder how they view old age?  Or do they even think about it?  Does my idea of suicide sound bizarre and perhaps against some peoples religion? 
I have discussed this with my daughter and she laughs and says she will have a big enough house by then to have a granny annexe where she can shut the door on me if I get too annoying!  We have told her our plan with the pills and booze and she is not horrified at all.  I explained to her that if that time ever came and she had a call to say I/we had done away with ourselves, she was not in any way to blame and it was our choise.  She totally agreed that we should have that choice and said she would do same for herself! 
Sorry for the ramblings but this is keeping me awake at night!

My own  life has taken a backseat of late.  My mum has been on her own for nearly ten years and is fast approaching the time when she can't manage on her own although she would tell you otherwise.  She has had two falls in the last two weeks, luckily nothing broken but she has been living on scrambled eggs, Smash potatoes and bananas.  She is in hospital today but due to be sent home later on so I, as no. 1 daughter will have to go and stay for a few days until we can persuade her to move somewhere nearer my home.......not an easy task.  I have no idea what is going to happen over the next few weeks but sadly I won't be loitering around this lovely cloud nearly as often as I would like and I will be handwriting my novel if and when I have time.  I will be checking in from time to time to see what everyone is up to and fingers crossed will still be attending the 'Getting Published Day' !
 

I dunno. I think it’s Ez’s fault, making me melancholy ‘n all. It can be a shit life and there’s little you can do about it even when you are young and able. When you get old it’s just an accident waiting to happen to you.

I’m not sure I want to get old. I have two and a half examples for you.
My mother died in 2007. She had had a crap life all in all. From about the age of 35 she began to develop arthritis. Throughout her life she gradually got worse, but never actually yielded to it. Worked until retirement and never gave in to things like stair lifts and wheelchairs even though the stairs were a 10 minute challenge. Never wanted a bungalow, etc etc. Then the drugs she had been taking for years for arthritis exhibited their side effect and caused a heart/lung infection that eventually debilitated her until even she had to admit that she must go to hospital.

She beat the infection, but not the clostridium difficile they gave her while she was in there and after two whole months in the hospital, she just died. I thought long and hard about what I had seen, the cleaning practices, the way that the nurses and other staff were not following the hygiene regimen they were supposed to. I forced an investigation, which found that I had seen non of the things that I had seen, because they said so and I had no proof. So, what do you do? For a while I freely confess various nuclear options crossed my mind. But what good would it do? So I gave it to the BBC. I think it did eventually contribute to their motivation to investigate a hospital, but not that one. But what the hell. She died a shitty way and I can’t undo that.

Then there’s my wife’s mother. We roll up on a Sunday morning to take her out to lunch. We found her on the floor in her bedroom and three days later she dies. Heart attack. At the time she was being pursued by a debt collection company chasing debts incurred by a young woman of about 25 years, living some 40 miles away with a similar name. This scum were acting on behalf of a national energy company, who I will not name in deference to the site. The practice is called factoring.

As we went through her papers, alerted to this by a neighbour, the afternoon after we found her there was a whole series of correspondence leading up to a notice of bailiffs to seize goods to the value of some time in the coming week. It took me two days to get these low life bastards to back off and I know some heavy lawyers. What chance does a frail old lady in her eighties have? As to why she didn’t ask for my help before. Parents don’t think their children, even “married to their daughter” children can do anything they can’t, it seems.

In the end they never did admit any fault although I forced them into a written apology and a substantial contribution to charity. I also caused them to lose their contract with said national energy company, which gave me some satisfaction but probably just threw some uninvolved employees out of work. If you ever come across such a company hiding behind the Data Protection Act, then assume they are up to no good, attack with all your force immediately.

The half? My father had a minor sore on his ankle 3 months ago. Somehow, in the doctor’s surgery most likely, he seems to have acquired an MRSA infection and it's still active. Thus far he still has his foot. He’s in his eighties, too proud to let me help and what can I do anyway?

Overall, it seems life can be a bitch and then you die. Perhaps my father in law got it right. Worked flat out until retirement: Retired: 6 weeks later, he dropped down, dead as a hammer.