Flog Yo Blog Friday - Life As It Was...

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Warped realisations that a Wise Woman would appreciate.

My mother was a lady through and through, but there still was this slightly mad, quirky, mischievous side to her (where did you think I got my weirdness from, huh? Huh?). In my earlier years (and remember I have just turned forty seven, so by early years I mean in my early twenties) WW and I used to shake up the house of my childhhood by boogying our butts to two songs.

This one:

Sadly, looking at the clip now I can see a lot of similarities between it and my hometown... Whoopsie.

And this one:

We would crank up the volume and run around like a pair of silly buggers as Grumblebum used to complain. Now, these were always our songs. Whenever we heard them we would automatically be transported back to those fun afternoons bopping in the lounge room. And so, me being the Madmother I am, I was tempted to succumb to my warpedness with Wise Woman's burial. The funeral director asked me if I wanted music played at her graveside as the casket was lowered. And I was so very, very drawn to request - have you worked it out yet -

Workin in a coal mine

Goin down down

Workin in a coal mine

Whew about to slip down...

She would have loved it. Been slightly horrified and a little mortified, but laughing behind the hand covering her mouth. And no, I didn't. Our older relatives would have been rather unimpressed.

I miss you Mum.

Today

I am an orphan. Today I am planning my mother's funeral. Today I face life in a very new and scary world without my biggest support.

We lost her at 3.30am 21/10/10. Like everything, she chose her own way to leave the world, and her own time. The doctors' thought it would be days and I stupidly went home late the night before planning on returning before sun-up in the morning. But she beat me to it. At 4am another of those dreadful calls came through, and as soon as it woke me I knew.

She was quite coherent until the end, had made her wishes more than clear. Tired, in pain, and finished with life. Gave the doctors strict instructions on a DNR. Expressed her gratitude to me for not denying her the right to choose death. Yesterday a dear friend reminded me: "Just like your grandmother chose to leave." And she was right. Strong stock these Madmother women.

Wise Woman asked to say goodbye to Boy 1 and Boy 2, which was another reason I chose to leave. Even though she had been in hospital nearly two months they honestly thought Nanna would bounce back, after all she always had in their lifetime. They cried, told her they loved her, thanked her for being there and everything she had ever done for them. She left them in no doubt as to how she felt about them, they had given her reason to breathe for the last decade or so, without them she may well have chosen this path earlier believing her work to be done.

"But why is she dying? what is she dying of?" Boy 2 cried. How do you explain to an 11 year old about choosing death. As bright as he is the choice was simple: you love me, why leave me?

I spoke to him as clearly as I could get my mind around it (and I must admit there was a little girl inside me screaming the same thing)... "Nanna is frail, the pain is too much and her tired body is worn out. She has lived a wonderful, happy life and does not want the end of her life to be full of misery and anguish. It is her choice and as WE love her we need to let her know it is okay and we understand."

Driving home from the hospital, after much thought he states: "I am really sad, but inside me is a little part rejoicing for her."  God, these children, they amaze me and give me strength to go on.
Boy 1 was quiet, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Once home he asked me: "How do I go on without someone who has helped me all my life. How do I get used to her not being there?" I could not answer straight away for I too feel the same.
I must face life without her, knowing that the one person who saw me warts and all, who loved me no matter what, and who was my biggest safety net when I fell, is gone. Not in my heart but in my physical world. No more can I ring her to laugh over something, no more can I seek her wise counsel when the angry world confuses me. No more can I drop in unannounced, giving her last minute warning with a "tooot toooot" at the door.

I am hurting, and yet grateful. To have had Wise Woman in my life for so long is an incredible blessing. To be raised by such a woman, well, words fail me.

Mum, I love you, I will always love you and hold you in my heart. I promise to do you proud.

Wise Woman

5/10/1919 - 21/10/2010



daughter of an incredible woman.

Tonight Things are Bleak

They operated last night. Put a huge screw through the top of Wise Woman's left femur to piece it back together. She was in ICU last night and most of today, but they have put her back in the ward late this afternoon.

Five minutes ago they rang. The specialist. Wanted to have the talk. The we don't think it is likely but just in case do you want a do not resuscitate order on? The you know how frail she is at the moment and anything could happen and we don't want to call you in the midst of the night, do we... conversation.

I love her. I love her so much, she is my mum. And I love her enough to let her go if that is the way it has to be, to give her permission to lay down her gauntlet and leave the battle.

But fuck it hurts.

And I am scared.

What do I do when the only person who can make me better is the one I need to let go?

The One I Didn't Want to Write: Or the Second Worst Thing...

The phone broke the silence at 1.30 this morning. It is the sound you dread in the early hours of the morning when someone you love is at risk. We were bringing Wise Woman home today. Yes, she was frail. Yes, we had big battles ahead. But we were ready.

And at 1.30am the worst living issue we could face came roaring into reality. She had fallen. At first the garbled message led me to believe she had broken her leg and her kneecap. Jumped in the shower (because I needed to), jumped in the car and DROVE like hell. It is an hour to the hospital and I know the road inside out after seven weeks of daily driving. Once there I tracked her through the hospital from rehab to emergency to ward. And found my fragile, tiny mother swaddled in blankets, scared, in pain, vulnerable. With a fractured hip. Our worst living nightmare due to the state of her bones.

This time I cannot rant and scream at THEM. This time it was a foolish choice by her to pick up something because of her dignity, to put herself at risk due to her pride, to lose the gamble so tragically. I understand why, I know the what for's, as angry as I was at first it has now drizzled down to sadness and compassion.

In the wee hours of first light I sat in my car and sobbed. People walked past watching, understanding, for where else but the carpark of a hospital would we cry so freely? Then I did what she has always taught me. Suck it up, get on with it. WW has always had the belief where there is life there is hope, where there is hope there is no excuse to chuck in the towel. Plenty of time for tears when the battle is lost, never when there is a lull in the gunfire whilst the enemy reloads.

And so I am loaded back up. Placing one foot in front of the other and remembering to breathe. Most of the time. Kick me when I forget. Please.

How To Write a Biography: or Eulogy 101

Many, many moons ago Wise Woman asked me to write her eulogy. Yes, I know this is not a usual request when in robust health, but then again my mother is not your usual lady. Today, feeling very ill, she asked me again. What I laughingly brushed off with a "plenty of time to get it right Mama, don't stress..." now has become reasonably critical for her peace of mind if nothing else.

I noticed how very little she has become. Not only due to loss of height, but now because of the massive curvature in her spine; she is so stooped she can now look only to the ground.

My mother always walked tall, she was tall. Shoulders back, long-legged stride, arms swinging, people turned to watch her progress along the path admiring this fine figure of a woman.

She began to lose height almost twenty years ago with the first fracture (1990). But we never imagined this disease could strip so much of her height. She once graced life at 5'7". Now I doubt she is 4'7", more like 4'5".

But I digress. The eulogy. How do you put into words the way someone has influenced you, how can you sum up a long life in a few words? I want to do her justice, I want her to listen to my words and know how much we all love her, I want to create a picture so vivid that all who hear it can see her clearly, hear her voice and laughter even when she is gone.

Can someone please tell me how to do that? Please?

How Much Can One System Screw Up?

I mean, honestly! Wise Woman has been in this private hospital for eight days. So far we have had the incidents mentioned in the last two blog entries, plus other minor ones such as constantly coming in the middle of the night to change her incontinence pad. Ah, she is not and never has been incontinent AS WE TOLD YOU EVERY DAY THIS WEEK, AND AS HER NOTES STATE!

But by far the biggest fault has been the physical damage caused by their arrogance and inability to listen.

Yesterday she was transferred to the rehabilitation unit. I arrived about thirty minutes later to find her in a shared room. Now, this is a woman who is obsessively private and not really social. She loves her own company and peace and quiet, even more so when she is in pain. So, being the Madmother, I go in to bat and have her in a single room five minutes later. First hurdle down. I then go through and REPEAT all I had informed the other ward and staff of. Repeated myself, pushed the vital points.

At 1pm I have to leave for 2 hours (rest time). I return at 3pm to find her room in uproar. This ignorant, arrogant, old enough to know better little shit of a physiotherapist forced her to lie flat on her back (impossible at the best of times, excrutiating now) and when she could not lift her legs off the bed he had a nurse yank them skyward. I walked in around ten minutes later to hear her telling them she had to go home NOW. God, I am still shaking in outrage and anger 24 hours later.

He hurt her, really hurt her. She is so much worse than she was on admission. I brought her here to heal, not be injured further. You can guess how much wrath fell on his and every staff member's head within calling distance, and yes then I called the legal team. I think the threat was dismissed when I told this stupid fool and his co-horts that this is the path I would take. You should have seen the faces drop as I used call connect to be put through, and even more so when they saw I was put straight through to this well-known litigator. And then the looks of horror and fear as I dictated the latest offence and re-iturated the previous ones. Arrrrgggggghhhhhh - IT SHOULD NEVER COME TO THIS! What happens to those without a Madmother daughter to kick arse? I am so, so angry.

And so disappointed that this is the best of a bad lot when it comes to the aged in hospitals. We are giving it the weekend, the physio has been told by the head doctor to stay away. She is now only to be given gentle walking exercise to keep her mobile. There are two massive signs in her room stating: "Do not assist unless requested by patient and THEN only following her detailed instructions."

If she wishes I will bring her home Monday. We will organise private nurses and I will scare the fuck out of them with detailed instructions BEFORE they go near her. Her carers are ready and willing to step back in at the drop of a hat. We can and will do this if she wants.

A month ago, this was my happy, content, secure mother:

This is my scared, in pain, frail mother today:

Can you see how light in her eyes is nearly extinguished? By hell, if they have broken her fighting spirit I will kill each and every one of them who has contributed to this farce. I am just crazy enough to do it too.