Blogging the Memories: Tales of a Wise Woman.

Writing my mother's eulogy has brought to the forefront years of memories. And as I tend to close off and batten down in real life you lot will have to put up with being bombarded.

I watched Uptown Girls today. The final scene where the little girl, Ray, dances to Molly's song remonded me of my dance classes as a child. Yes, the totally cool, uber trendy Madmother once danced in a pale white tutu. And a kilt, but we'll leave that one alone for a while, m'kay?

Back to ballet. I studied for two years and each year completed my exams. I came first in Scholars, managed an honours mark and even beat the teacher's daughter in the testing (nah nah nah nahna - yes I know it should be ner). But I was never given the lead roles in the end of year production, or even in the smaller recitals during the year. Nooo - that went to the daughter didn't it. So, my only chance to shine in front of the families and other girls was during the solo during examinations. Me being, well... me, I took the opportunity and ran with it.

The competition was fierce (between the kids too). Mothers sat glaring at any other whose daughter was considered a threat.

We had learnt a little dance called The Butterfly.  It was a light, happy little fluttery piece. You had to try to catch an invisible creature performing little jumps and turns, twists and poses. Positions. At the end you caught the butterfly between your cupped hands, smiled at it beautifically and set it free. Well, that is what all the others did whilst holding leg straight, toe pointed, fixed in position. My beautiful mother sat serenely waiting as I was the last to perform.

I executed it perfectly, not an error, broad smile splitting my face, but in my unique junior Madmother fashion I decided to add a bit to liven it up. Jump, twist, catch, release smile. Hold position... music ceases. I then do another small series of leaps chasing the invisible insect once more, but as I grab it in my palms I crush the pretend butterfly. Look aghast, open hands, change look to disgust, shake and wipe remnants of invisible bug on tutu.

Class in hysterics, a gaggle of giggling girls. Teacher frowning. Other mothers horrified. And my tall, elegant mother standing, clapping madly. Oh, she loved me. Always. Unconditionally.

I quit ballet the next year. I came second and that just wasn't acceptable to six year old me.

Here It Is - My Farewell to My Mother

I have spent the last few days wondering how on earth to do this incredible, awe-inspiring woman justice in a few short lines? How do I describe the woman who loved and supported my family and me unconditionally to those some of whom had never had the joy of meeting her? And I realised the only way was to treat this as if I was sitting in a room full of friends talking about her, because in reality, although this is a church and her earthly farewell, I am in a roomful of friends.

My mother, M, was born in an era where women were seen but not heard, their role to run the household quietly whilst also being the hidden backbone of the family. Softly spoken and genteel, she lived long in the shadows of those happier in the limelight. At the time of my rather outspoken, incredibly outside the square Grandmother’s passing, my mother turned to me and said “I have always been dominated and overshadowed by my mother; I was always Mrs D’s daughter. Now I can be my own person and I only have to put up with being told what to do by you.” That being said, my mother was one of only two people in this world who could silence me with a look, the other being that man sitting there. Anytime I stepped outside her boundaries I was told in no uncertain terms: “You may be an adult but you are still my daughter and you will behave as such!” She once smacked me on my upper arm with a fair amount of force, hard enough to leave welts, because I had slipped and uttered a profanity in front of her. At the same time, she also threatened to wash out my mouth with soap. I was in my thirties.

When people first met my mother they were always surprised to realise inside the tiny, fragile outer package was a core of remarkable inner strength. For those of us close to her this strength was inspirational. Quite a few people underestimated her intellect and confused her ladylike demeanour and good manners with weakness or vulnerability. Many a businessman has been left in awe, shaking his head and muttering: “How did she?” as she manoeuvred her way around any obstacles thrown in her path, all the while maintaining her decorum. At nearly 91 she still used excel spreadsheets to organise her financial matters, a fact that made her a legend in the long-term relationship with her accountants. I remember the principal in the firm telling me many decades earlier how he used to hold her up to the many younger businesspeople walking in with shoeboxes of receipts. He would tell them “I have a client in her late 70’s that sends me her receipts attached to spreadsheet summaries! If she can do it why can’t you?” Of course, the impact of her resourcefulness increased as she grew older. She topped it off a couple of years ago by making me bring in her tax return to sign in the hospital the night before a procedure just in case the anaesthetic made her mind go funny.

The other thing about Mum many people missed was her wicked sense of humour. My mother and I spent much of our time giggling uncontrollably whilst others looked on totally lost. I think a lot of people wrote us off as slightly mad. On one occasion, Mum and I were in David Jones at Bondi Junction, in the shoe department. We were admiring a pair of highly priced stilettos (it was the 80’s) artfully displayed within a cubic glass case, not touching the case, not even breathing on the case. Plop. One shoe fell off the small holder. We looked at each other chuckled. Plop, the second shoe dropped. By this time we were laughing and had drawn attention of the disapproving staff. We scurried away giggling only to end up in a worse situation when a clearance table full of handbags decided it was time to run. One dropped off the edge, then the next and the next just like a set of dominos. We could barely walk, we certainly could not catch our breath and the stern frowns of the employees only made things worse. We dragged each other out of the store to collapse on a bench in the centre. I think it took us quite a while to be able to return to the car.

I could tell you so many things. The hours she patiently spent sitting in the sandpit with me as a child. The wonderful meals she cooked, the glorious cakes she baked not only for her children but also for the children from the local orphanage on each of their birthdays. I recall one such cake - it may have even been the first one she volunteered for after completing a cake decorating course - it was a circus theme with icing elephants all around the edge. I was not allowed to touch, but the minute her back was turned I snuck one elephant off a corner. The next time she turned away, I snuck another from the other corner. I repeated it twice more, coming unstuck on the fourth and final elephant. She was furious, demanding to know why I would not only take one BUT four elephants? “But Mum, I had to even it up for you”, I explained. I still remember her lips starting to twitch as she tried her best to stay mad. I also remember going to bed without tea that night, until she snuck in some vegemite sandwiches later. That was my mother all over, punish me but worry about my needs as well.

I could share with you her terrible grief at the loss of my sister, and her amazing strength in going on in life, mainly for me. She was sharp of wit, dry of humour, incredibly smart and truly beautiful inside and out. My mother loved all of us without boundaries. She accepted my children quirks and all, was so very proud of her boys. She leaves a huge hole in our lives but we are grateful to know she left on her terms at her time. Six years ago upon leaving her Taree home of 52 years to move up to Eagle Heights she said to me: “I am coming up to die.” A few months later, when her health had improved, I told her: “You didn’t come up to die Mum, you came up to live.” We had six years of fun and time together, albeit with a few health hiccups along the way. She loved this mountain so much she chose to spend the rest of eternity up here, leaving Dad plenty of room to stretch in his double granite plot.

I am so grateful to have been the child of such a woman it takes my breath away and leaves me speechless. So once again, this time without the look, she has silenced me.

I will leave you with the words of an unknown poet:

When I am no longer with you

Let no tears fall or sorrow prevail

When you see your reflection shimmer in the water

Smile and know that I see your smile

When you feel the cool grass beneath your feet

And the sun's warmth upon your back

Know that I feel it also

And when you hear the leaves rustling in the wind

Know it is my voice softly whispering to you.

The Eulogy

I have been struggling terribly, procrastinating and putting it at the bottom of my list but this morning I have no choice. I have to write her eulogy.

A lovely friend (whose blog is private, so I will not post a link) has given me the start. She posted a poem for me on her blog and I am taking the beginning to start the eulogy with. Thanks Sal - you have no idea how much this means and has helped:

And I am no longer with you

Let no tears fall or sorrow prevail

When you see your reflection shimmer in the water

Smile and know that I see your smile

When you feel the cool grass beneath your feet

And the sun's warmth upon your back

Know that I feel it also

When you hear the leaves rustling in the wind

Know it is my voice softly whispering to you

And so now I am going to go off into a corner, and sit and try to bring to life a wonderful woman for many who have never had the joy of meeting her, and only know her through my words. I am blessed to have so many beautiful souls in my life who are attending to support me, and because they feel they know her via myself and the boys. Some family is flying in but most are elderly and frail themselves, as are her old friends from our home town. But I have had long, lovely phone conversations with many and know we are in their hearts and prayers.

I must admit the only thing that has disappointed me is the resonant silence from one who proclaimed to be a friend. But I guess this is the time that people's true colours are revealed and I am better off knowing.

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?

FYBF - In The Wee Hours of The Night

The Rules are here. She says it so much better than I ever could.

I know Flog Yo Blog Friday is meant to be funny and lighthearted but I just don't have any humour inside me at the moment. Life is challenging, but even worse when you add sleep-deprivation into the equation.

I woke with heart pounding, gasping for breath at 1am. Up until now there have been sleep issues, but not as severe as this nightmare induced panic attack in the cold of just past midnight. I dreamt of her. I dreamt she was dying. My thoughts were of her struggling to breathe, each rasping, painful breath slower than the last.

The terrifying thing is that this is not so far from the truth for now Wise Woman has a chest infection and we all know how susceptible the elderly are to pneumonia. Add in her emphysema and we have serious issues.

I have been coping well, running on pure adrenalin as Ro said, but am I dealing with the thought of losing her? I don't know. It is a very real risk right now. She will be 91 on Tuesday, every little health problem erodes her already frail grasp on life, and I know she does not wish to be here with no quality of existance. Death comes to us all and logically I know at her age I should be very grateful to have had her in my life with so much joy in hers for so long.

But humans are not only logical creatures, we are emotional beings and I want to know how on earth I get my head and heart around losing someone who created me. Not in life (as we all know I am adopted), but by moulding my very core to be who I am. How do I ever reconcile myself to letting go to the one person who loves me unconditionally. How do I say goodbye to my mother?

This may not be it. I hope and pray the miracle woman floors the professionals one more time and fights back to quality of life. But it will be one day. And I do not know if I can face it. Ever.

The Monster

Written many moons ago, in the early days when things were dark. After reading some posts on a parenting site I thought it may be time to post it again.

The Monster

I had a little boy once

Who truly was so dear

He cuddled and blew raspberries

If anyone was near

His eyes were shining amber

His smile, oh so bright

And if you had him in your arms

He snuggled in so tight

But then a horrid monster

Did steal him right away

And never sent him back

Not since that very day

Put in his place a new boy

So fearful and so scared

Eyes all dim and worried

Loud noises in his head

He bangs his head and screams a lot

Will punch and yell and shout

And if you try to hold him

He always lashes out

The memory of my first boy

Still comes in dark of night

When tears they overcome me

And I lose all will to fight

But I will find this monster

I search with love all day

And slowly bring my boy back

This monster, it will pay

Oh monster known as Autism

You'll never win this fight

I may be battle weary

But a mother's love shines bright.

 

 

 

 2006

Swings and Roundabouts

I have recently added a couple of new finds to my blog roll. I seem to go in cycles: you know... Full tilt, riding that white pony up and down on the ASD roundabout, researching, reading, being proactive; to falling in a denial heap in the silver coach section, sitting on the bench unable to move, discuss or even mention *shudder* Asperger Syndrome. It is quickly approaching a decade of being on this ride, and even the strongest of us end up with motion sickness after this long. Round and round, up and down, faster, slower, spinning ground...

Ah, but back to my finds. I follow a wonderfully informative, helpful blog,

 The Thinking Person's Guide To Autism

and it is through this blog and its myriad of contributors that I find many of my new haunts. It is via a wonderful link to an open letter that I have stumbled onto Pia's blog:

the crack and the light . She writes so eloquantly of the emotions and battles we parents of the special ones face. I am reminded of how the fire can burn from a mother's love and quest for answers and help. Memories of the fight we have waged for ten long years are re-ignited. Don't get me wrong, I have not forgotten the campaign nor abandoned my role as his advocate. It is just sometimes the heat is not as intense, and other struggles take priority. Sometimes I cannot even read of another's ASD journey, sometimes I am tired.

Sometimes it is good to be reminded of how it was. Sometimes it is necessary for us to now see how it is today. Go, have a read, it is pretty powerful stuff.

Revelations 101

It has been an interesting week to say the least. Had a lovely dinner out with a few of the girls which culminated in a conversation which I found intriguing at best, puzzling at worst. This lovely lady is someone I have known for a few years, but not well. We cross paths on a regular basis but have only really socialised a couple of times. You know, someone you know but don't know well... Somehow the chat swung around to her impression of me. All the usual stuff... strong, outspoken, a fighter/advocate/zealot... but then she throws in: wait for it,

insecure?

Now I must admit this one puzzled me. Don't get me wrong, I am as flawed as the next person, and yes have my vulnerabilities and weak spots, but insecure? To me this represents self-doubt, a lack of confidence, uncertainty... not attributes I see as a big part of my character. Hell, I screw up - monumentally sometimes - but I usually acknowledge the stuff ups and will apologise when in the wrong. Hmmm, insecure, nope don't see it. Luckily the other couple of ladies know me very well, and basically disagreed with her perception of moi, so at least I am sure it is not something I am missing seeing within myself.

Then we went with friends to our little rural show the next day. Saw a lot of locals, managed to briefly catch up with a lot of friends I haven't had time to say boo to of late, and touched base quickly with a dear mate and her other half who were working a stall. Was dang cold so we gave up the idea of hovering for the fireworks and instead opted for some steaks, a roaring fire, good company and fine wine.

Big Boy later brings up a conversation he had with said dear friend at the show. Apparently she is confused about my coping mechanisms with all the crap that has hit our family recently. Confessed she thought I would be wanting to unload, talk, vent on a regular basis. That I would need my girlfriends to debrief with.

To be honest I couldn't think of anything worse. Is it just me? Am I the only woman in creation who would prefer to deal with the situation, get on with it, and then try to forget about it for a while? Last thing I want to do is re-hash the whole tiresome debacle again and again. I am blessed in my partner, and as he is a part of the whole thing isn't it normal that he and I would discuss the issues as they arise, then put them to bed?

I have no choice but to go over events following the professional complaints process, maybe that is why I do not have a need to discuss them with mates? Far better to chill with a glass of Marlborough white watching trash TV than to be treading water in a sea of emotion constantly. Sorry, just not my style to wallow. Well, most days anyway.

Some days I wonder just how well people really know me...

FYBF - *Meh*

Mediocre. Yep, that's what I said, mediocre. It is how I am feeling at the moment. Guess it is due to the adrenal overload I seem to run on nowadays, flying here there, spreading myself too thin, sleeping inadequately. So my FlogYo Blog Friday link is as stated. A *MEH* post.

Blah, blah, bleurgh, blah...

No-one seems to be a coming in anymore anyhows. Ho-hum.

Off to eat worms in the corner.

To The Writers Out There

How do you write if you have no emotional reserves? Even posting on this blog holds little interest for me, let alone undertaking the work I need to be doing for my writing course.

I am caught up with life commitments, but know this is a reality others still produce work in. So, how do you do it? What helps you forge on through?

How do I break from this silence?

The Dangers of the Internet

I am fuming. Ropable even. A stupid fool on the interweb has taken to posting my private information on sites I do not want it on. She is a passive aggressive fruitloop who takes pleasure in playing sick little mind games online. Now, as most of you know, I have had enough of this sort of behaviour in my real life from two nutters once known as friends. As one in particular has been stupid enough to leave a glaringly obvious trail the last thing I need or want is for her to be able to track me on sites where I wish to remain faceless.

But this stupid fool does not think, nor would she care, it would not cross her tiny little self-focused mind that what is a game to her may impact on my family in reality. Oh no, she'll accuse me of being a drama queen and exaggerating the impact of such actions. Already she has claimed that friends have told her I am like this, that so-called people who know me claim... Well, enough to say that I did not believe her, but now am questioning the people I thought I knew well enough to dispel such two-faced ideas.

It is sad that there is such evil in the world, that someone takes great pleasure in inflicting pain on someone they do not even know.

I am so angry, but am taking steps to cull this presence in any way shape or form. You'd think people would have the brains to know if I wanted my name out there on certain sites, wouldn't I put it there myself? Huh?

Lord, save me from fools and foul bitches.

A Brief Hello...

As the dramas continue. I have never had to fight a system the way I have recently. Every time I set foot in that place another drama has unfolded. I am too tired to go into detail, I will another day I promise. Suffice to say today was my first not going down to the hospital (1 hour each way), other than one other day earlier last week. Sadly, it was spent in total exhaustion due to someone holding what sounded like a massive Rave party ALL night continuing until 9am this morning. Thank goodness we had already planned not to visit, and Wise Woman was perfectly comfortable with us not attending today because I do not think we could have.

No writing, not one word. All my enthusiasm and creativity has dried up as my reserves have been usurped by the battles.

And of course, I have been focused on Boy 2 with his sadness and despair. My little man who is wise beyond his years, sometimes too wise. It is hard to have an such old head when you are only eleven.

That's it for me for now. Hopefully life will allow me to come back soon.

The Black Panther.

I have a panther, a sleek, black panther. It is not a black dog, oh no. I also have a black dog that slinks into my life, tail between its woe-is-me, quivering, shaky legs. It whimpers and whines, pitifully pawing until it draws me down to the floor to sit in an empathetic haze of misery for hours, days or even weeks. 

No, this is a creature of far greater ferocity. Sometimes it lies sleeping, content to rest camouflaged by the shadows of life.

 

Until injustice, discrimination, or the pure evil which seeps from the internally putrid will awaken it from its slumber with an almighty roar. Rousing it from a supine sprawl to stir, wanting, craving to pounce. Yes, my midnight shadow is an animal of black fury, justice and retribution. It is full of fire and fight, ferociously fierce in its defence of all those beloved in my heart. It leaps with rippling rage into my head from the slightest of provocation, willing me to release it to tear, mame, and shred with powerful, unforgiving, dark, dripping jaws.

I am forced to hold the leash tight, restraining my animal lest it do irreparable damage, keep it caged until all other options are depleted. And then, only then do I unclip the collar and finally permit those who transgress to feel the hot panther breath enveloping them as they face the big cat in full attack.

When Lori wrote of the battle to break with her black dog it struck home, and roused me to post of my dark creature. For whilst her black dog, like so many, is full of pain and bleakness, my midnight brute resonates with wrath and suppressed violence. Held in check by small, slender bars of logic, attempting to contain this living instrument of restitution.

Those held locked in my black panther's dark, steady gaze need to be afraid. Be very afraid.

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.

To Those of You Still Following

And not on my Facebook, this was my status update last night:

Soooo, because I *requested* nursing staff listened to my totally mentally competent mother instead of adversely affecting her physical state YOU, the one who ignored her the night before and insisted on rolling, sliding and injuring her EVEN whilst she begged you not to do it, decided to tell her you would NOT help her at all. Even when she asked for your assistance in a very unpleasant situation?

Well, I hope you are happy. I hope your little power play on a frail 90 year old woman felt good because her MADMOTHER of a daughter has now written a formal complaint. Oh, and those lawyers I mentioned after the first incident? They now have copy of said complaint and are following it through for me. Do not mess with the weak because you never know who stands behind them.



BITCH...

You stupid, stupid woman. Karma may not bite you on the arse but Madmother will.