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Thursday, 23 April 2015

my plan for the next two or so months

Hi, still here. 

I've made the call to be done with work and spend time with Dad.  Last day is Friday next week.  The stress of not keeping up with my job, worry about letting people down and feeling torn that I needed to be with Mum and Dad outweighed the financial need in the end.  Work's been great, so understanding.  After the last episode with Dad, I just couldn't get back into it and work was no longer the distraction I'd appreciated in the early days of all of this.  Still feel like I'm leaving people in the lurch, but I just can't do it anymore.

Dad's back on chemo.  It's not great.  At least he was more himself mentally when I saw him last weekend, even if very physically limited.  The new nagging worry at the back of my brain is that we're all distancing ourselves from him and he from us.  On his part, it's likely just focussing on those things he absolutely needs to, because his mental and physical energy is finite and very, very limited these days.  On our part, is it fear and/or an unhealthy sense of self-preservation?  Self-preservation is a good thing, don't get me wrong, but I don't think that's the right way to go about it.  When we're there next on the 2nd, I'm going to make the effort to touch him more (for me, the distancing has been physical).  I know Mum's been sick, so keeping her distance is wise, but I heard less use of their terms of endearment over the weekend.  She's very tired too. 

I'm 29 weeks today and we've finally sorted out a load of baby stuff.  I've been offered my pick of the nice and barely used things belonging to a daughter-in-law of Mum's friend and we've just got to agree a price and pick up.  Our room is now inhabitable and the baby's room gets demolished this weekend.  Within eight weeks, it should be habitable.  We hope.  Oh god do we hope!  I bought another load of maternity clothing (a second pair of jeans, a top and jersey that double as nursing items and a dress) that I hope will last me through the end of the pregnancy.  I can buy more long singlets, I suppose, if required.  We start ante-natal classes tonight. 

I'll drive down for time with Mum and Dad in May while I still can, in addition to the flights I already have booked.  It's a five and a half hour drive at least, plus stops.  I don't imagine I'm going to be keen on that much longer, given my size and the fact I usually get a sore back when driving for more than a couple of hours at a time. 

2015 is slipping away into a morass of practical arrangements, the fall punctuated by moments of heartbreak. 

Tuesday, 14 April 2015

pollyanna

Do you know, I've been cheerful today.  I mean, what the fuck is that? I'd forgotten a bit what cheerful was like and I've missed it.  Dad's had two good days in a row which, despite the fact that the third good day may not materialise, is apparently enough for me to relax for two minutes.  Just call me Pollyanna. 

I just really wanted to write that down.  Something positive, hopeful even, for once.  Oh don't get me wrong, my dad is still dying, I've made police complaints recently, my family is a mess, I'm woefully underprepared for impending parenthood, peeing about a dozen times a day, slugging apple cider vinegar as a homemade remedy for heartburn and thoroughly fucked off at my bank but I AM FEELING POSITIVE right here and right now.  Here are some things I can say are genuinely good:
  • My in-laws have helped immensely with painting my freshly re-constructed bedroom.  I love the paint colour we chose (Resene Half Athens Grey, should you care) and the room is lovely.  They've been so wonderful to us. 
  • I listened to the rain on the roof last night and thought fondly of all the extra insulation we installed in the new bedroom as well as the heated towel rail in the bathroom (still not over it.  It's like christmas every time I pick up a towel). 
  • I'm babysitting P's cousin's very cute baby this evening.
  • I had a moment of real excitement about Cletus' arrival in July the other day.  It's looking like I'm going to have a real live baby who is fathered by my favourite person and should be awesome in his or her own right. That's pretty great. 
  • My boss has been so understanding, patient and kind (as have my colleagues). 
  • My husband has been beyond.  I love him. 
  • I made people laugh at yoga the other night, rather than being the quiet sad sack in the corner prone to a wobbly chin.   
  • Tabby cat has been sleeping by my belly.  It's been lovely and soothing. 
  • I baked an excellent apple loaf that is basically butter and brown sugar and makes me fat and happy. 
  • I'm going to see my mum and dad this weekend.
I mean, that's all good stuff.  I'm sure I'll read back on this in a week or two and want to get stabby with a rusty spoon but for now, I need to focus on all of this. 

sometimes, you just can't win

[Edited to say: administrative rants are fucking boring, but extremely therapeutic.  Soz about this one]

Four weeks ago: someone shady attempts to use my credit card details in Belgium.  Bank blocks card, doesn't advise me until I call after getting declined at the supermarket, with a giant line behind me.  Advised new card will be couriered to home address.  Don't do that! I say.  I'm not at home on weekdays to accept courier deliveries.  Give bank my work address. 3-5 working days, I'm told. No charge for the courier fee on that. 

Three weeks ago: Oh, it's been about 7 working days but no card.  Call bank.  That's odd, they say, it's been delivered to your home address.  Well, no, I say, I asked for it to be delivered to work and I certainly haven't received it at home.  They cancel the new card and take my work address again.  That'll be 3 - 5 working days.  Don't worry, they say, no courier fee for that. 

Two weeks ago: Oh, it's been about 5 working days but no card.  Call bank.  That's odd, they say, can we deliver it to a branch instead for you to pick up?  Fine, I say.  I work by a branch, please send it there.  They say they've cancelled the new card, so if it does arrive, please cut it up.  And don't worry, we won't charge a courier fee on that. 

One and a half weeks ago: I attempt to use my other credit card (from a personal as opposed to joint account) over the phone and am told it's been declined.  I call the bank.  There's a block on both my credit cards, they advise.  I ask if there's been any fraud on credit card #2.  No, they say.  They say they've removed the block on credit card #2.  Should be fine to use it now.

Three working days ago: notice courier fee on credit card #1 account. 

Two working days ago: text from the bank: your new card has arrived at the branch, please bring ID to pick it up.  Courier arrives at work with a new credit card #1.  Per instructions, I cut it up. 

Today: go to branch.  That's odd, they say, there's no card waiting here for your name.  Let me check under your husband's name.  Oh, that's odd, they say, nothing there either.  They finally check under my address.  That's odd, it's here under your maiden name.  Well great, says I, I need the card because I need to be able to pay for things, you know.  They pull the card out of the envelope.  That's odd, they say, it's a new card for credit card #2, not credit card #1.  And what do you know, it's already been blocked.  Oh, and we'd attempt to order you another one now but our system is broken - we would normally suggest you call the call centre.

I have passed annoyance and have reached bemusement (also, probably because I can rely on P to pick up the purchases in the interim - if this was a sole account, I'd be beyond ropable because I wouldn't have been able to make any purchases in the last month).  I didn't go spare at the branch today but the poor guy behind the counter was beyond embarrassed and has taken it upon himself to sort out a new card for me once their system is back up and running.  He's refunded the courier fee and apologised profusely. 

Do you think I'll get a new card this week? 

Sunday, 12 April 2015

mid-April

The cloud of gloom has lifted a little bit.  Dad's back at home and is a bit more himself, though still reasonably subdued.  He was asking questions about our renovation on the phone, and while not proffering pearls of wisdom on the point as he would normally, the interest itself is incredibly satisfying to hear. 

We're taking it as 'today is a good day, we'll see about tomorrow' every day at the moment, because inevitably the peaks and troughs will continue. 

On Thursday I was on the point of abandoning everything again and jumping on a plane (the evident misery in Mum's voice and the pain Dad was in being too much to be so far away), but as things improved and my aunt confirmed she was going for a visit, I left it be.  It was really nice to spend the entire weekend (aside from a grocery trip) in our house, snuggling the cats, baking, preparing meals for the kind volunteers helping with painting and digging kukuyu grass from the lawn (bizarre therapy, I know, but therapy nonetheless).  P's been a saint.  He gently suggested catching up with friends, but left it alone when I didn't display any enthusiasm.  I sense he's chafing a bit from the confinement and the unrelenting renovation work but he's being so understanding and patient.  I'm back with Mum and Dad Saturday morning at the latest. 

Autumn set in yesterday, though we still managed to eat lunch outside.  Grey cloud, a little later drizzle, rain overnight.  Someone lit a fire nearby and the smoke smelled appropriate, even though it was all through my clean laundry fresh off the line.  Our bedroom is very close to complete and will be lovely and warm once we move in following the wardrobe installation this Friday.  We'll start the second bedroom immediately after, to prepare for the colder months to come. 



 

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

26+6

I am a bit waddly after a long day or sitting for extended periods.  Rolling over at night is getting harder.  Bending over occasions a grunt or two. 

The baby likes to party pre- and post-meal times (and meals better be punctual), as well as at assorted times during the night.  When Cocoa or Tabby sits next to me or on my belly (Cokes' preferred position) the baby goes crazy.  I can't decide whether it's pleasure or displeasure causing the commotion - I mean, it must be a little like having your house vibrated by a low-level flyover, when a cat purrs on my uterus. 

P regularly feels the kicking, now. Dad's tried a couple of times, but still nothing. He needs to be more cat-like to elicit a reaction.

I walk slowly up the hill to work.

At Mum's, I deadheaded agapanthus for a couple of hours between hospital visits.  The exercise was on the borderline of overdoing it, but it was mentally soothing to be outside, doing a repetitive physical task, with the visual satisfaction of seeing the improvement to each plant in a long row up the driveway.  At home, I mow the lawn steadily.  I tried to dig up kukuyu grass, but the bending was too much. 

I baked muffins, twice.  It was satisfying and truly weird as baking is most definitely not my thing and I've never felt the urge or a sense of satisfaction from it before. 

I still have an innie.  It's shallow and strained but it's tidy.  When I sit up in the bath, my belly goes to an odd point and I can see the abdominal muscles don't really reach over the top any more.  When I suck in, I can't hide the belly really at all anymore.

All facets of my boobs are still expanding.  I don't think I've gained much weight elsewhere than belly and breasts at this stage, but I've no idea exactly how much I've gained and I can't use my usual clothes as a guide, so it's hard to say.   

If I talk too long (say, instructions on a file to a junior solicitor) I get a little bit breathless. 

I have 1 onesie, 2 toys and a couple of instructional books, all gifted. We have a list, but haven't purchased a single other thing at this stage.  Our room is nearly complete, but the baby's room hasn't yet been started.  That's a worry, given it is now three months and one day until my due date.  We'll get there, we tell ourselves. 

I need to do the diabetes screening test tomorrow.  I'm not sure whether I'll be in Auckland or Hawke's Bay to do it.  I don't know if I'll be in Auckland for my next midwife appointment on Monday. 

I think I may have had a Braxton-Hicks contraction last night, but I'm not sure.  I was getting up from the toilet and my lower abdomen and belly was suddenly tight and constrained. 

It was P's last birthday pre-fatherhood, yesterday.  He turned 32.  I left his present sitting on my desk at work, unwrapped.  We picked it up and then ate takeaways together, getting text updates from the hospital and feeling the baby flip.  It wasn't what we'd expected 32 to look like, but then, expectations are often fruitless, aren't they?  His gift was a magnum of a 2013 vintage of a wine he very much enjoys.  We talked about drinking it on his 50th birthday, when the baby will be nearly 18.  I know now not to take the prospect of sharing that future for granted.

I am well.  The baby is well.  I am so, so glad that he or she is coming soon.  


Tuesday, 7 April 2015

please come back

So, the fasting test did not end well for Dad.  I received a phone call from Mum on Tuesday morning, the day after the test.  It's not good, she said.  He's unconscious and a doctor has told me he's not going to wake up.  We got on a plane, fast.  My sister and I arrived by lunchtime, just in time to see him unresponsive and being wheeled to ICU. 

It was awful.  The one ray of hope was that the doctor who'd spoken to Mum initially had been wrong; he wasn't bleeding from the tumour in his brain.  They worked out over the course of the day that he was in a sodium level crash of some kind.  We went to bed that night in a weird repetition of the night at the end of January when we didn't know if he'd still be alive in the morning.  This time, I refused to think about it.  We spent the evening looking at pictures of our family trip to Stewart Island for Christmas in 2013.  Dad was alive, vibrant, happy.  I used audio aids to get to sleep and to stay asleep, refusing to lie awake leaking tears as I'd done in January, when we didn't know what the next day would bring.

When we arrived at the ICU the next day, he was awake.  The euphoria was massive.  He was tired, he was groggy, he was a bit emotional (waking up to find you've been out for over 24 hours is a trifle disconcerting, I imagine) but he was alive.  We flew through the Wednesday in the thrill of improvement and the move back to the wards.  It seemed there'd been a problem with the thirst centre in his brain which had overridden the usual signals and caused him to drink so much his sodium had bottomed out.  He seemed slow on Thursday which was completely understandable.  He came home on Friday, weak, but home.  We were so lucky, again, that he hadn't died. 

On Saturday, the crash started and it bottomed on Sunday.  We realised that there was something missing.  I don't know if we'll ever get it back.  He's himself, no doubt, but he's dulled the whole time.  He admits to 'going into space' a lot - like a catatonic state, where his brain doesn't have to do anything.  He's not participating in conversation even to the limited degree he was previously able to do so.  Dad's emotional responses seem to have gone.  He was perplexed as to why we were upset; he couldn't see a problem, he felt physically better than before the sodium episode.  But before he'd wanted more than to sit on the couch, staring into space.  Lie on his bed, staring into space. 

Christ, I hope he comes back.  I miss him so very much. 

I keep thinking about the last time I saw him in hospital the Sunday previous.  We were watching the cricket final, moaning about the dismal Black Cap performance.  He was laughing, initiating conversation and jokes.  I thought then that the whole situation was grim.  But at least then his vitality, his Dad-ness, was there.  I keep replaying my departure - what did we say?  Did I tell him I loved him as I left? 

My heart is breaking, particularly for Mum.  It's one thing to know your husband is going to die.  It turns out it is entirely another to watch it happen and to feel like you're losing him or have lost him before it even happens.  Her world has narrowed to day to day with Dad, largely inside the house or hospital.  I am going to leave work soon, I think, because he needs two people to care for him without the central caretaker going stir crazy from cycling through grief, boredom, terror. 

I want him back. 

Sunday, 29 March 2015

march rolls into april

As it turned out, the evening we decided to cut our losses and leave for the night to avoid confrontation was, in fact, the night the contractor turned up at the house.  One of our poor neighbours got followed on her arrival home - she drives a very similar car to ours and she described his behaviour as odd.  I think he was spoiling for a fight with P and was probably disappointed not to get it.  In any event, we've not heard anything further since the police dropped by his house and I am done (D.O.N.E) with thinking about it.

I spent the weekend with my parents.  Dad was in hospital.  It was grim.  Mum exclaimed at one point in frustration that they were talking like old people, with the internal focus on timetables, drugs, how he's reacting.  The world is narrowing for them to the disease and its consequences.  It's so predictable but yet fucking unavoidable, just like Dad's moon-face and the hair loss and the muscle wastage and the lack of concentration.  I am so fucking angry right now.  He's 58 and he was so well before and he's being stolen from us and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

The joy in the good moments is more intense.  When I make them laugh, I feel it inside me.  He's the only person who has complete permission to make unsolicited belly rubs and I tried to watch for kicking for him to see.  I want him so desperately to know this baby. 

I've written a letter to my boss, confirming my last day of work before I depart on parental leave, but warning them that I may seek leave of absence or to take parental leave early, given Dad's rapid deterioration.  I can't focus at work.  Mum is just so tired and I want to spend time with Dad so it makes sense for me to be there, an hour's flight away from here.  I'll quit if I need to.  I am so damn lucky this is an option. 

I'm back with them on Thursday evening, with P this time.  I've charted a list of jobs for P around their property (lawns and rabbits, mostly).  When we leave, my sister K arrives for a few days.  I hope Dad will be released from hospital and on a new regimen for the latest side effects by the time we arrive.  He's going through a horrific diagnostic test today involving deliberate withholding of all fluids, so I expect any release will be tomorrow at the very earliest.  At least in the interim Mum can sleep.