Thirtydom

Back from MIA

Surrealvampi — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 21:56:15 GMT

HELLO ALL FROM SCOTLAND!!! Small update and a slight rant....

Well I haven't posted for a while. But it’s not because anything tragic has happened! So I will give you a quick update!

I have relocated finally to the Borders in Scotland. It’s beautiful up here and I am ridiculously happy with the GF. The training for my new job is super intense, but do far I have passed all my exams with 100% pass rate. A ratio I hope to keep up! The new store opens in October so I have a lot to get under my belt before the opening.

Dad is doing okish. They have had to changed his steroid dosage because the tumours are now pushing on parts of his brain, which were causing him to black out completely. Mum kept finding him in random places unconscious. Which is not a particularly clever thing. (Shed, Bath, Kitchen, you name it, he's dropped in it!) Also MacMillan have been round and Dad now has a super lift chair for him to be able to get up and down from the sofa without killing himself. And Grab rails have been installed as well. PLUS the insurance company has come through and paid out, which has helped Mum no end. This has taken some of the pressure off of her which is good. Laso Dad has picked out a Hospice and they have visited it. Dad seems to think its a good one. So that's another one off the tick list.

Massive barney took place between My Mum and I on route to Scotland. Unfortunately she decided to dump a load on my doorstep at the frigging service station!!!! Seems she feels I am abandoning her. And when I asked her why she was journeying with me to Scotland she replied that she was only there because Dad had wanted her to go. When I asked if she was there for me, she replied No. I'm only here because your father wanted it.

Now. Here is where it all got a little sticky. Mum happily and willingly moved from the outer edges of Dorset back to Poole to Nurse her father when he was poorly and he then subsequently passed away. She said that she lives her life to serve other people and that this is what makes her happy. I replied that I couldn't do that. Mainly because Dad had made me promise that I wouldn't put my life on hold.

So this left me in a quandary. I'd already promised Dad that I wouldn't give up my thirties. That I would grab life and live it. Then I've Mum telling me that I am abandoning her, and that she isn't happy that I'm moving away. So i asked her what she wanted me to do. What was I supposed to do? I almost, right then and there pulled the plug on the whole move. Because I only wanted to make her happy. But then I wouldn't be happy at all. And I'd just spent the last 7 years being miserable in a Marriage that I'd really gone into because everyone had told me how lucky I was to be married the (Ex) Husband, even though I knew deep down I was Gay. SO!!!!! I squashed the breaks on and basically said. WAIT A MINUTE!

Firstly I pointed out, Mum. How old were you when granddad got sick.

Well. My late 50's of course. You know this.

Mum. How old Am I?

31.

I rest my case.

I have chosen, rightly or wrongly, to honour my Dad's wishes, and life by L I V I N G.

By OWNING my life. I only have one. One shot. One run. One take. And in the words of a song lyric. I don't want to miss a thing. I can appreciate what my Mum is saying. And I understand what she is saying. I also pointed out that I have an older brother and couldn't understand why all the responsibility was falling to me. (Well I can, he couldn't bat his way out of a wet paper bag)

I can't figure out if this makes me the worst Daughter in the world or not. I can't figure out if what I am doing is abhorrently selfish. All I know is that in light of Dad being terminal, I suddenly realised that I wasn't living my life i was just existing. And my Dad was telling me that I was squandering a great gift. He couldn't care less if i was in love with a donkey. (I'm not, the GF is lovely!) As long as I was happy. He is totally taken with her, and since meeting her and the GF's Mum, MY Mum seems slightly less stabby with the knife and a bit more huggy with the cuddles. My Mum is amazing. I couldn't do what she has done in the past, and what she is doing now. I think she has the most amazing spirit, but is also, HANDS DOWN, THE most stubborn person I have ever met in my life. (I believe this is where i get my endurance from......) She won't except help, and Dad has said to me on the phone on MANY occasion that she is being a martyr. I've begged her to use MacMillian services for someone to talk to. As I am not a health care professional, and although she insists on using me as one, that I cannot give her the guidance she needs. I'm worried about her, but am at a loss on what to do.

So far, I've arranged for the ex-hub to visit and kicked my brothers arse into touch and got him to call Dad. Which results in the call from Mum to say, Oh your brother called Dad today, or such and such visited today. I feel like the proverbial puppet master in the background pulling the strings whilst the show goes on without anyone knowing who the director is.

To be honest. I think i just needed to get a few things off of my chest guys. Your always brilliant at sifting through my ramblings..........

I promise that I will be back with the funnies. I just needed to get the chaff off my chest because I'd not had the opportunity to.

Peace and Lovage to you all. And BIG HUGS xoxoxox

Where do we get them from....

Surrealvampi — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 09:30:57 GMT

Right, time for THE update. Hospital report on Dad. Palliative Care has been set. They feel he will deteriorate within 6 weeks. We've been told there are a lot of tumours in the brain and that the change will be swift. SO IN LIGHT OF THAT, I thought I would share with you the Cat Lady story for some much needed light relief. (Apologies for the swearing)

Right. So most people have heard about Dad through the grapevine that weaves its way around my work place. A lot of people have spun platitudes. Some have simply been honest and said, ‘I don’t know what to say’. These people I like muchly. The ones I really love are the ones who say.’ Jesus Kate, that’s a big bag of w*nk right there.’ I don’t need you to make it better. I need you to agree its sh8t. And Crap and that there is an evil presence in the world that has aligned its forces against me and we must take up arms against it with an Army of Ninja Penguins and assorted snacks/chocolate/cider/beer and GUNS. Many many guns.

However SOME people tend to veer sharply to the Looney side. There is a lady in filing; we will call her Doris for this. She is a very lovely, but a very weird, older lady. She’s one of those that always has a tissue about her, and smells vaguely of TCP and mint. However, she may look meek and a bit wet, but F9CK ME, don’t piss her off. She’s misleading that one……..Anyway, I'm over there one day and the conversation goes a bit like this.

‘I’m so sorry to hear about your Dad dear.’

‘Thank you Doris. I know it’s all a terrible business* isn't it.’

*By the way. It's all frightfully middle class in filing. The women all have twin-sets from Marks & Sparks and there is a cheese plant in the corner of the room

‘Yes it is. Oh dear, I know just how you feel.

*Fumbles for a tissue, this one in her waistband*

'It was terrible when my Charlie was diagnosed.’

By now I'm thinking, oh god, I’ve upset someone else again

‘Oh Doris! I'm so sorry. How old was Charlie?’

With the amount of tissue fidgeting that’s going on I'm thinking, Son, Daughter, Husband

’He was 17 years old.’

Oh Bly! This is sounding awfully more tragic by the second here. I mean, My Dad is 72. I don’t want him to die you know, but he IS 72 and smoked all his life. I mean, 17 is no age at all

‘Oh Doris, I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean for this to upset you.’

‘Oh don’t be silly dear. It's quite OK. I helps to talk about these things sometimes. And besides, 17 Years is quite old for a cat.’

Watery Smile

If you were watching my face, you could actually see the muscles all freeze at the same time, and witness the widening of my eyes as my brain slams into a wall. The only stream of consciousness that raced through me at that moment was this…..

You. Are. Sh8tting. Me. Right?????

You’re talking about a Cat? A f9cking CAT? A CAT?! SERIOUSLY?? You’re comparing my dad to your decrepit, ailing, feline? *facepalm* Oh there are not enough filters IN THE WORLD for me to be able to say ANYTHING remotely appropriate. By this point I am savagely chewing through the inside of my cheek, and I am very aware that a tick has started jumping in my left eye.

It gets worse as she then dabs at her eyes with a tissue she has produced, this time from her bra strap (honestly, she’s like a walking tissue box) and is telling me how awful it was when they had him put down, how it broke her heart and she’s never been the same since. (*raises eyebrow* - Clearly, I'm thinking) By this point I’ve subconsciously started backing out of the office and I manage to escape from watery eyed, tissue concealing, mad as a badger’s foot Doris by thanking her for her kind words and by a whisper I narrowly avoiding blurting out, ‘Well…. *rubs hands* I ought to get back, the sausages are missing me.’

You can try to justify this one all you want with the, ‘She was only trying to reach out and connect with you.’

The only thing that woman has ‘connected’ with recently, is a shovel upside the head.

*sighs*

I was talking to the GF last night, and it appears that I am not the only one that seems to stumble from one laughable almost unbelievable situation to another. These people seem to follow her around as well. She also gets those days that leave you looking in the mirror at yourself and saying, ’You know, I couldn't make this sh8t up.’ In fact some days I have head-butted myself in the mirror whilst moaning the word, ‘Why?’ over and over again.

As bat-sh8t mental as my life can get? I wouldn't swap it. It is what it is. And mental, cat loving, bunny boilers aside, I think it's pretty damn magic.

xoxoxo

Daughters without borders.....

Surrealvampi — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 09:26:49 GMT

Dad has the oncologist today to discuss Radiotherapy. Problem is I think it is for Palliative care, and he is of the understanding that it could extend his life. He's said he is no gonna take it, unless it gives him till Christmas....

I've not said anything to Mum OR to Dad because I think this is one for the Oncologist to deliver. I'm usually the walking medical/legal/counselling/advisory one stop shop for my family. I think every family has one. I just happen to be the one in mine! I remember once when Dad dropped burning hot oil over his arm Mum phoned me for advice, which went along the lines of 'wash the burn cream off, wrap in cling film, take to hospital.' The worst time was when she wasn't sure if he was having a heart attack, and called me to say:-

'Katie, I think your Dad is having a heart attack!'

'WHAT!!! What the hell MUM!!!'

'What should I do.......'

'Get off the phone and call an AMBULANCE!!!'

'Oh ok. I didn't want to bother them if its not a heart attack though. But maybe I should.'

'YAH THINK!!!'

You may think I am joking. But I kid not. Shockingly this actually took place. I guess she just panicked and because I always seem so sure of things, (mainly with the researching and the logical thought process's) she tends to run things by me first. Although I thought the suspected heart-attack was that one step beyond me. *looks though wallet* Nope. Not a Paramedic, annnnnnd *more scrabbling* Nope not a doctor.

So consequently when talking to Dad last night, he was bombarding me with all sorts of questions........

Will my hair fall out? - Usually only on the spot that is exposed to radiation. This can grow back a different colour. But You've snow on the roof anyway Dad so probably not.
Will it sting? - I don't know, but the area exposed to the radiation may become, sore, dry, and red.
How do they do it, is there some sort of laser beam? - Not a laser beam no. This isn't James Bond. However you may have a mesh mask over your face to keep your head still.
Why? - Well you want them to hit the Cancer Dad, not yer eyeball.

And so on and so on add infinitum. The problem is I repeat the same phrase again and again. Remember to ask the specialist these questions Dad, Am I on Speaker phone? (yes) MUM REMEMBER TO ASK THE SPECIALIST THESE QUESTIONS. (confirmed with a distant tinny <ok>) I even try to get them to write the questions down and take them with them. But every time its an epic fail. And every time I tend to get. 'I wish you were there, you could interpret for us!'

Luckily there is someone that does explain it all. Lin the Lung. Now. Lin the Lung (my Dad's nickname for her) is a nurse at the Phillip Arnold Cancer Unit in Dorset. She is lovely, and puts up with NO end of crap and old man flirting from my Dad. (honestly he hit 70 and, well scratch that he has always been a perv, in the NICEST possible way) I've never met her, never had the opportunity. And sadly, when I do, it will be when he shuffles off somewhere else. However that said she does provide the most amazing translation service and also, doesn't allow Dad to get too Maudlin. Which is good.

I find this all incredibly funny sometimes. (The walking medical dictionary not the terminal illness, as black as my humour is, that MIGHT be a tad too far) I'm only needed in this capacity when I am not physically near them. The minute I am in the same room the reverse is true. Its like I suddenly become incapable of doing anything. If, in example, I need a plaster, I can handle putting it on myself. Or getting paracetamol for myself. Ohhhhhh no no no no. Its done for me. <headpalm> Which I tolerate, because I understand why. They have a chance to parent me. Which is something I didn't really need once I hit 16. I was a very very much self sufficient child, because I was bought up to be. I was fiercely independent from an early age. And very sure of my own opinions. Even if people disagreed with them. And although I had cripplingly low self esteem (Eating Disorders will do that to you) I still just got my head down, and shoulder through a lot of it all. I've always been a bit of a survivor. Most times I emerge from the scrapes of life a bit bruised, scratched, and with foliage in my hair, but I always emerge. (I inherited this from my Mother, who in her formative years was a tour de force in life. She often jokes that I tend to grab life round the throat and throttle it)

In all honesty, I am expecting the call today, for consoling. I am expecting my Dad to get on the phone and have a proper dump. Because it is all a bit Sh8t. And all right he smoked since he was 14, but its still all a bit Sh8t and nobody deserves to die from this horrible disease. (Cancer is like one of the largest killers in the world and smoking is still legal? Go figure!)

So onwards today. Lead me to the Google medical dictionary of daughterdom, I believe I may be on call today...........

Hey up folks.... It appears normal service has resumed.

Surrealvampi — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 11:04:31 GMT

Sleep, Sleep, merciful sleep, is keeping me company these nights it appears! Hurrah! *huggles sleep closer to her so it NEVER LEAVES again*

You know I believe I may have turned a corner! I think the recent storm has passed leaving me feeling much more in control of my own emotions/brain/body/movements/marbles again! I am not one for dramas. I had enough of that attending an all girls secondary school. *shudders* However for one who really loves a quiet life I appear to have become quite the magnet for them!

The problem is it turns me into some sort of raving lunatic. I've been a nightmare to be around and feel quite sheepish when looking back. (I know I know it’s been traumatic but you know!) Where I thought I was dealing well with it all, I can now clearly see I was merely flailing my arms around in a windmill like fashion. Where I thought there was an exterior of calm, there was, well the painting of scream. They say the five most stressful things are:-

1. Death/Terminal

2. Job Change

3. Marriage

4. Divorce

5. Personal Injury

Currently I have number 1, 2 and 4 going on. Plus moving house and relocating. I've broken the back of the packing, and I am now rounding the corner onto the home straight. I can see my goal in the distance and I am running like a lopsided gazelle towards it. I am absolutely desperate to sort out and stabilise one part of my life. Its like perpetually falling down the side of a cliff reaching out for purchase and merely slapping the cliff face.

I am about 7 days away from slamming a much needed anchor into the ground. And once that is done, I can then set about creating 'my' semblance of normality. I will have a chance to rest on my laurels slightly and gather myself. Don't get me wrong I like a 'bit' of variety. I love that life is chocca FULL of things to do and experiences to be had. I usually prefer that they don't arrive all at the same time........

I think the problem has been that I have been trying to process and 'do' the whole thing at once. I've been asking the wrong questions. I've been talking to no-one really. I've failed to call my friends and shout, OI! LITTLE HELP HERE PEOPLE. Which I really should do. All i successfully managed to do was alienate myself at a time where I really needed people. And pretty much make those nearest and dearest to me doubt not only my sanity, but intellect as well. And in some cases, doubt my personality!!! Which I was starting to have serious reservations about myself....... *raises eyebrow*

I forgot how I 'tick'. I forgot how I work. But mainly, I forgot about myself. Having been in a relationship for the last 7 years which has required me to be at the bottom of the heap, and having had the 'what would I like' squashed out of me, I am redefining the selfish in me. I used to be inherently selfish. But not in a nasty way. In a very very Apsie way. Like forgetting to ask if someone wants tea when I am making it. It was always a case of, 'Well it would be nice if.....'

Well Balls to it. I earn MY own money. It is now being paid into a separate account so its MY bloody money. I will therefore spend it as I see fit. I'd forgotten that I am actually GOOD with money. I am also bloody good at driving. After all this time I had actually forgotten that I pretty much rock on a scale that is epic and he can frigging well Naff of and sort his own life out. He was ever as good as he was because of me, he said. Too bloody right. I wasn't his wife, I was his bloody mother!!!!

*Steps gingerly off soap box*

Yes. I am Woman. Get out of my way I need biscuits...............

What's the story, Morning Glory. The scales fall from my eyes....

Surrealvampi — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 09:10:46 GMT

I slept! I actually slept. The road to this blissful unconsciousness last night was possibly the longest, bumpiest, volatile one I've ever taken for a good nights sleep. But it was sleep.

It started of innocuous enough. (Doesn't it always) with arriving home after yesterdays duel with crying. (to cry or not to cry was the question) I had asked soon-to-be-ex-hub if he could possibly give me a hand this week, as its my last week in the house and at work, and that i was a little, well, overwhelmed.

Sure. He says. He then proceeds to tell me that he won't be there all night Monday, is out Tuesday, and Wednesday but can be around Thursday. My retort was, well that's a fat lot of good to me! And then, in true toy throwing fashion, I had what can only be described as a Meltdown. In fact, I melted so spectacularly that I was genuinely concerned that I was have some sort of nervous breakdown. (More like a breakthrough)

You see, I've felt so guilty, needley and shitty for putting my happiness above everyone else’s. I was miserable married to this great lug of a guy. Whose answer for everything was to buy something shiney. I didn't want to hurt him. But I wanted and deserved to be happy. You only get one shot, My Dad Keeps saying. And with only 3 months left, the man has a very valid point. So i lost it. I'd only asked him for one thing out of this who mess. A week of his time. Since this kicked off (around 6 months ago) all he has had to do is see his girlfriend. Mean while I've been packing, getting a solicitor, writing an Indemnity policy for the house, Organised a job fer myself in scotters, I've started the divorce proceedings, and he is getting the House and Contents and I'm signing the whole thing over to him. I've tidied, Hoover, babysat his child. I've provided food, and attend funerals recently to support him.

I'm knackered!!!!

I said to him. Mate, your life is peachy keen! And you've royally screwed me over. I got a lot of venom, a few angrily thrown comments and a lot of eyeballing. But he admitted he was crap. And said, I gave him too much credit. Which i replied was a cop out. he also said that he was only ever any good in the past because of me. I pointed out that he had started to believe his own press. I stopped short of telling him to Man the Heck Up Cupcake........because I didn't think that would go down at all well..... And then I went for a walk and had a fag. It was lovely. And I needed it. This doesn't mean I've gone back to 10 a day. It simply means I had a moment of weakness and that rather than beat myself to a pulp, I simply shrugged my shoulders and threw up. ( I knew I would LOL)

OUT of all of this. *Makes big waving hand gesture* I've come to the conclusion that I HAVE to stop putting the entire world not only a head of myself, but also stop putting it on my shoulders. (The GF will be pleased) Its become glaringly obvious that I do have a cut off point. I am amazed actually that I have managed to get this far before my brain has fractured. Is it wrong to be a tiny bit proud????? I don't know.

My Dad once said to me, I couldn't care if you loved a donkey, as long as you are happy. And that is all I want, is to be happy. To be with the GF, in the loveliest part of Scotland, in my new job. To be able to be there for my Father in a USEFUL capacity when he goes. To hold my Mum up and be that beacon I know that I can be.

I'm a bloody strong woman. I am a smart, intelligent, dynamic individual. I've weathered many things in my thirty years on this planet, and I hope to weather many more things. (Perhaps not all at the same time though eh?) I can do this. I can make it through with most of my marbles intact. I JUST have to remember that some days will be worse than others. I cannot control the universe ( I know, i was shocked as well.....) and that above all, I am human, and also deserve to be treated with kindness, love and respect. And this, Mainly from myself.

In other words. Stop letting others kick the shit outta yer, stop kicking the shit outta yerself, and give yer self a break.

Also, get off the Cross Kate. We need the wood...........

Oh so THIS is what stress feels like........

Surrealvampi — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 15:15:32 GMT

Welcome to Ms Paranoid, and Mr crochettie. We've been expecting you....Pull up a seat, Miss Teary is already here. Apparently.... this is the world of stress.

Today we see the arrival of Paranoia and crochettie. Teary arrived this morning in the form of brushing my teeth, and then driving to work. Its terribly difficult to see when you're crying. Thanks to Ms Paranoid, I've managed to almost wreck a very good Boss Employee relationship, and I'm after shooting the GF as well as Mr Crochettie steps in to bat. I've been snappy, teary, paranoid and altogether an absolute pain in the arse today. I've been told I'm being shockingly hard on myself, and that I need to give myself room to breathe. If anyone knows how to do this could you let me know?!?!??

AND I've done something monumentally stupid. I've brought some Baccie.

NOW TO CLARIFY!!! I've not smoked it. And yes i know I am a weak crock of sh*t. I gave up with my Dad and have managed to stay smoke free for 1 year and 2 months. But HONESTLY i have the most HUMONGOUS cravings right now. The GF is a smoker. And I know that she struggled to try and quit, whilst I stayed quitted. And she is quite rightly shouting NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo From bonny Scotland in a DAMN YOU shaking fist manner.

Its crazy stupid isn't it. He's dying of Lung cancer, and has secondary brain Cancer from the Lung Cancer which he got from Smoking. And I've brought Tobacco. Could someone examine me please, as I've obviously been hit upside the head with a shovel.

I can picture the scene in my head, and how good the ciggie could taste. But I know that I will be left light headed and feeling violently sick. Which is why I haven't actually smoked anything yet. Would I be so abhorrently awful if I caved? I know my Mum would practically throttle me. Yet my brother is still smoking and doesn't get yelled at. Ah, that's because I'm the prodigal daughter and therefore the one to be most perfected, honed and shiney.....

I don't know what it is. I don't know why its come back now. Well that's bollocks. Of course I bloody well know why its come hurtling back with a vengeance only a scorned woman would be jealous of. I obviously don't cave in until I am under EXTREME amounts of stress. And I finally believe that I am that much over-used, over-bandied about word..... S T R E S S E D. So, this is the part where I am supposed to ease off myself and coast a little more. To treat myself with kinder words and more tea. What I probably shouldn't be doing is smacking myself repeatedly for not being able to do everything.

So tonight I will carry on packing and Ignore the cleaning. Ex-Hub to be has told me numerous times that I should leave the crap for him to clear up, as I've been cleaning up behind him for too many years. The GF keeps telling me the reason for my total in ability to concentrate is because that as a control freak (which I am a little) everything is outside of my control which is exacerbating how I feel in the first place. (She's bloody clever this one. Its a tad irksome, but secretly, I love it.....Well, that's not so secret anymore really.)

I've wandered off the topic I think. You know what I want? I want to ability to stop conducting my relationship via skype and text messages. I guess really, I'm just missing my other half, a lot more today, than I do normally.

Oh My. This may mean I am human after all...............

Haven't we been here before.....

Surrealvampi — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 20:46:06 GMT

Oh you know the part. With the crying and the wailing. And the floor. Ah yes the floor. It seems to become my friend at moments in need. Rushing up to greet me with open arms. Loving, warm, and MAY I add, bloody hard.

I am starting to think there is a real market for a floor made of cushions. Oh, no wait, I believe that is called a sofa...............

I have been fine all weekend. I have even enjoyed the freedom of driving to see whom I choose when I choose. THAT has been bloody marvellous! In fact I would go so far as to say, I had a lovely weekend. (Divorce, blah blah, freedom yedeyah) In fact, at some points, it was a HOOT! SO why, the floor? Well. When I got home I got this notion into my head to continue packing. (9 days and then I am in Scotland with Lovely one. C A N N O T wait). I pull out a box from yet another storage space, and it’s my Childhood box. I'm rummaging through it, and I come across a birthday card from Mum and Dad.

Suddenly, before I even get a warning tremor, my breath ceases in my chest, and that feeling, I am starting to know a little too intimately sweeps over me like a force 9 gale.

To our darling daughter, Happy Birthday, Love Mum and Dad.

Oh holy crap buckets from hell. It slammed into me that next year, it will only be from Mum. That Christmas will only be from Mum. Forever. Always. End of the road Jack. And the reality of the situation sends my poor weaken knees sagging and me crashing to the floor in a chest heaving, in humane sounds wreck once again. By this point breathing is hard, and I don't know what to do with my hands. THEN even more strange I am laughing, although it sounds strangled, and then crying, and gasping, and.......... Well I think you all get the wonderful picture.

I texted a friend of mine, because I was desperate to talk to someone who knew. Who understood. And it’s not fair to have a pop, because she was probably busy. But she didn't text back. She lost a very very dear friend to cancer so has an inkling. I can't load this onto my GF because she lost her father 3 years ago to a stroke. And it was all very very upsetting and by the sounds of it, pretty traumatic. I don't want to drag her back down into the horrors, and with BOTH of us having Aspergers, well, I just want to keep her out of it, so that when the dust settles, I go home to an untainted, life. Something that isn't entangled in the now. It’s very precious to me this new future I am carving out for myself, and I guess, well. I guess I want to protect her from it. Shield her from it. Is this a terrible thing? I don't know. But in my head, it makes sense. PLUS she doesn't know my Dad at all, and will not, (sadly) have enough time to get to know him properly.

Ex Hub on the other hand, has expressed a wish to be there, and he has know my Dad for 7 years. I've asked my closest friend to stand with me on the day. Because it would be weird for the ex to do that. Because, well it would be.

Today was even weirder as well, because of the 'outing' of myself to my 85 year old Grandma, who brazenly said, Oh I knew about that ages ago and I can't say I'm surprised.......... To say my jaw hit the floor and skittered around for a while was to put it mildly.

Am I digressing? Oh wildly I imagine. Again par for the course it appears here. I am bone tired again. Mother Nature is visiting.... (Yes thank you for your IMMACULATE timing as usual) and I have to get up and work tomorrow. And to be fair, I think I will enjoy the distraction.

Out of all of this, the one person I am worried about is my Mum. The MacMillan Nurse comes to visit tomorrow, the one that Dad has been assigned. And I have told Mum that they are there for her too. For all of us. I don't know what more I can do for her. She looks and sounds world weary. The slightest thing she does wrong sends her further downwards, no matter how small it is. In example, I take sugar in my tea. Only one. But when I said, 'Ooo could I put some sugar in' the fact that she had forgotten, I thought she was going to cry.

Now. Here is where I am EPICALLY shit on a major level. And you will probably wonder how my GF and I manage to function, but I am RUBBISH with crying women. Absolutely hopeless. I don't know what to do. or say?!?!?!? And everyone is different. I need to be left alone. To get on with it. Unless I am proper broken and then a hug is fine. But I mean, like, soul destroying proper broken. If I am wound up or angry, Oooooo don't touch me. I get all skin crawly and punchy.

Mum it seems needs hugs. And lots of them. A LOT of them. And the thing is I am not a shockingly tactile person. I can stand so much. and then I feel uncomfortable. I can tolerate small ones touches. Holding hands or arms touching. Feet shoved under thighs etc. But full on hugging for long periods of time sees my body tensing and my shoulders gravitating towards my ears. Weirdly, Mum is the only one who can hug me THROUGH this phase to the other side where my shoulders then make their journey bad downwards, and my Body relaxes. (I don't know if it’s just because she's stubborn and just holds on through it.....)

I fail though; it appears to be able to do the same for her. I don't feel that what I give is enough. I feel like I fail. And I feel like a dud. I want SO desperately to help her, to heal her. To take the pain away so so so so much that its killing me more I think to watch her going through this and knowing that I am about as much help as a male stripper gram at a lesbian coming out party.

John said to me, is it worse to be the patient, or the carer. I also think there is another role here.

Is it worse to be the patient, the carer, or the daughter, watching the whole thing play out..........

In all honesty I don't know. But I am already tired of the roller coaster, and it’s only just begun...............

And so the planning begins...

Surrealvampi — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 12:17:17 GMT

Right, Last night in words: Terminal, finite time, two wills written, funeral arrangements, palliative care, hospice, welfare, adaptations, life line, Macmillan nurses, benefits, insurance, walking, Sainsbury's, coffee, KFC, Cider.

Both Mum and Dad were incredibly grateful that I sat and sorted all this out. For me? I was able to feel useful. I have the ability to step back and process things. I am very good at doing the shut down thing and sorting 'stuff out'. I can look at things in a logical manner. I can see what needs to be done.

However this does come at a cost. Which is this. Whilst Mum breaks down and lets all this sh*t out in little snippets through-out the week. I appear to bottle this, these feelings. And then when I am alone, and it all becomes to much, it explodes out of me, almost dragging me weak knee'd to the floor. I curl into a ball on the sofa, or try and fold myself up into my own pocket. Or sometimes, again, with the wishing to tear myself violently out of this reality.

It really is quiet flooring in its intensity. And interesting at the same time. How we each deal with this in very differing manners.

I digress. Last night was about writing wills. Both my Mum and my Dad's. And we were laughing and joking about what Dad was going to leave my Mum. Dad started saying, and to my Wife I leave a single nostril hair. I suggested pubic hair. To which he retorted, 'Yeah in a locket!' And we then got caught up for a good 5 mins discussing if we could fossilise the pubic hair, in Amber, and then have it rounded nicely into a pendant for her. Mum, meanwhile was doing the ironing, and making disgusted noises at the pair of us.

At one point we were howling with laughter.

I also managed to call Poole Borough Council and spoke to the wonderful Ester, and we chatted about the council's cost cutting and budget restraints. (I work for Swindon Borough Council at the moment). She gave me the number for Life line, and also booked Dad in for a care assessment in the home for grab rails and such like.

I then spoke to Jonathan at life line, who is sending out a package for me to read and then get sorted for Dad. The MacMillan referral has gone through and a nurse has been assigned. Dad has decided at the end he wants’ to go into Hospice, or the MacMillan ward at hospital. We then talked about Palliative care. We also discussed the insurance payout if they do it, and what Mum is going to do when Dad goes. And we also discussed the music Dad would like at the funeral, the clothing and the type of burial/cremation. I also managed to find a solicitor in both Scotland and England to help sort out my divorce!!!!!! Nay bad for on evening's work. We then went and did something very Mundane and went to Sainsbury's for Coffee (mum only had decaf and that's a NO for me in the morning.) and then grabbed a KFC. And i had a bloody well deserved Cider!!!!

All in all, they were amazed at the ease in which all of this was achieved. SO i think i have found my place in all 'this'. I'm the do'er. The sorter. The information gatherer. The one that Mum uses to figure things out. I will say, that after doing all that i HAD to go for a walk to decompress my brain. It had reached the point of 'no more poking please'. I spoke to my GF, who, (Also being an aspie 'Aspergers') was able to listen to my ramblings, and the pressure was released from my head.

Dad really is starting to sound like a pair of rusty bagpipes. But the steroids are helping ease the swelling on the brain. I have to watch him though, as he is a crafty bastard and is often found doing things he shouldn't. (That wiley Cat) He has been on form the last 24 hours. Which is lovely to see. Ribbing me about my Girlfriend, and winding Mum up. (he also is looking forward to seeing her next weekend, a thought that still fills me with fear! )

It’s a different story for my Mum. She is at the Coal Face 24 hours a Day, 7 Days a week. And you can see this in her face. She looks tired, worn down and trodden on. When Dad was going through Chemo he was an absolute arrogant arsehole to her. And he knew his behaviour was bad, but couldn’t seem to stop it. He kept apologising. It’s like if you look closely, you can see the impact marks on Mum. She constantly sounds flat. And ‘sighey’ is the only way I can describe it. And I am at a loss as to how to shore her up. I try. I try and make her smile. Make her laugh. I give her as much strength as I can. But I know it’s hard.

The next thing is to decide as to whether Dad has Radiotherapy. He has the consultant on Thursday. And we will know A.) Whether he can take it. And B) Whether it is worth it. I have a feeling they may say it’s a No. And leave him be. Who knows. Who Knows.

C’est La vie...... C’est La vie......

OH how the Pendulum swings......

Surrealvampi — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 10:15:20 GMT

Is it easier knowing that the end is coming or not?

Is it easier because you can prepare? You have a chance to say your final goodbyes. Last touches, last hugs, last kisses? Or is it easier having the proverbial plaster ripped off in one swift painful movement.

I don't know. Part of me wants it to be quick. The other part doesn't want it to be true. Part of me wants the news, 'Darling, he went suddenly in the night.' The other half wants to be able say, 'He was given three months, and look, its 6 months later.' *headdesk*

What I do know is that I appear to be trapped in a cycle. I'm anger, blood boiling, spitting nails angry. I want to stab at something repeatedly with the over whelming urge to destroy something pretty. To tear something apart with my bare hands. Then I cycle round to soul destroying sadness, where I feel so completed smothered by my emotions that It seems as if I am drowning in them. So lost and cast into this choppy sea with no life belt do I feel, that it already feels like I am going down on the third count. Then this grim defiance settles over me. Which see's me clenching my jaw and tilting my chin down as if walking in a strong wind. My shoulders back, stood tall prepared for battle. Then I'm angry and the cat has taken shelter under the stairs again, and the cushions on the sofa are crawling backwards from me in terror.

I know WHY I want to tear things apart with my bare hands. To feel Powerful. Because in this situation I HAVE no power.

I know WHY I am so completely overwhelmed because this is a massive thing to be processing. My Father is dying, that's a pretty big bag of nasty right there.

I know WHY I square my shoulders and stare down the beast, because I need that steely determination to carry me through what are surely going to be the hardest longest 3 months of my life.

I know the reasons behind the cycle. But it doesn't stop me from feeling like I am loosing my mind. But its the boiling rage that frightens me. Because it is so sudden, and so volatile that I am scared I might do something awful. And I think its because I don't do loosing my temper. I might shout a bit sometimes. (Mainly at the Cat) But I don't full on chuck-a-mental. I'm not one for throwing things across a room. Or balling my fists and punching a wall. I don't spew venom or lava. I usually have a heated, slightly raised voice discussion. And its not because I am weak or pathetic, its just that when you are full on screaming at each other, not much is being achieved apart from the raising of blood pressure and tearing strips off the person you love, is not a past time I enjoy. Deal with it. Discuss it. Move on.

So when these hot flashes and surges of anger suddenly course through my body, leaving my thrumming to point where I am bouncing on my toes, I don't know how to process it. I don't know what to do with it. So I've screaming at the top of my lungs, and punching the pillows in a manner I haven't seen or experienced since possibly being a toddler have a tantrum.

I am disappointed that my logical and methodical brain ISN'T doing what it usually does. I can be SO clinical, SO scientific in my approach to nasty things. And it’s not working. Usually I go into shut down mode. And this allows me to cope. But I am jabbing that button and nothing is happening. I think its because I am not being given the opportunity TO go into shut down mode, because I simply, am doing to much. OR people keep fracking prodding me. They keep coaxing me back out of my corner.

You know when a submarine goes onto silent running? And its using minimum system to get by. THAT is what usually happens. And THAT is what I am failing to achieve. And it’s WHAT I NEED.

I can't keep going through this cycle. It’s playing havoc not only with my senses, but my intellect as well. My stress stutter its going bonkers, and my OCD seems to have taken a turn for the worse. I am loosing threads on sentences, Missing parts on conversations, and more alarming, have recently lost the ability to spell, or even think in ANY type of cohesive string. I keep uttering the words, 'What was I saying?' and I have completely lost what I was going to say. My Mind is a wall of white noise, and nothing is getting through.

Ground Control to Major Tom..........

Houston, We have a problem.........

*tap tap tap* Is this thing on?

And if someone manages to find the pause button for the world, let me know, because I really could do with getting off............

When holding out isn't enough......

Surrealvampi — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 10:04:26 GMT

You know that phrase when you 'holding out' for something. And you're praying and hoping that the news you don't want to hear, will never come?

Well it has come. In the form of a tsunami ripping its way through my conciousness and searing itself permantly upon my life. My Dad has until Autumn. Bugger me to obilivion. He told me himself. In very calm gentle tones. 'Its not good news darling. I've got until Autumn. Its spread to my brain.' Oh Dad. Seriously, I'd have given EVERYTHING I have to hear the words, Its a stroke. I've had a mini Stroke (TIA). That that was why his body's gone funny. But its not. Its the Cancer swelling his brain pressing on the nerves and dibilitating him and making his right hand side all weak and pathetic.

'Its not good news darling. I've got until Autumn. Its spread to my brain.'

Around and around. Again and again. And as he is telling me the news these in-human sobs I've NEVER heard myself make are ripping themselves from my body under protest. I feel sick. And light headed. And ill and small and frightened and horrified all at the same time. I want to scream out loud, and punch the bed I am sat on. I want to claw at my own skin and rip my way out of this reality. I desperately want to rage against this horrific injustice that i am feeling. Because its not fair. It never is mind. But at that moment, i can feel all that i have been clinging to this past year stripped away in an instance. And there is nothing. A blank wall. The calculation, the gambles I've played with hope, gone. The stupid, well this is bad so maybe Dad's results will be good. The 'Bad comes along in threes.....' Well, I've had two deaths this year already. And we can see who will be the third........

How much does this suck? I can't even bloody quantify it. And if i hear the words 'Oh well, at least you know how much time he has left, that must help.' one more time, i will NOT be held accountable for my actions.

S E R I O U S L Y! Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME! Oh yes it helps immensely that i know for a fact he is going to die in 3 months. That he won't make it to Christmas. It fills me with the most wonderful sense of calm and peacefulness. In fact i feel POSITIVELY GLOWING with the excitement of the news.................... *ahem*

I wish i could be all strong and Amazon woman like. I wish i had the capacity to push forward and be the beacon that i know everyone is expecting me to be. I know exactly what is expected of me. I will be expected to hoist the torch high above my head, and lead everyone to the ultimate destination. To ensure that all arms and legs remain inside the ride until we reach the finish and that seatbelts remain fastened whilst the sign is still lit. HOW the HELL am I going to do this?????

I've a Mother, Father and Brother to keep upright. I'm in the middle of relocating to Scotland from Swindon to be with my GF and Mum and Dad live in Dorest. I'm also in the middle of going through a Divorce. I've handed in my notice at work and I am starting my new job in August and then Training throughout September.

And all the while.........

'Its not good news darling. I've got until Autumn. Its spread to my brain.'

Around and around it goes. In every speedy circles. Until I don't know whether to rip my hair out by the roots, or bash my head repeatedly into the desk infront of me. I can't cry. Because I won't cry. I'm numb with a headache the size of the UK. But yet I can feel my brain is on overload.

'Its not good news darling. I've got until Autumn. Its spread to my brain.'

I've never felt so powerless in my whole life.

And I've never felt more alone.

Well there it is……

Surrealvampi — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 08:12:20 GMT

Posted elsewhere on originally on Tuesday, 13 July 2010

Updated for the 29th November 2010....

Further on from my Dad’s diagnosis. We are now at about OOoooooo nearly 6 months?? And my doesn’t the time fly from diagnosis to treatment……. Dad has had his Bowel operation and the surgeons are very hopeful that they got all of it including the blood supply. He has also had the first of 3 operations for the Lung Cancer. (That went a bit pear shaped, but he is back on the road to recovery now, and the next op is the 12^th November) So. I decided to do some research and have looked into Bowel Cancer and Lung Cancer.

Now, I don’t know about you. But Cancer is such a scary word, that it strikes fear into the very core of your being. That when the word is uttered to you for the first time, you feel as if you have been dunked into freezing water and are unable to breathe. You’re a bit woolly……

So the image that it conjures up for me is that of a knarly, twisted, purple, reddy blue, horrific looking tumour. I wanted it to look as scary as the word felt. We’re talking huge. I wanted it to be leaking some sort of radioactive green plasma with tendrils leaching into other organs and sapping their blood supply. Genuinely grotesque. Like some sort alien had taken up residence inside my Fathers body.

Nope.

Not even close.

You know what. It’s Beige…..

I mean it looks so NORMAL. If the person hadn’t ringed the tumour on the picture, I wouldn’t have even noticed it was there.

So there I am waiting to see something horrific and I am met with something so non-threatening it might as well be called Brian and work in accounts. Wearing Nylon. And smelling a little of B.O.

Believe it or not I was disappointed. Now I know that may sound strange, but when you are visualising what your dad is fighting in your head, you have a picture of something that is hard to beat. Like a juggernaut. Because Cancer is so life threatening. What you don’t have is a picture of your Dad beating up boring Brian in accounts because he got your tax deductions wrong!

Now Dad unfortunately also has Lung Cancer as well. He has had the first mass removed from his left Lung, which some how he had managed to glue to his ribs, this was then followed by a lung infection and a partial collapse!! (Only my Dad can pull of stuns like this at 71 and live. Honestly the Man is made of cast iron I swear!!!) So. After he had recovered, I thought, right, Lung Cancer, that's a biggy. So that has got to look at least a tiny bit worrying.

Wrong. They are white. And a bit Fluffy. (And slightly more worrying than beige)

Now I am not trying to poo poo Cancer. Or shrug it off as being something people get worked up over for nothing. I am not trying to lessen its destructive nature. Because it rips fracking holes in your life.

However…….

You see there’s the rub. If it did look terrifying. As horrific as i had imagined. I would be sat here thinking, no rocking, chanting, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Bugger me Dad’s in for a fight. HOW are we going to beat that?????’ My ‘Go Dad Banner’ would have deflated somewhat and my balloons, would have burst. I would probably be feeling even smaller than I do now. I don’t think there is anything that makes you regress faster than finding out one of your parents has something that could kill them. Even though you are old enough to know better. You STILL think they are made of titanium.

So I guess even though this is the scariest thing we have faced as a family. Knowing that the tumours aren’t some alien entity that has invaded my Dad’s body sort of helps. Because the body created this (with help from tobacco obviously in this case) therefore, with help the body can fight it. If my Dad can be given the tools needed to fight back, then we can kick this thing to the curb. AND I know it isn’t that simple. And I know he is in for a fight. And it IS scary. But I cannot, and will not let hope out of my sights.

Nothing will ever eradicate this fear. You can’t rewind knowing something like this. It will always lurk somewhere in the back of my mind, like that pea that you always find at the bottom of the freezer when you defrost it.

I do know something though. And I know it’s said a lot, but I think it is true.

Together, We will beat Cancer.

Oh dear Lord

Surrealvampi — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 10:44:00 GMT

Originally Posted Elsewhere on the 13th June 2010…….. at the beginning of the Cancer Journey.......

There have been few heart stopping moments in my life.

First Kiss
(I missed out first time, the hype did NOT do it justice)
being Proposed to
Getting Married
Buying a house
Meeting Amanda tapping
Finding out your Dad has Cancer.......

The last was probably the most body heart stopping moment i have experienced. Everything in my body froze. A large buzzing had set up shop in my head accompanied by dry mouth and fuzzy sensation everywhere. My World, apparently, has been tilted.

What do you say?

How do you even begin to find the words.....

In my case. You suck it all back down, paint on a smile and go from there. Because someone has to smile. Someone has to find that strength, because i sure as hell cannot expect this to come from my Mum and Dad. So it’s me.

So what do you do when suddenly that Big ol' oak tree that is your Dad suddenly has something that makes your bowels clench? In my families case you turn to humour. Dark, distracting, beautifully uplifting humour.

I have been asked many times over the last few months. 'How are you doing?' To be honest????? I have been back and forth.........A lot. And around in circles. With the crying and the wailing. Some snorting. A lot of flailing. And a few complete melt downs. My Dad on the other hand appears to be sailing at the helm of this ship remarkably well. I am distinctly proud of him, and hope that he continues on this path. My Dad having been a life long smoker, has kicked this to the curb. The Day i found out it was confirmed Lung Cancer, i came down with a chest infection. I therefore also gave up smoking. Some things you don't ignore

However, When I gave up smoking, I chose to do this at the same time of my Period arriving, and it was my step-sons weekend to visit. Cue, normal loving, well balanced individual turns into the two headed bitch from hell. To be honest, which was affecting me more at that moment in time was anyone’s guess. Nicotine withdrawal or Hormones...... flip a coin, it won't make any difference.

Has giving up been easy? Yes and No. The last 5 Months have been a journey. But one I think if you are a smoker, you should take. And not because I am now a non-smoker and therefore deem you casted into hell. But because most smokers will always ALMOST want to give up smoking. But its like you never can quite turn that corner. Fear, for me was the stopper. BUT if you are thinking about it. Just do it. Give it a crack of the whip. What have you got to lose? If you fail……Don’t worry, try again. Sounds simple? That’s because it is. Remember i said simple not easy. Don’t confuse the two.

And tell your friends. The ones you know believe in you. They will be a tremendous beacon of light and support.

You will need it. But in reality, i am asking you, please don't wait until the be C has marched into your life unannounced and uninvited. Making its acquaintance without even so much as buying you a drink.

Just Quit it.