An homage to Mr. YP which combines Easter Island and England.
Wednesday, 5 May 2021
An homage to Mr. YP which combines Easter Island and England.
Sunday, 2 May 2021
We drove down to Wetaskiwin yesterday to visit my in laws. They're fully vaccinated and my hubby and I have both had one shot and all of our covid tests have come back negative. I made a casserole, salad and dessert so that my mother in law didn't have to cook for us. We haven't had a meal with them since last July. The visit was nice and Lucy especially enjoyed the car ride.
Storm clouds on the way home.
My son continues to fuck up his life. He didn't show up for the last two visits that he had arranged with Jack. And yesterday someone showed up at our house to serve my son with papers in the hopes that I could pass them onto my son with the next visit. Apparently my son hit a cyclist almost two years ago, injured the cyclist and is being sued for $400,000. It never ends. Instead of dealing with the consequences of his actions he has decided to never see Jack again so that I can't physically serve him with the papers. I texted him photos of the papers. I don't know if it's legal but I've done my bit.
I try very hard to not let it bother me but I think I grieve everytime there is new information about my son. He went to jail for dealing drugs, grief. He went to jail again for dealing drugs, grief. He was arrested, grief. Jail for domestic violence, grief. Attacking Gracie when she was pregnant and more jail time, grief. His failure to provide for Jack or even see Jack, grief. Neverending lies, alcoholism and drug dependence, more grief. And now this. I grieve with every new instance and I need to figure out to let it go, to let go of the son I thought I had and to see him for what he really is.
I am protecting Jack from violence and lies and chaos but sometimes it feels like I'm keeping him from a father's love, but I don't think there's really much of that. My son cares for no one but himself and how that person can serve his self intersts, including his child.
My hubby is a wonderful poppa and male role model for Jack. He is patient and kind and gentle. He is even tempered and rarely gets angry, almost never. He and Jack love each other very much and that's a good foundation for life.
Sunday, 25 April 2021
Katie having a meltdown before the school bus arrived.
I'm enjoying this book but it's also dredging up a lot of memories and pain for me. I'm thankful Katie is now happy and well cared for in a wonderful group home by women who love her. I'm also thankful that I am not her primary caregiver anymore. I love her more than you can know but she's hard too.
Thursday, 22 April 2021
Gracie worked nights last weekend so we had Jack and Miss Katie with us. The weather was halfway decent, not very warm but nice and sunny so I took the opportunity to give Katie a haircut. I prefer to cut her hair outside because I make such a mess. Jack decided to get in on the action and Lucy, the beagle, was ever hopeful that one or both of them had some food.
Katie enjoyed seeing her nephew but seemed slightly put out that he had grown so much. She was very gentle with him and Jack was so kind to Katie it made my cry. He kept bringing her his favorite toys.
It was a nice visit. Katie loves babies and I want Jack to be comfortable around his disabled auntie.
Work continues to be difficult. Our medical director is becoming even more awful to work with if that's possible. The techs and the nurses are coordinating our complaints against him and documenting everything. I am hopeful.
I'm looking forward to retirement and have decided to retire in September 2022 if all goes well. I still want to work casual but will be able to work less. Working casual also tends to protect you from getting drawn into the politics that go on in workplaces.
Numbers of Covid cases continue to climb here with a huge increase in variant cases. I was lucky enough to get my first vaccination last week and we will take Katie today as she finally qualifies because of her disability. Strangely enough Katie doesn't mind needles and loves being out and about, getting to see people and socialize. It's been a hard year that way for her and she has done amazingly well, far better than I ever could have imagined.
Last week I heard a writer on CBC talking about her new book, "My Own Blood". The author is Ashely Bristowe and she lives in Calgary. She has a twelve year old disabled son and she is pissed.
This is from the prologue,
"If you're the sort who gets itchy when women swear or threaten casual violence for emphasis, parts of this story will make you uncomfortable. If, at those moments, you pretend I'm the father of this disabled boy, a man at the end of his rope, it'll all seem way more reasonable. Then ask yourself why that's necessary, and you'll get to some idea of the societal bullshit mothers of special-needs kids put up with when we have actual, honest reactions to sincerely fucked-up situtations."
I'm loving the book and I've already contacted the author on Facebook messenger and we've been talking. I want to ask why the world is so afraid of angry women and then I think about what would happen if women expressed their anger for all of the shit we do every single day that isn't acknowledged or appreciated, for the laundry that gets down and put away, for the clean toilets, for the meals made, for the clean sheets and towels, for the unpaid childcare, for the appointments made and bills paid, things would change and who likes change? Certainly not the men in charge.
It is so liberating to read this book. I was angry for a long time after Katie was born. Angry that a doctor would be so nonchalant telling me that my beautiful one week old baby might end up blind. Angry that another doctor told us that Katie might never walk. Angry that my then husband told me he never wanted a third child, after the two previous conversations with doctors. Angry that other women had normal babies. Angry that I would have to take care of this little girl for the rest of my life. Angry that all the dreams for my baby died overnight. Angry that I was alone and isolated and had no help from my family, except my mum who told me on a regular basis that Katie would eventually be alright because my mum had her own grief to work through. Just generally angry, for a long time. Grief takes time to work through and I understand that now but at the time, I didn't.
So, I'm enjoying this book, almost thirty years after I went through what this woman is going through. I don't feel so alone. My feelings have been validated instead of swept under the rug or filed under bitchy mother. It feels good.
Saturday, 17 April 2021
I've made two more batches of cinnamon knots this past week. They do seem to help somewhat with depression although my pants are getting tight. My neighbor is enjoying the cinnamon knots as well because I share them with her. We really don't need to eat a dozen cinnamon knots and they're much better on the first day.
We had a coffee table that was made of glass and metal and we finally decided to switch it out before Jack banged himself too badly on it. Katie had a dark brown coffee table that she took apart, so the big guy put it back together and I painted it white with chalk paint and then put wax over the paint. Turned out okay. Jack was surprised by the switch up and kept calling the metal and glass coffee table, his table. "My table". He also tried pronouning pterodactyl. He's a fan of dinosaurs and outerspace.
The snow is pretty much gone again and I'm going to take the dogs out soon for a walk at the dog park. Fresh air and sunshine, good for the soul.
A goodish week at work but a lot of sad stories from patients. I stand or sit and listen. We all need to tell our stories, especially the heartbreaking stories. My employer doesn't understand that part of caregiving is listening. Grief lives in our building and requires as much care as shortness of breath and pain.
One of my favorite young patients was in this past week. She is twenty-nine years old. As a child she had leukemia or lymphoma, can't remember which, and was treated with radiation to her chest. Now she has metastatic breast cancer. When I saw her she had yellow eyes, a belly and a cough. Her cancer has spread significantly. Her liver is filled with tumors and she has fluid around her lungs which needed to be drained as soon as possible. We got that done for her but it will keep happening until she dies. She is a sassy young woman and shares my middle daughter's name. Her mom came with her this week because now she needs a wheelchair to get around. She knows she dying and she's still full of piss and vinegar.
I bought more fabric today for my next quilt. Katie has a new, bigger bed, a queen size now which she loves, so now she needs a queen sized quilt. Orange is her favorite color and it goes nicely with blues. It's springtime so I won't have much time to work on it but when I do have time I'll be ready. It will be a simple nine patch quilt, which is just small squares put together.
A quiet day which the big guy and I both need. The house is clean and I'll have time to spend outside in the garden before it snows again tonight. Jack comes after supper to spend a couple of nights with us. Katie will get to visit with him tomorrow which will make her week.
Slowly recovering from the last bout of depression, fucking black dog.
Wednesday, 14 April 2021
We had a snow storm last weekend which is almost completely gone now. I'm still feeling down but it's improving. My depression is starting to feel like a cold. I can feel it coming on with increased stress and when it reaches it's peak, I feel dead inside and then I slowly start to recover. I know it's not completely gone because I can still feel it on my face, under my eyes. That sounds weird but it's how I can tell I'm depressed as opposed to tired. But I'm recovering from this last go round. I can smile again and even told jokes at work yesterday.
On Monday I found out that I had been exposed to asbestos twice in the past couple of years. Some of our ceiling tiles had been disturbed in the past two years and rained down vermiculite on our work space; I contacted FME before cleaning it up. FME assured me it was just vermiculite, no problem, so I cleaned it up without a mask or gloves. Then on Monday I found out from my manager that the vermiculite is contaminated with 3% asbestos. There is construction going on right now because of a new system that is coming next year so the electricians had to go into the ceiling and the vermiculite was disturbed and then needed to be tested. Asbestos. Really?
So it's been a shit couple of weeks but it will get better.
I know my son is a trigger for my depression. I know it and still it gets to me. Must work on that.
This pandemic and the completely inept dealing of it by our Premier is a trigger too. I feel frustrated and disrespected.
Today I'm off and making cinnamon buns. Later I'll take the dogs for a nice long walk. The birds are singing their songs of enticement, trying to convince the ladies to like them. And some humor, because humor really is the best medicine.
Sunday, 11 April 2021
Soccer pitch behind our house.
Things I'm thankful for today.
Visit with Katie.
The snow is melting.
The laundry is done.