Thursday May 14, 2009

Just got back from my drawing course. What a great experience. It turns out, a friend of mine as original painting she bought years back, from the artist-instructor for my course! What a small world...I've admired that painting for years and here I am learning from the artist himself. Tonight we were working from a live model. I forgot how tiring drawing for three hours can be!

Before going to class, I dropped by the hospital to visit my father. He was sitting up, which hasn't happened for about a month. I'm feeling hopeful. He's a two bouts with c-difficile - which is a highly contagious bacterial infection people get in hospitals. The first time he got it, he was sent from the rehab hospital to emerg in our local hospital. It turned out he had also had a heart attack. Things just seemed to spin out of control within a very short period of time. Since then, he's been in isolation, which is really, really difficult on him. I was sharing the visiting with my daughter, but she's started her work term and isn't available to visit him...so, it's up to me to visit every night. I get there around 5 or 5:30 and sit with him until his dinner arrives, then I feed him, wash his hands, face and teeth, and get him ready for sleep, then I go home. So my life right now is work-hospital-home-sleep, work-hospital-home-sleep, and so on.

The differences from nurse to nurse is amazing. One time I got there after the food arrived. When I walked into the room, after getting dressed in the isolation gear you have to put on, there was a nurse standing beside his bed with one hand on her hip, the other hand holding a spoon of food in front of my father, and my father's face covered in food. I could not believe my eyes. I quickly dismissed her. Cleaned him up, fed him. Got him ready for bed. Then went straight to complain. Since then, I have not missed a dinner, and haven't seen anything so dispassionate again. Now...I'm hoping and praying the meals (breakfast and lunch) that the nurses DO feed him, go a bit better than what I witnessed.

It sucks being an only child, the responsibility and burden is incredible. Trying to care for a parent, as well as caring for your family...and trying to squeeze out time for yourself is an almost impossible task. I'm not doing anything well and I feel bad all the time. That's why I abandoned all the exercise and "fun" stuff I did. BUT, with this drawing course, I'm trying to get myself back on track and try to care for myself too.

Difficult times

Although I try to keep this blog focused on creative endeavours...aside from cooking and baking, the creative endeavours have been limited. My father is quite ill and I have been taking care of him. Running to doctors and various hospitals in order to try and save his leg, which, unfortunately will be amputated in a week. My father has had type 2 diabetes for about 40 years and he's never managed it well. Always a very stubborn man, he would never listen to advice from his only child - me! And, now, here we are. It is because of him, I am determined to try and be as healthy as I can be so my children don't have to go through what I am going through. Caring for an elderly parent is extremely difficult as your attentions are divided between children, spouse, work, home, and (if you can squeeze it in) self.

The one thing I have done to commit myself to pursue painting is to register in a fine arts certificate program at a local college. I think this will make me make the time for myself. I've always taken night school courses in painting that have always been a great opportunity to spend time painting...but this time I want to actually pursue a program of some sort. I think I've found the perfect one and am quite happy and looking forward to starting in the spring.

I haven't been following along with the 12 Secrets...although, every time I check in to check everyone's blogs, events in my life seem to be mirroring whatever the secret of the week has been. Funny, eh?

Right now I'm just living...day to day...I just being and seeing where life will take me. The situation with my father is out of my control, even after trying everything we could. This brings me to question "do we have any control over anything?"

What a week!

What a week it's been. Starting with my father refusing the hyperbaric treatment to ending with my father signing the long-term care application. And, in between, a whirlwind of events. After talking with Dr. D on Monday, he suggested I proceed with organizing the application for long-term care. I prepared the paperwork, but wanted to go look at the homes before I ranked the homes I was interested in. What a nightmare. I decided to go to the one I really think would be best for my father, and it was tough. Seeing the residents, many non-verbal and immobile, was really difficult. The coordinator assured me there was cognitive residents and that they would arrange it so my father would meet with them and he would have friends there.

The second home I tried to see, I couldn't. Why? Cause the administration was terrible - after not receiving any replies to my voicemail, I thought I would just drop in. Well, I stood at the counter as the receptionist conversed on the phone -- clearly a personal call. She didn't even pause when I walked up to the desk. Just chit-chatted away, as I stood clearing my throat, hoping she'd get the drift and get off the phone. Once off, she was just as helpful - NOT! Totally pointless waste of my time. Like a miracle, this morning when I call again, the person who answered the phone, turned out to be a former student of mine and he promised to personally pass on my message. The administrator called me back in 10 minutes! Interesting. Still, I can't go see the place until next week.

The third place, which is well-known and well-respected, has organized tours and I'll be seeing that in a couple of weeks.

12 Secrets - Chapter 1 - Acknowledging Your Creative Self

My earliest memories of considering my own future were from when I was about 4 or 5 years old. I would pretend I was a math professor. Why? Probably because my father kept calling my his little "professor". I knew enough that a professor was a teacher, so that's what a lot of my pretend play was....that and dreams of being a fashion designer. My mother was a seamstress and worked as a home-sewer. She would get big boxes of apron-pieces delivered to our home and sew them for pay by piecework. I was about 4 when she taught me to sew. We sat at her industrial sewing machine with me in her lap and, while she worked the foot pedal, I fed the fabric through the presser foot. I remember how thrilling it was to take two pieces of fabric and make one thing out them! My mother sewed all my Barbie clothes until I was able to sew my own. My mother told me that the first time she realized I was sewing on my own was when she noticed a button crudely sewn on to my sweater. The button was crudely sewn on with different coloured thread. She asked my father if he had sewn it on, and he said he hadn't, that's when she realized I had done it - I was in kindergarten.

I have such wonderful memories sewing. As a teenager, I made my formal clothes - dresses for weddings, dances, and other similar events. As a working woman in my twenties, I made many of my work wear - suits, skirts, pants, shirts. When I was pregnant, I made many of my maternity wear and when I had my kids, I sewed their play clothes, coats, Sunday clothes, etc. I also enjoy quilt-making, applique, embroidery and needlepoint. My mother taught me to knit when I was about 8 and my aunt taught me to crochet and I have been enjoying both since.

In school, I loved art and started to show real promise by grade 7. I was particularly interested in portraiture and did many detailed portraits, in pencil, of celebrities I was "in crush" with. Unfortunately, I have none of the art from those years as my art teacher kept them for her portfolio. Little did I know what they would mean to me in my later years. I do have my sketch book from my senior year in high school, but everything before that was thrown out (my mom was a bit of a clean freak). I loved drawing! In grade 13, I was focused on going to art school to become a commercial artist. My parents did not support this idea, as they did not see a future - meaning, how would I make money to support myself? This didn't bother me as much as one of my art teacher's comments (which would prove to be the negative voice I still hear in the back of my mind) - she said "Lillian, you couldn't be a commercial artist because you are not confident enough." I wasn't but hearing it from a person in authority sealed the deal for me. I was so devastated.

Since then, I have not stopped creating - through needle-crafts, writing, living, and exploring - but every time I think about living a more fully creative life, I stop. I have enjoyed the journey of Soul Coaching and looked forward to 12 Secrets, but as I was reading Chapter 1 and reflecting on my own life - challenges and successes, I kept thinking "how can I change my life when I have all these responsibilities and commitments?" It's almost like staring at a blank canvas.

Like many of you, I have fibromyalgia. I was diagnosed at 32 and have been living a full-life by focusing on my nutrition and exercise - truly the only things that have really helped me (as medications were a real fiasco). I am 50 years old and I am still pursuing a dream...isn't it too late? Shouldn't I just forget about it and honour all the gifts that I have been given? Can I live with that deep sadness about never have pursued my passion? Is it even still my passion? And the most important question, what if I figure it all out and still can't actually DO anything about it?!?!

New year...new prayers

Well...it's been a few weeks since I last posted. I couldn't even bring myself to think about the week that just passed. This past Thursday was my father's appointment with Dr. D - his primary specialist. Before Christmas we had met with Dr. E and my father was tested in the hyperbaric tank. The doctor gave me cautiously positive news and said he would forward communication to Dr. D of the results. When we met with Dr. D this week, he admitted he did not have time to go through his mail and had not reviewed the notes from Dr. E. Therefore, could not comment on the course of treatment. He did say, we will likely proceed with a below the knew amputation and that he would be in contact with me once he reads the letter from Dr. E.

My father immediately broke down when he heard this. He tried as best as he could to control his tears, but pulled his hat down past his eyes and started crying. This just broke my heart. He looked like a little boy trying to cover his face from his mom. Only, this was my father and I know he was trying to hide his vulnerability from me, his daughter, to whom he has always been the strong one. I sat with him and told him that ultimately it would be better for him. That he would not have to wear the IV pack anymore. And that he would be taught to walk with a prosthetic and able to try to get back to a normal life.

I don't know what the future holds...no one does, I know. But I continue to pray for strength for both of us, so we can face this trial.

Cautious...some good news

Today my father was tested in the hyperbaric chamber and the test went well. Not great, not fantastic, not terrible, but well. Well enough to say that hyperbaric therapy might be helpful for my dad. That means, if Dr. D. is happy with the results of this test, he will determine the course of action and, I'm hoping, set into motion steps to resolve my father's current health situation...namely, determine how much will need to be amputated and when and how all that will occur.

I'm happy (cautiously, 'cause I don't want to be disappointed) because this bring bring resolution to his health and he won't have to wear the PICC line very much longer. Happy because for the next few weeks we don't have any doctor's appointments and can face Christmas on a positive note. It's been so busy these past few weeks with doctor's appointments, hospitals and sadness. I've been doing well for the most part, but the last month or so, I have been exercising less and eating more. I'm glad school is almost over and I'll have some time to rest. I'm going to try NOT to think about the new year, as it will be busy right from the start with my dad's appointments again.

Father in hospital

This has been another difficult week. My father's breathing seemed laboured on Monday when we went for his audiology test. I considered going upstairs in the clinic to see his doctor, but then I thought I might be overreacting. Tuesday I could still hear his breathing over the phone, then Wednesday when I called from the workshop it's sounded worse. I left early, went over to see him, and called the doctor's office to ask them what we should do. They said to come right over. They took my father in right away, sent him for x-ray and ECG and sent us to the hospital - congestive heart failure is what the doctor said he believed was going on.

Once we got to TEGH they promptly took us in. After a number of tests, they decided to admit it and that's where he is now. I'm frustrated because I haven't spoken with his doctor and don't know is going on. The doctor told my father he is going home on Monday, but I'm not sure that would be a good idea. I don't know what to do. This is probably one of the toughest situations I've ever been in...I feel so alone in making this decision. I pray God will give me some insight into what I should do.

Need prayers

My father was admitted into the hospital last night for cardiac problems (still don't know exactly what, but he is in the cardiac acute care wing of the hospital).

A poem for my mother

Our Mothers
By Christina Rossetti

Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
"Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule."
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?—
Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away
Whether or not you bear to look on me.


My mother didn't like me to worry, but I'm worried all the time. I'm worried about my father. I'm worried about my kids. I'm worried about my husband. I'm worried about work. I'm worried about myself. I feel badly that she may be looking down at me and that she may feel sad for me. I miss her so much. A day doesn't go by without thinking about her.

Blister packs

Trying to make things easier doesn't always. I asked my father's doctor to order his medications in Blister pack pill dispensers in order to make it easier for him to take his pills. Well, it hasn't gone too well. I called today and he was upset because he couldn't figure them out. I guess it's my fault because I didn't get to his house after school yesterday when the first pack was delivered to explain to him how to use them. I asked him to ask the VON nurse to help him, but I guess he didn't. He was so confused when we got there this afternoon. He was in tears as I tried to explain it. I got very frustrated and my daughter, M, explained it to him slowly and he listened to her. I fee so bad. I don't know what to do. I think I'm right leaving him at home and having CCAC help with his personal care and light house keeping, but I always feel guilty. There's so much I need to do for him, for us, and yet I feel paralyzed.

Long-term care

I met with my father's family doctor, Dr. WO, yesterday. I needed to get some repeats on prescriptions and ask the doctor for the referrals Dr. WE needs before he can test my father for the hyperbaric therapy. I also talked to the doctor about proceeding with filling out the paperwork for my father to enter long-term care eventually. Dr. WO mentionned that he was one of the doctors that works out of one of the long-term care facilities I was considering and that he could help get my father in if we decided we wanted him to go there. That is somewhat hopeful. In the meantime, I have to get my dad to have the tests he needs done, get his medications in order, and move forward from there...whatever "forward" is.

My son, P, told me about a former student from my last school who passed away recently at his own hands. It's so sad. I remember the student as being a dynamic, yet unusual, young man. One who was involved in various creative aspects of the school. He apparently was a talented diver and most recently an upcoming fashion photographer who was well known in that industry. It's always so hard to hear about the death of a young person. Someone who seemingly had everything to live for, yet, obviously had some demons of his own that he couldn't cope with. So sad, such a waste. Contrast that with my dear father who is fighting for his life.

what's tough about being an only child?

You're the only one. The only one to take care of your mother when she is dying. The only one to take care of your father with whom you have never really had a good relationship. The only one to make a decision on elder care for a father who has always been strong and is in both physical pain from a terrible infection on his diabetes ravaged body and is mentally in pain because he can't be the strong father figure his only daughter has always know.

What's so tough about being an only child? There is no one else to share stories from when you were a child. There's no one else to share in the pain when you lost your mother and are watching your father grow weaker as he grows older.

What's so tough? There are only the memories you have...alone. The stories you try to share with your family who really don't understand or, maybe, don't care because they have their own memories they are building.

It's tough being an only child...even when you're 50.