Miss Invisible

When I was younger (when was that? I barely remember now…) I remember hearing my aunts (or was it my mother’s cousins?) discussing the age of invisibility.

I used to think they were being ridiculous and melodramatic, but now I’ve discovered exactly what they meant. Once a woman hits a certain age – and perhaps that certain age is accompanied by a certain weight – well, nobody notices her at all any more. And I think I’m there. I suspect I could stand naked in the middle of the mall and set my head on fire and nobody would notice.

Well perhaps they’d notice that.

But in general, nobody sees you once your fat and frumpy and forty. The shop attendants stare at your credit card and take your money, but they never look you in the eye. The  snotty nosed ratbags on the street have eyes only for each other. The old people are too busy complaining about the young people to notice the middle people.

Invisible.

That’s what I am.

It feels a bit sad really…

 

Pink Ribbon Breakfast

Every year, I get together with a good friend of mine and we host a pink ribbon breakfast. In Australia, pink ribbon breakfasts are held in October and are organised by the National Breast Cancer Foundation.

At the breakfast, we invite as many women as we can find to come along dressed in something pink, with a plate of yummy pink food, and people can choose to donate money or to buy merchandise or simply to chat and socialise!

Our event this year was small by past standards (I’ve had a lot on my mind lately!) but never the less, we raised well over $500 on the day and still have more pledged funds coming in.

Do you want to donate to my breakfast?! You can do so here!

And here’s a few pictures from our fun, fundraising venture!

Thank you

I’ve buggered up nablopomo by the look of it…. Life is just overwhelmingly hectic at present!

Thank you for all your kind thoughts. I’m hoping to keep mum out of a hospice as long as possible. She’s happiest at home and I want her to be there as long as possible. She has a wonderful doctor that is available on the phone 24/7 and visits her at home as needs be. There are also respite carers that come in for a few hours each week.

On Saturday I organised for a respite carer to stay over night – 8pm-8am – so mum’s husband could get a night’s sleep. It is her husband, D, that I’m most concerned about. He appears to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You know that painting, “The Scream” ? He says he feels like that. Yet when the doctor discussed anti-depressants with him he said she was talking psycho babble and refused to listen.

So somehow, I have to help him through this without him falling apart. And without me falling apart!

Anyway – mum’s looked MUCH better the past few days. The delirium is gone. I suspect the delirium was related to too much drug taking by mistake. SHe’s been eating a little at most mealtimes and has even got out of bed and gone to the lounge room to watch tv. Two days in a row! So things are definitely improved from last week!

Ok – so I promise not to rabbit on about all my problems for the entire month of November! Something cheery next time perhaps…

Do you think if I do three posts today that makes up for not writing a post for three days?! Is it 30 posts in 30 days? Or does it have to be one a day every day?! I’m changing the rules… 30 posts in 30 days!

The End is Nigh

I promise not be morose in every post for this month. But mum’s imminent demise is playing on my mind…

I’ve never watched anyone die before. It’s not a pretty sight. I’ve heard that it’s a privilege to be with someone at the end of their life. I hope this is true.

Mum has been in and out of a delirious state the past two days. I spoke to her doctor this evening who said the delirium is most likely related to an infection of some type and that infections are likely to become more frequent over the coming weeks.

Yesterday mum looked me in the eye and said, “Are you expecting a baby? Someone’s expecting a baby.”

Nobody we know is expecting a baby…

I asked her doctor how much time she felt mum has left and she indicated that her time is unlikely to be measured in months. But then again, a stubborn streak runs in my family and we can hang on for a long, long time. Most of my great aunts survived well into their nineties. But at the moment my greatest hope is that perhaps mum will see Christmas.

Which leaves me with two dilemmas. Firstly, do I invite all the relatives to come down as soon as possible? Do people want to be told she’s dying? Do they want to come and see her? I’ve spoken to a couple of people and I never know if I’m sounding like a drama queen or doing the right thing. And will mum even recognise them by next week? She may become completely lucid again. But she may not.

And my second dilemma is how much should I involve the children? Should I bring them over every few days to slowly witness her decline? Should I let them be there at the very end if that is possible? I have a romantic picture in my head of her being surrounded by her children and grandchildren at the moment of her death. But is that a reality? Should I subject the children to such an experience? I just don’t know.

For now I’m taking every day one at a time and hoping to be led by those more knowledgable than I. But I’ve also noticed that everyone in the family looks to me for guidance. I ring the carers, the family, the friends. I organise everything. For everyone. I’m not sure how much to involve others… Or how much time she has.

Mother

I once read a quote that said, no matter the relationship with your parents, you will miss them when they’re gone.

Both my parents are still here so I can’t comment on the veracity of this quote, but as I watch my mother fade away before my eyes, I can see that it likely has a strong ring of truth to it.

My mother and I always had a somewhat difficult relationship. Very difficult. Ten years ago she was diagnosed with cancer and since that time, things have slowly changed.

I spend every Thursday with her now. Doing her housework. Bringing her food. Running her a bath. Washing her hair. She’s now almost bed bound and said a few days ago she hopes not to last more than two months as she can’t cope with it any more. She’s dying.

It’s hard to watch.

Very hard.

The vivacious, fussy, incredibly annoying woman I grew up with – the woman who would wash clean clothes and clean dishes – can no longer brush her own hair (what’s left of it) and is utterly reliant on other people for everything. Absolutely everything.

My relationship with her has definitely changed and I know I will miss her when she’s gone….