Category Archives: Headfuck

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

I keep repeating to myself. I will NOT have a panic attack. I will not. Nope, not at all.

It’s not working of course, but I’ll keep repeating it anyway.

***

When I was little, Mum and Dad slaughtered a pig in the middle of summer. Only to have their refrigerator and freezer die that same day. Much stress ensued and much pork was eaten.

Mum is planning on slaughtering her pigs this weekend. We’ve been discussing it, knowing that a fair amount of the meat was going to be stored in my freezer.

‘How’s your freezer?’ asks Mum this morning.

‘Fine’ I said, ‘waiting for the pigs!’

HA! HAHAHAHAHA. HAAAAA.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

UGH.

This morning, after I spoke to mum, I opened my freezer.

And everything was defrosted.

Everything.

Seems that the power surge we had a few days ago has blown my freezer up. The lights are on, but the temperature is not frozen. Sigh.

I rang my insurance and yes, it will be covered, just jump through these hoops, stand on your head and spin three times.

Fine, I can do that.

Everything was fine.

FINE.

Fine.

Until we started to do the washing.

Now, the washing machine is plugged into the same power point as the freezer. Most everything else we own is plugged into surge protected boards. Thank God.

Half way through a wash, the machine stopped. It started playing up, all the buttons flashed and it refused to spin anymore. Fine. Stop/restart. Same issue.

Finally we got a load of washing finished.

And then everything went downhill.

It’s a front load washing machine, which means that it has a door lock, to prevent the door opening midcycle.

Seems the door lock is electronic and has forgotten how to disengage.

On top of the machine not wanting to spin or wash or WORK.

Broken.

I rang my insurance again, and got the now broken washing machine added to my recent claim. They’ll repair it, or replace it, depending on what the electrician has to say.

Fuck. It just never rains does it?

***

In other news, Panic Attacks. The Reason For.

Go and read this post. Go on, I’ll wait. La. lalaalaa. Laaa.

Right, you’re back?

Hello.

The hospital rang today.

We have an appointment in about 3 weeks, to see the Paediatric Coordinator (the head honcho) about Amy and Isaac’s genetic test results.

I’m worried because when the orders for the Coeliac genetic screen was put through we were told that our regular Paed would give us the results. Then, we were told to ring for the results. Then, we were told the results were too complex and involved to be discussed over the phone and could we please come in for an earlier appointment. Oh and by the way, you’ll be seeing Dr B, the big boss guy.

Today, the nurse rang to let me know about the sooner appointment. She made a point of telling me it would be with Dr B, and not one of the Registrars.

Shit.

So I’m a little stressed.

A teensy bit.

A whole lot.

So, Dear Internets, what do you think? Stressing for no reason, or justified? Where you are, would you have to see the Boss Guy just for a simple Coeliac Gene Screen?

Posted in Headfuck, Life.

37 comments

By Veronica – March 12, 2010
Blocked IP addresses and Conspiracy theories.

I noticed an odd referring URL today when I was checking my stats.

So, as you do, I clicked to follow it back, to find out where people were clicking from.

I wasn’t expecting to find this though:

The web server you are attempting to reach has a list of IP addresses that are NOT allowed to access this site and your IP address is on this list.

Maybe poking at the Premier gets you blacklisted.

Heh.

***

Actually, I was under no illusions I would be allowed to check out where the visitor had been referred from, due to the Admin part of the URL. I bet if *you* click over to the site, you will get the same blocked message.

And of course it’s probably just a wording issue that SHOULD say ‘IP addresses of ALLOWED computers have been logged and unfortunately, you aren’t on the safe list. Go away.

But what if it’s not?

According to my stats, they clicked over to me a bit earlier from Bleeter’s blog – Bleeter the Serial Government Botherer – so it *could* be a blacklist.

Things like this amuse me.

Thoughts?

***

Please don’t forget I have that amazing competition running. Feel free to enter your blog, no obligations asked after the month. Your ad will be seen by around 12,000 people over the course of the month, give or take. Entries are open for another few days, until the 1st of March, so send me an entry!

Posted in Blogging, Headfuck, Soapbox.

15 comments

By Veronica – February 24, 2010
How I Met Nathan Part II

Part One here.

I organised to meet up with a friend -A- who was visiting from up north. She met me after work and then Nathan drove us back to where I was living. We arranged to have drinks at Nat’s new place and I went home and grabbed a change of clothes. I talked to my boyfriend, while A listened.

Her comments after I finished talking to him? ‘He treats you like shit Ron’. It’s not that my boyfriend treated me like shit, he didn’t really, it’s that we were 16 and we’d been together for well over 2 years. Familarity and everything. He was a nice boy.

And so, we went and got drunk. All together, Nathan and I, his older brother, a housemate, and my two friends, A and K. After a few drinks, I stopped drinking and instead, watched everyone else get drunker. Eventually everyone passed out or went home except for Nathan, his housemate and me.

We didn’t do much of anything except talk.

Nathan snuggled me, he looked into my eyes and talked to me, he kissed my fingertips. He made me melt.

His housemate left in disgust.

The morning came and I was sober. I had had no sleep, I needed a shower and I started work at 2pm. I also realised I couldn’t keep going the way I was going and that it wasn’t fair to my boyfriend. I talked to A, I talked to Nat’s housemate, I talked to thin air. I begged Nat’s housemate to give Nat my number. She was reluctant, but said she would. She didn’t.

9am that morning found me back at my boyfriend’s house, sitting on his bed, telling him that I wasn’t ‘in’ love with him anymore and crying.

I regret how I told him. We had been together for 2 and a half years and I didn’t have the decency to let him wake up properly before dropping the bombshell. I regret that.

I showered and cried and got ready for work. Before I left, I packed a bag and my now ex and I talked, a lot. As I left for work, we parted with a hug and a kiss, on sort of good terms.

I walked to the bus stop, hung over and exhasted. That night at work was the longest shift I have ever worked.

I crashed the night at Ex’s grandmothers house. She was lovely enough to let me stay (my shifts all started at 6am that week and she lived close to work) for a night or two and to hand me tissues as I silently cried.

Then, I spoke to my mother about everything and I went home, on her orders. Back to my grandmother’s where I was living, except when I was staying at my boyfriends house.

It was the smartest thing I have ever done.

A few days later, Nathan and I met up for coffee before I started work and spent 3 hours talking about nothing. The next day, he picked me up from work and drove me home. He didn’t go home that night, or any night afterwards.

And that was that.

We moved into his house not long afterwards, and from there, back to my parents after a large falling out with his housemate.

We rented our first flat and suddenly, here we are, 5 years later.

It’s been a rollercoaster these last few years. We’ve now got a mortgage, two babies, two dogs, two horses and two cats. And for all that happened to get us to this point, for how ill I still feel when I think of some of it, for how unproud I am of some things, I wouldn’t change a moment. Because here we are, and I am happy.

Posted in Headfuck, Life.

12 comments

By Veronica – February 20, 2010
Pregnancy Tests and Underage Sex

I was 14. I was sitting in a toilet, at school waiting for a pregnancy test to show one line or two. I sat there, waiting, watching the second hand on my watch click. Tick. tick. tick.

I waited the allotted 3 mintues, peering at the stick intently. Turning it on an angle, just to check.

At the end of the 3 minutes, it was negative. I could breathe again. The next day, my period started.

Now, at the time I was in a steady relationship and I was on the pill. We were however, busily involved in exploring the differences between girls and boys and because I have a latex allergy, well, you know how things go.

While I was with him, I spent an awful lot of money on pregnancy tests. Luckily, my pill worked beautifully and I didn’t get pregnant.

Then I was 15 and busily exploring the differences between boys and girls with another guy. An older guy. Before I had the decency to break up with my boyfriend.

The older guy, he didn’t like the word no. It was easier to say yes than no and for a while I did. Until he pushed it too far and I said no for good. He sulked and threatened to tell everyone what we were up to. I invited him to, he had more to lose than I did. I knew he was seeing another girl as well as his currrent girlfriend.

The other guy’s girlfriend and my boyfriend were brother and sister. We were all living together at the time. It was complicated.

Because the other guy didn’t like the word no, when I told him that I didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, he refused to listen to me. He thought that ignoring everything I was saying (which was along the lines of “I can’t do this anymore, it has to stop”) was the best idea. He seemed to think that I was pliable.

I am many things, but insecure and pliable are not them.

I avoided him from then on, which was harder than you’d expect, seeing as he was living in my boyfriend’s house.

Everytime he thought I was being nice to him, he thought things could resume the way they were. So, I stopped talking to him. I left the room when he came in. I left the house when he came home. I ate dinner in the bedroom and I avoided him like the plague.

My boyfriend knew something was up. I told him that I was sick of the sexist comments. He chose to believe me because it was easy. He chose to ignore everything, including me.

Now, I can hear you asking, what does this have to do with anything? Well, this all ties into how I met Nathan.

When I was avoiding people, I used to run away to my best friend’s boyfriend’s house – she stayed there most nights. K’s boyfriend and my boyfriend at the time were mates, so there was nothing unusual about me heading down the road to sit and visit with them for hours until the guy I was avoiding went out.

This is how I met Nathan. K’s boyfriend was Nathan’s baby brother – Adam .

So, all those nights when I was avoiding my life and how I was living, I ended up sitting for hours talking, not to K, but to Nathan. He would make me cups of tea and we would talk about nothing for hours. Many nights, I fell asleep in the armchair watching movies with Nat and his family. Many nights my boyfriend would wander down the road and ask if I was there. I always was.

He chose to ignore the fact that I was avoiding people. He would come down and play the playstation with his mate, but he ignored me mostly. It was an awesome time in my life y’know?

So all those nights I sat there, getting to know Nathan. We were friends, we talked and connected and it was EASY.

Time passed and I finished school with a big formal. Instead of going to a piss up at a friends house with my boyfriend, I organised to have a few drinks at Nathan’s house with him, his brothers and K. When I got back from my formal, I changed out of my dress, brushed my hair out of it’s curls and washed off all of my makeup. I was comfortable.

K and I grabbed our drinks and headed down to her boyfriend’s house. When we got there, Nathan wasn’t home and I was completely unprepared for how disappointed I felt. I was so tired, I ended up having one drink and falling asleep on the couch. K headed to bed.

When I woke up hours later, Nathan was watching me sleep. We talked for hours, then I headed back to my boyfriends house and went to bed.

Shortly thereafter, school ended. I bummed around with my friends, doing much of the same things I had always done, including spending a lot of time down the road at Nathan’s.

I worked, casually and used to spend 2 hours after my shifts finished waiting in the bus mall for a bus, in the dark. That was insanely creepy. It was also how Nathan and I got to know each other even better, when he decided that it wasn’t safe for me, at 16 to be waiting in the dark for buses. He started meeting me after work to drive me home.

And our friendship moved on from there.

—

I’ve had this in drafts for almost 2 years. It wasn’t easy to write.

Part II soon.

Posted in Headfuck, Life.

23 comments

By Veronica – February 19, 2010
I want…

I want to run myself a bath.

Slip under the water and feel it swirl around me.

I want to lay there, in the warmth and day dream, imaginary conversations between me and people I’ll never meet. I want to let my imagination run wild and emerge, warmed through and ready to write something, anything.

But, it’s the middle of the day and Isaac has just woken from a nap. Amy is asking for food and Isaac is laughing at me.

There is no peace, not for baths. Not for daydreaming or imaginary conversations.

***

Everyone is talking about Haiti.

And I want to ignore it.

Because after getting emotionally involved with Black Saturday, with Hurricane Katrina, with the Tsunamis, with everything, I just can’t.

It comes on the news and I purposely zone out.

I can’t think about it, I just can’t.

I need to protect my emotional integrity, in order to have enough for myself.

I can’t take on board the suffering of hundreds of thousands of strangers.

Not this time.

***

It’s been almost 7 months since Nan died and I miss her more every day.

But it’s been 7 months and it’s harder to say that I miss her when I’m having a bad day.

It’s not an excuse.

It just is.

It’s also the reason I can’t look too hard at the eyes of the Haiti victims.

Because I need my emotions for myself.

And I’m sorry.

***

I thought I was over the bitterness that trying and failing to conceive brought out in me.

I thought I had lanced that wound with the successful birth of a healthy baby boy, who seems to have made it unscathed to his first birthday (more on that tomorrow).

I’m not though.

The announcement of a pregnancy this last week, from a girl who I will say should not be pregnant again, has me bitter all over again.

That poor child.

The mother, and the baby to be.

She sounds pleased about it.

I can think of people who would better deserve a child.

And I’m a bitch to think that, I know.

Who am I to say that she shouldn’t have a baby? Who I am to judge?

I’m no one.

I don’t get a say.

But I still think it.

And I discovered, from this, that having trouble conceiving a baby leaves wounds.

It leaves wounds, that while they might disappear under the surface, they never really heal.

So I can safely say, that while I am happy now, I can still be bitter.

I want to not be bitter.

I want to read her pregnancy announcement and be simply happy for her and not terrified about what it means for everyone else. About what it means for a system already clogged with women like her, babies like hers.

It’s a horrible thing to admit.

***

I want to curl into a ball, and hibernate for a while. I want time to be sad, to be bitter, to ignore the world for a while.

There is no time, not for me.

Eventually.

Maybe.

I’ll be less busy.

I’ll have more time.

***

There will be a doctors appointment soon, where I discuss my panic attacks and hopefully, get something done about them.

Because they’re crippling.

And horrible.

But I have a tendency to be matter of fact about things.

And doctors don’t take matter of fact seriously.

‘Oh that? I just dislocated my shoulder. I’ll be okay.’

‘It’s just my knee. Hang on, I’ll put it right.’

‘Meh, it will be okay.’

I want to say -

I hurt and

I keep panicking

and I’m not sure it’s normal to wake up at 3am and not be able to breathe because you have something sitting on your chest.

But meh.

I’ll be okay.

I just won’t look the Haiti victims in the eyes.

At least,

not until I’ve got my head back together.

***

Isaac turns ONE tomorrow and I will certainly have a post celebrating that. We had a good day today, with my parents coming over to visit and gift him with a wooden train. It was a good afternoon. I’m just a little flat this evening.

If you want to donate to Haiti you can click here to donate through the Red Cross. Just because I can’t watch them, doesn’t mean they don’t need helping.

Posted in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck.

15 comments

By Veronica – January 17, 2010
Dear Facebook:

Dear People of Facebook:

If all your photos are of you (topless) with your mates (also topless) I’m going to start to wonder if you’ve become a male stripper. Please, stop my wondering and fill out the Work part of your profile. I don’t care if you’re working for Manpower, I just need to know whether or not to avoid Manpower shows.

Also you? Yes, you. Your breasts are lovely. I’m not offended, although I didn’t really need to see them. I’ve got photos of my breasts up too, of course, my breasts had a baby attached to them, but whatever. You know what made me want to stab my eyes out? The terrible photoshopping job that was done on your ‘model’ pictures. Please, have a look at your legs and then look at the way the reflection is sitting. The angle is all wrong and it’s making me stabby. Ask your photographer to either a) photoshop well or b) don’t photoshop a reflection in. The photos are of you, a bad job of them looks bad for your portfolio. And makes me want to stab things.

You there! Group creator! Stop using the word ‘retard’ as an insult. It is offensive and it makes me cringe inside. Stop it, or I’ll start flagging you as offensive. Actually, I’m going to do that anyway.

Right, now, the one who writes EvErYtHiNg LiKe ThIs, doesn’t it take 10 times as long to type a simple sentence? It makes your words indecipherable, not cool or smart. You don’t look awesome for doing it. You look like a fucking jackass who doesn’t know how to use a shift key. You could be talking french for all I know and it would still shit me. Stop it.

Stop Capitalising Every Word Of Your Status Updates. It’s not a giant long fucking title, it’s a status update. Type it like a regular sentence.

You! I went to high school with you. I KNOW you know basic grammar and spelling, use it. Apostrophes are your friend. So are commas and full stops.

Text speak is for TEXTS. Not for status updates. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a qwerty keyboard in front of you (and if you’re updating FB from your phone, I will forgive you. a little) so USE IT. I’m not trying to learn another language, I’m trying to read through my timeline. If I friended you, likely I care about what you’re up to. Make it easy for me, please? Plus, it makes you look stupid, when everything lks lik dis, lolz epic fail /jk.

Photos!!! Learn a basic fucking edit. If the photo is blurry, delete it. Sure your kid might be cute, but I can’t tell when it’s the doorway 4 metres behind him that’s in focus. On the same rant, if you’ve got 20 photos of the same thing, maybe you ought to only upload one? I don’t care that in this one you’ve got one eye squinted and in that one you’re looking to the left. EDIT. DELETE. UPLOAD ONE. I’ll care more if I’m not wading through 10 photos of you with your eyes crossed.

For people with kids, I want to see the photo updates. I don’t want to click on an album and find 200 photos in it. My cousins wife has the right idea, she uploads photos in 1-2 month albums. It means that each album gets 20-30 photos and I actually look at them and CARE. (It helps that their son is a little younger than Isaac, actual family and rather cute.)

Phew!

I think I feel better now. Of course, feel free to add to my rather venty list.

***

Disclaimer: Cos I need one otherwise people will whine at me about this: If you think this is about you, it isn’t. I know most of the FB friends who read here (they’ve either emailed or commented before) and they don’t annoy me. I will forgive a typo, I make them all the time. I will forgive a slight grammatical slip, although if you’re confusing your and you’re or their, there and they’re, I might get stabby. Fuck, I will forgive most things. Just please, at least pretend that you know how to craft a sentence? I’m pretty sure you can speak well enough, why can’t you write it too?

Sigh.

Posted in Headfuck, Soapbox.

35 comments

By Veronica – January 12, 2010
Writing from a corner, where I’ve hidden.

We’re a week into our gluten challenge.

And.

Can I quit now? Please?

It’s been insane. So insane that I no longer think people are joking when they talk about climbing the walls. Because I think I’ve broken all my fingernails trying to climb mine.

She’s been … insane. It’s horrible. I want my daughter back.

I locked myself in the bathroom this morning, in order to shower alone. When Amy discovered that I’d locked the door, she had a tantrum.

Then, she climbed back into the kitchen and pulled every single key off my laptop keyboard. I got out of the shower to find a little girl, holding my laptop, surrounded in little black keys.

Now, before you yell, yes, I’d put the laptop away.

Isaac is reacting to the big ball of stress that is his sister by squealing. Lots. And screaming in anger when his will is thwarted. And screaming andscreamingandscreaming.

He’s been screaming, quite a lot. Ear piercing, make you want to curl up and hide, make your ears bleed type screaming.

It’s been … stressful. To say the least.

In other news, my floor is all pulled up! And tomorrow, they will be laying the new hardwood underlay and vinyl.

And there will be (everything going well) horses arriving on Saturday. The stable is all cleaned out and things are just about in place.

I’m excited about the floor and horses.

I’ve got no idea how I am going to make it through another 16 days of gluten.

Sigh.

Posted in Food-Issues, Headfuck.

33 comments

By Veronica – October 7, 2009
The post in which I get a little anxious and maybe go a little insane. It’s fun being me.

We had a Paediatric appointment today, for the children. We left with a barrage of referrals for various specialists.

In no particular order,

- A referral for both children to see a Geneticist and be officially diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.

-A referral for an Opthamologist to have their eyes tested, as EDS can cause eye issues.

-A referral for them to see a Paediatric Physiotherapist so that we can help prevent problems before they occur, as well as making sure Isaac is developing at a normal rate.

- A referral for Isaac to have allergy testing to try and hunt down the cause of his weeping bleeding eczema, that incidentally cleared up when we stopped eating all gluten. So we’re suspecting gluten is the cause, but testing to pin that down.

-A referral for Amy to have an ECG to establish a Mitral Valve baseline.

And finally, last but by no means least,

- A referral for Amy to have testing done for Coeliacs Disease.

It’s that last one that has me wandering around muttering ohgodohgodohgod. Because to test for Coeliacs Disease, she needs to be eating gluten for 3 weeks before the blood test is done.

The blood test is scheduled in 3 weeks. She had her first piece of bread today.

I’m fucking terrified. Do you have any idea how bad it is here when Amy is eating gluten? She has meltdowns and tantrums and ohmyfuckinggod.

Three weeks.

I can’t shake the feeling that three days into this, they’ll be admitting me to a nice quiet padded room somewhere.

Saying I’m terrified is an understatement.

She’s not a nice kid when she’s eating gluten.

Scratch that, she’s a demon hell child when she’s eating gluten. Her eyes glow red and her head spins and she screeches with a voice that could make small animals die.

This is not going to be a highlight of my life.

On the upside, bread! And dip! And like, bread! And stuff.

Posted in EDS, Food-Issues, Headfuck.

42 comments

By Veronica – September 30, 2009
Anxious

My breath catches in my throat and I’m breathing consciously to get through the moment. My heart races and the familiar feeling of anxiety settles deep into my chest. The world around me fades slightly as I focus inwards, on my own internal struggle to get this under control.

My focus shatters as Amy steps on Isaac and tips forwards onto her hands and knees crying, while he screams his displeasure at being trodden on. The dog bites the cat, who runs away knocking dishes off the sink.

Everything lands in a big heap at my feet and I’m left with scattered plates, screaming children and no sense of peace. The world continues on completely oblivious to me.

I pick up my children, comfort them, make Amy say sorry. I stand and swearing, I clean up the plates, dust off my coping strategies and just move forwards.

One step at a time.

***

I’m stressed is what I’m saying.

Quite a little bit.

The anxiety attacks are back with a vengeance, coupled with a complete inability to actually cope with anything.

I’m spending a lot of time swearing under my breath and stomping around the house.

***

I turn the music up loud to drown out the whining and scrub at the bench. If I can just get this clean then everything else will look better and ohmyfuckingGOD.The mess just keeps coming and coming and I’m not sure I could walk through the lounge room without breaking an ankle.

***

Just stop whining. Please, just stop.

You’re tired? Here, curl up on the couch with a blanket.

No, you can’t watch a DVD, you broke the DVD player.

You want a bottle? But you’re a big girl.

I know Isaac has a bottle, but he’s a baby.

Oh. You’re a baby now too.

That would explain the whining.

Can you stop sitting on me?

Please?

Amy, get off me. You’re hurting me.

OY! Don’t pinch me! What a naughty thing to do. Time out! NOW.

You’re sorry? I don’t care. We don’t pinch. Time out.

Now.

Time out.

Walk.

Now.

Don’t go boneless, I’ll just pick you up.

There. Sit there. 3 minutes. We do not pinch. At all ever.

Isaac! I know I’m ignoring you, that’s no reason to squeal.

You’re tired too? Well here, nap time.

Boobs.

You don’t want boobs? You want to look at your sister in time out?

Isaac, fortheloveofgod just feed already.

ARGH! No biting! You’re not hungry.

Bedtime.

You. Back in time out. I didn’t say you could move.

No whining. Stop it.

Sit.

Sleep.

Shutup.

Please.

***

I love my children dearly, but they’re very needy at the moment.

Like -

really needy.

And I’m not sure I can breathe, underneath this mountain of need they have.

***

I knew this would happen. The crash.

Nan died three months ago and for that three months I’ve been caught up in merely moving from one moment to another without thinking about myself. Just getting things done for this family of mine.

Caught up in the coping.

And apparently, the grief has caught up with me.

I miss her so fucking much.

So fucking much.

***

There is stress on top of stress down here and there are only so many balls I can juggle before things start to fall on my head.

***

So I’m turning up the music.

I’m putting one foot in front of the other.

I’m hugging my children.

And I’m letting myself grieve.

Posted in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck.

31 comments

By Veronica – September 26, 2009
Useless Books

There is a bookshelf in my house. It reaches to the roof, tall and thin. It sits in a corner of the dining room, slightly wobbly but bolted to the wall to stop it falling over.

My father made this bookshelf, a few years ago, for Nan. He made it to cover a useless doorway, boarded over on the outside but visible and ugly on the inside. Shortly after it was installed it was filled with books, top to bottom. I used to stand and peruse the books, picking them up, hefting their weight in my hands, stroking their binding and then curling up with one to read.

Then Nan died.

And this bookshelf; the bookshelf my father made, got moved into my dining room along with all it’s books. The bottom four shelves still contain her books. Books that I used to read of a weekend, books she loaned me, books she was reading in the hospital before she died.

I can’t touch them. I can’t bring myself to stroke their spines anymore, let alone pick one up read it. There’s too much there, too many memories.

I look at the bookshelves and I have to walk away and remind myself to breathe. My stress levels rise and I start to shake. I have to walk away, leaving the books untouched and the stories unread.

I know it will get easier.

But.

Until then, it just sits there.

In the corner.

Wobbling.

***

I’m starting to get a little bitter. My anger is rising to the surface. Things haven’t been made easy for Mum and I in the last three months and there is still so much work left. The jobs stretch out on front of us, marking time until the house is sold. It’s never ending and never easy.

It’s been …. stressful. To say the least.

I’m a little bitter.

***

My shoulder clicks back into position before promptly falling out of it’s socket again. Electric signals sent down my fingers with alarming regularity reminds me that it doesn’t work properly, not anymore.

For that matter, neither do I.

***

Lileya from In The Fringes wrote:

There is a fine line between trying to look on the bright side and putting on a happy act.

and that is so true. That line, resonates within me.

Too often I put on a happy act.

I’m not okay. I’m sick and tired and my joints hurt and nothing stays put anymore. I’m grieving still. A lot.

And I’m sick and fucking tired of having my grief mean nothing because she was ‘only’ my grandmother. I’m sick of having my pain discounted because you can’t understand it.

I miss her everyday.

My joints dislocate everyday.

Every. Single. Day.

So fuck you Anyonetoblog. No really, fuck you. You can’t be bothered to see my side of it? I can’t be bothered to be nice anymore.

Posted in Cancer, EDS, Grief, Headfuck.

27 comments

By Veronica – September 21, 2009
On this day

On this day three years ago, my little girl was born. A silent bundle, plopped onto my chest. Wide eyed, she looked straight at me.

This day; today, she turned three. Three. A big number for such a small girl. But then, she’s not a baby anymore, nor a toddler.

Today. The day after I popped my ankle badly. I woke up, smiled and helped open gifts. I took more painkillers than I probably ought to, braced everything up and put a smile on my face.

Because my little girl, she had turned three. And she deserved that from me, the happy and the smiling and the Very Happy Birthday she kept telling me she was having.

And I smiled and breathed deep when the tears threatened to flow. Because my little girl had turned Three and there should be no room for grief here.

I smiled at the barbeque in her honour. I held my shit together, helped along by more elastic bandaging than one person should fashionably wear. I smiled and laughed and took photos.

Inside, I died a little.

Because this is not how it should have been. We were not meant to be missing someone so badly that breathing hurts.

Amy turned Three and my world started to crumble. My walls, built up over these last ten weeks fell apart.

***

My physio set me adrift yesterday.

Here are your exercises, make sure you do them, feel free to ring me with questions, make an appointment if you need more braces, goodbye.

Somehow I can only think that I’m not the success story she was hoping for.

Treating Ehlers Danlos is not an easy task. I know this.

Still. I was hoping for a little more.

Hopefully my next referral gets me somewhere.

***

Adrift.

Washed in a sea of grief.

Sinking, through the bubbles.

Not breathing.

Until suddenly I am.

Breathing again.

Because I have to.

***

Today was hard. Harder than I expected, harder than I’d have ever imagined.

***

Today Amy turned Three and it was bittersweet.

[video]

Posted in EDS, Headfuck.

26 comments

By Veronica – September 5, 2009
Millions of Ideas

A million ideas whirl through my head.

Flavours for a wedding cake, learning to cook gluten free, things we can do today.

Unfortunately, my body is completely unable to keep up as I stagger around the house holding myself together. Parenting is perfect when done from a horizontal level. Perfect for me at least. Eventually the kids will need feeding or changing and I’ll have to stand back up, a larger undertaking than I’d like it to be.

I’ve had the flu and my brain is still foggy from it. Writing is not coming easily today, yet I still want to share; to write. A project of mine sits calling me. I don’t think my wrists will hold together long enough to do any substantial work on it. I set it aside. I could work on it, at the expense of tomorrow’s movement. I’m not willing to give that up though.

Tomorrow I have physio. I was meant to have been doing exercises for this last fortnight.

Unfortunately stability ball + Amy + 2 cats + a baby + the flu = no time/energy for exercise.

The cats run over the ball, making me thankful that it’s hard rubber. Amy jumps on me. Isaac cries.

In order to have space, I need to clean up the toys first. By the time that is done, I really need to lay down with my feet up before I fall over. It’s not conducive to exercises.

Instead I practise tightening and releasing all of the muscles I can feel in turn. It’s not enough, nor is it what has been prescribed, but mobility has not been my strong point this week.

I worry that the physio is just making me tired and isn’t quite tailored for what I need. It’s exhausting, having to hold yourself together to move. It leaves me with another thing I need to be doing, when all I want to do is sleep.

I can’t bend at the moment. Leaning over and then standing back up is more of an effort than I’d like it to be. The pain through my pelvis tells me that things are slipping, that I’m not holding it together well enough. My hips slip in and out of joint as I walk. I ignore it, thankful to still be able to walk.

It’s sunny outside. I sit on the grass and lean over to pull weeds from the garden. Isaac gurgles behind me, thrilled to be outside, pulling at the grass. His bouncer bounces frantically as he tries to kick himself out of it and into the dirt.

I know he’d love the dirt, but I’m not ready for that yet. Plus, the grass is wet.

Amy bounces on the trampoline. Golden highlights glint in her hair as she smiles. I like her again. I never stopped loving her, but she was a hard child to like some days. She was difficult. I don’t remember how I coped. Moment to moment I suspect. It was bad. It’s better now. Gluten is Evil.

Everything runs together in my mind.

A million thoughts. A million ideas.

There is an open home for Nan’s house next weekend. Surely that’s too soon? How come we’re moving so fast all of a sudden?

But then, there would never be enough time for me to come to terms with it. I need to just keep breathing, one foot in front of the other. There isn’t enough time to dwell. Not enough time to grieve either, but I can’t create more time.

Millions of thoughts. Rushing past, like water under a bridge. Or the bubbles that float past as you sink into the ocean.

I feel I’m drowning in a sea of grief and anxiety. Everything is blue and the bubbles are rushing past faster as everything slows down.

I don’t have time for this. I push to the surface and breathe.

Just breathe.

One step after another, tightening muscles as I go.

One breath after another, holding myself together.

****

Unrelated: I have a giveaway happening for US residents. (Sadly, not Australian ones. Grump)

You can either click here, or click on the giveaway’s tab at the top of the page.

Posted in EDS, Food-Issues, Headfuck.

11 comments

By Veronica – September 3, 2009
Daffodil Day

Daffodil Day 3 years ago:

I was sitting in a hospital waiting room having irregular contractions. According to my dates, Amy was 5 days overdue. According to their dates she wasn’t due for another 2 days. I was big, heavy and uncomfortable.

My name called.

Come through.

An American doctor. He was brisk. I told him I was having irregular contractions and he offered to check my cervix. Or more correctly, he offered to have his medical student check my cervix so long as I didn’t mind.

Two checks later, it was ascertained that my cervix hadn’t jumped ship and gone for a holiday like the med student suspected. Nor had it gotten lost, she just wasn’t very good at checks yet.

I was pronounced 3cm dilated and ready to drop. Thrilled, I put my pants back on as the doctor told me he’d probably see me tonight.

We walked out of there happy, certain our baby was on the way.

***

One hospital floor down, Nathan’s father lay in a bed, having just been diagnosed with cancer.

***

We bought a daffodil pin that day, as well as a little yellow bear. Still a little shell shocked, we walked out of the hospital not knowing whether to celebrate the impending birth of our daughter, or cry for the diagnosis my father-in-law had been given.

***

Three years later my father in law is alive after undergoing intensive chemotherapy. It wasn’t easy, but then, cancer never is.

Three years later we’re getting things ready for Amy’s birthday. Despite being told I’d give birth that night, Amy hung around in there for another 8 days. We’ve got presents hiding in the closet and I’m trying to decide on a cake flavour. I’m counting sleeps until and hoping that things will just fall into place like normal.

Three years later I’m grieving my grandmother, a victim of a cancer she was never at risk for. She, who’d never smoked a day in her life struck down by lung cancer. Her second run in with cancer, leaving us broken without her. Stronger, maybe, but flawed. Always flawed. Grieving.

Three years later I’m not sure how I’m going to get through Amy’s birthday without Nan. I’ve spent so long coping and just doing what I’ve got to do that I haven’t taken time to cry or process anything. I’m starting to be very not okay anymore and I don’t know how to handle that.

Three years later I don’t have the time to grieve alone. These children of mine have wants and needs and their wants are mostly louder than their needs.

Three years later and the edge of my purse still has the daffodil pin stuck in it from so long ago. A pink ribbon has joined it.

Showing support for the people who suffer; the people who die.

It’s not enough, but it’s all I’ve got.

Posted in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck.

20 comments

By Veronica – August 28, 2009
Isaac’s E.C.G.

As we walked into the hospital, I took a deep breath. The hospital smells like cleaning agent and regurgitated air conditioning. It’s not a smell you forget in a hurry. It was bitterly cold outside and I hopped up and down a little as we waited for the lift. Isaac gurgled in his pram and I smiled down at him.

I hadn’t thought about it. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind and refused to even dwell on the possibility of anything being wrong. It’s just a baseline appointment. We don’t expect to see anything wrong here. I breathed.

The lift bell rang as the lift arrived and we stepped in.

Level 2.

The same level all of Nan’s oncology appointments were on.

As the lift doors opened, my heart started to race. I stepped out with a confidence I didn’t feel and walked along the corridor.

We got to the junction of the two hallways. One would take me to cardiology. The other led to the Oncology doctors rooms.

I looked down the hallway I had walked so many times before.

Walk along there. Turn left and then left again. Smile at the receptionist and then a right turn into the waiting room.

The waiting room that would no longer hold my mother and grandmother. We three. The girls club.

From Nan’s diary.

[...] the good thing about Kim & Von is that we can talk about anything, I can be doom and gloom or happy and chatty it makes no difference to them they don’t get uncomfortable and can do the “what ifs” with me. What would I do without my “Girls Club”??

I breathed and walked in the other direction. Along another corridor we three had all walked together more times that I counted, and finally down a new one. One without any lingering memories.

We found our area and spoke to reception. Isaac gurgled in his pram and I lifted him out to feed him. He elected to smile and gurgle instead. Smiling back at him I gave up on the breastfeed.

5 minutes later, his name was called.

Here you go, come in. Can you take his tops off for me? Right. Let’s begin.

She was lovely. We made small talk while Isaac gurgled and tried to eat the ultrasound wand. I watched the screen nervously, but there is nothing to see on a heart ultrasound. The faint whoomp whoomp of Isaac’s heartbeat at intervals broke through the pictures being taken.

Well. Everything looks fine. There are no issues with his heart whatsoever. His mitral valve has no leakiness. It’s a perfect baseline. Once you get him dressed you can leave. No need to talk to the girls at the front desk. Will you need to come back again?

I’ll talk to the Paediatricians about it. I think they want to keep an eye on both children, but it wouldn’t be often, probably every 2 years.

That sounds about right. I’ll see you later then.

She held the door for us.

Thank you so much.

She looked at me and smiled.

Nathan and I walked down the corridors, back to where all my memories lay.

It’s really nice to walk out of the hospital with good news.

Yes. Yes it is.

We walked on.

Posted in EDS, Headfuck.

26 comments

By Veronica – August 26, 2009
The House

I pop my key in the door and turn the lock. It opens with a click and I walk into the dim depths. The house that was always warm is now cold. I flick on a light and wrap my arms about myself. With a press of a button, I turn on the heatpump. Knowing that it will take a while for the heatpump to warm things up, I turn on the wall heater as well.

Nathan brings the children inside. Isaac is in his pram, complaining about the lack of mobility he has in there. Amy walks around the house getting into mischief.

The house is a mess. As I walk around, I pick things up and put them back down again. This doesn’t feel right. It’s not easy here.

The floor has gotten dusty. Nan would hate that. I poke at the dust with my foot, unable to muster the energy to find the broom and sweep.

We wait for Mum to arrive.

Boxes litter the floor. Empty, they are just waiting for things to fill them.

It’s not right that you can pack someone’s life into boxes after they are gone.

I take a deep breathe and pick a cupboard and a box. Chin up and head back, it needs to be done. There is no time for memories.

The scrape of gravel outside tells me a car has arrived. Mum. Amy is excited.

Nanny! Nanny! We are at MyNanny’s house!

Yes. We are.

Amy doesn’t quite understand the concept of death. She’s been told that MyNanny died, but she doesn’t understand what that means. She just knows that MyNanny is no longer here, in her house.

I know this too.

Mum and I look at each other, understanding without words. This is not easy for us, to work methodically through Nan’s house packing things up. It’s not a small job either.

Grab a garbage bag. We’ll do the closet.

Okay.

Vinnies*?

Yes.

Yes.

No. I’ll take that.

You sort, I’ll fold.

Okay.

It feels a little morbid as I pick items from Nan’s closet to go into mine. We’d talked about this, in the before. I knew that she wanted me to have her clothes that I would wear. Hell, I’d been borrowing her clothes since I was 10. It was what we did.

I take a deep breath and pick through.

Emptying clothes hangers.

One.

By.

One.

I stroke things. Remembering things I’d borrowed previously. Remembering things Nan used to wear often. Some things I can’t bear the thought of.

Vinnies. Please. I couldn’t wear it.

I know.

Okay.

It smells of Nan here still. In the silence, it almost feels like she is watching me. I know she is not. She swore she wouldn’t haunt her house and I believe that if she’s watching me, here is not the place to find her.

I’ll fall apart later. Not now, not here. Panic attacks when people are watching are awful.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Slowly we’re emptying things. Packing them up. Leaving them empty.

A person lived here once. Not anymore.

Here, there are just broken hearts and silence.

A lifetime, being packed into boxes and carted away.

***

*St Vincent de Paul Society. Second hand shops.

Posted in Headfuck.

31 comments

By Veronica – August 17, 2009
Birds falling from the sky?

A few days ago, our local newspaper ran a story on sparrows being found dead throughout Hobart, or disappearing entirely.

Nathan and I read it and remarked that there were entirely too many sparrows about in our parts and good riddance. We were talking about it again today as we were driving. We pointed out the huge flocks of sparrows (and starlings) sitting on the fences and power lines.

Then we saw the weirdest thing ever.

A group of sparrows flew towards the road. There were maybe 50-60 birds? As they flew in a group, they banked over the Highway to turn around …

… and the middle just fell out of the group. Mid flight, twenty birds dropped to the ground dead. Nathan and I were stunned. It wasn’t the kind of thing we were expecting to see at all.

As we drove through the dead birds littering the Highway, I peered out of the window expecting to see one or two shaking out their feathers and hopping away, stunned, but not dead.

No.

They were dead.

Twenty or so birds, just fell out of the sky with no warning. All at once.

30 metres up the road, another six or seven birds were dead in a group on the road.

It was honestly the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.

Ever.

Posted in Animals, Headfuck.

49 comments

By Veronica – August 6, 2009
6 weeks.

I’ve been staring at this blank page all day, trying to think up something to write about. Playing the amusing moments with Amy over in my head and despairing of ever sleeping again with Isaac.

Amy is … challenging. She’s almost three. I expect it from her, pushing the boundaries and being consistently naughty to see if my reaction is the same each time. For the record, it is.

Isaac? Well he’s just not sleeping. I’m awake with him every hour or so overnight and then up for the day around 4-5am. By the time I get him back to sleep Amy is awake. I’m a little bit of a wreck.

I should be telling you a story.

I should be pulling out the funny bits from my day and stringing them together into something cohesive.

I should be writing.

Instead I’m stagnating. I can’t get the words to flow properly out of my fingertips.

I feel sad.

Very very sad.

Mum said it’s been 42 days.

Forty-two days.

Isn’t 42 the answer to life, the universe and everything?

42 days has not held any answers for me.

I’m still heartbroken.

***

When we moved into this house, Nan helped me pack everything. She came around with boxes and bags, brought morning tea and helped me pack the entire contents of my rental house. She played with Amy and helped move things. When she left that night, my sun room was full of boxes and we were ready to move.

When this house we bought was filthy, she came up with rags and cleaning supplies and helped Nathan and I [and Nat's family] scrub this house top to bottom. Nan remembered things that we’d forgotten, like big gloves and a thermos full of hot coffee.

Nan was the only visitor I didn’t mind just dropping in. She didn’t care if the house was messy. She’d play with Amy while I tidied.

I miss her.

So much.

***

We walked this path together.

We three.

Mum, Nan and me.

We held hands.

We discussed details.

We held each other up,

With chocolate;

Coffee;

And cake.

We walked this path together.

Through the good news and the very worst news.

When there was nothing more that they could do.

We three. Together.

***

I’m all out of funny lately.

Oh I smile and I laugh. But I’m still so awfully sad.

This is not easy.

I feel broken.

Posted in Headfuck.

26 comments

By Veronica – August 4, 2009
Heartbroken.

We called into Nan’s house today to pick up some things I had left behind when I was living there.

Coat hangers.

Some books.

My leaver’s dinner dress.

As we pulled into the driveway and parked, Amy looked at me happily.

‘YAY! YAY! MyNanny is not died! We go visit!’

I looked at her, with tears in my eyes.

‘I’m sorry sweetheart. MyNanny did die. We’re all still very sad.’

‘Oh.’ She said and went quiet.

She didn’t ask to come inside. She didn’t ask where MyNanny was.

(MyNanny was Amy’s name for Nan. Nan was chuffed, she was the only Nanny with a special name)

For the first fortnight after Nan died, Amy told us that MyNanny is in St Johns. We corrected her, saying that MyNanny died and we were all very sad.

She doesn’t mention St Johns anymore. Today was the first time she had mentioned anything about dying.

I know that it’s turning around in her brain as she makes sense of what died and dead mean. I know that we’ll probably be having plenty of conversations about Nan in the future, as Amy works it out.

It doesn’t make me any less heartbroken though to have to tell my baby girl that her Nanny is not going to come back. I cry every time I think of the joy on Amy’s face when she thought we were going to visit Nan. I cry that Amy went silent so fast and that she understood in her own way.

I cried a lot this afternoon.

It’s been a month.

Posted in Headfuck.

33 comments

By Veronica – July 24, 2009
Sleep and Toys

Things Isaac did just do:

Blew raspberries on my boob.

Got all excited and tried to eat my chin.

Smiled and goo’ed.

Things Isaac did not just do.

Feed.

Sleep.

It’s past 11pm. How is your day going?

***

I cleaned out my toy cupboard today. It’s looking a little … sad. Three toys that vibrate and one of those I won’t use for anything other than shoulder and back massage. (Why? THIS is why.)

Do you think if I asked nicely Eden Fantasys would send me some more stuff to review? Cos you know, I wouldn’t mind. Would you?

***

Isaac’s seizure, blah blah blah. I’m done researching. There is scary scary shit out there that causes seizures in babies with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and I just don’t want to think about it anymore. LALALALALALA.

Fuck you research.

I’m waiting on a phone call with a date to have Isaac suffer through an EEG.

Until then, you know as much as I do.

He hasn’t had another one, so that’s one good thing.

***

Panic attacks.

How normal are they?

Because damn if I’m not having to remind myself to breathe as everything closes in on me and my heart races and oh my fucking GOD.

I’m sick of them.

They’re grief fueled, but still. They can go away now.

***

My baby is still not sleeping and YES, I KNOW I haven’t had anything decent to say lately. But, you know.

How are you?

Posted in EDS, Headfuck.

29 comments

By Veronica – July 20, 2009
Well now

A few of you already know this, but Isaac had a seizure on Thursday. Just a little one, but a seizure nonetheless.

He had been refusing to nap and finally (FINALLY!) I got him to feed properly and he fell asleep at my breast. A few moments later, he started to shake. Badly. His head went from side to side and his body started to flail.

I thought, this isn’t normal. This is not just him dreaming, holy shit, Isaac!

I stayed very calm. I cuddled him and 40 seconds later he was coming out of it. His eyes opened and he looked at me, but he was still dazed. He snuggled back down, fell asleep for another 2-3 minutes and then woke up, bright as a button and happy as he could be.

Or you know, as happy as a napless baby with only 5 minutes of sleep under his belt could be.

SO.

Yesterday, I rang our doctor to ask for an appointment. On discovering why I wanted an appointment (‘My 6 month old BABY had a SEIZURE and I want to see someone TODAY PLEASE’) they requested that I head down to emergency with him to be seen by a Paediatrician.

Insert big sigh here.

I KNOW he needed to see a Paed, but sitting down at emergency all day wasn’t going to be fun.

And it turns out, I was right. It actually kinda sucked. We sat there all day. ALLLLL DAY.

Eventually, after Isaac gave a urine sample (Yay Nathan on the catch of a lifetime! And on Mum for spotting it starting. Me? I was taking a break from the penis watch) and they looked at him and listened to him, and hours later they sent us home.

Isaac was pronounced ‘Much too well to come up to the Paeds Ward and potentially catch everything going around up there. However…’

However.

They want to see him as an outpatient in the next few days for an EEG to test for epilepsy or any other seizure causing things. Then they want to see him in the Paeds clinic for a follow up. With the family history of epilepsy (Nathan’s mum has epilepsy) and the family history of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome which can have seizure like ‘episodes‘ as a symptom, they’re keen to investigate.

We’re also to take him straight back to emergency if he has another seizure. Joy.

I swear, this son of mine is determined to make me grey.

Posted in EDS, Headfuck.

39 comments

By Veronica – July 18, 2009
Daily Life

I move through my days the same as I always did. Only now, it’s sadder. Things are the same and yet they are irreparably different. I try very hard not to think about things, but I’m not entirely sure that pushing it down to deal with later won’t have consequences.

Books lined against my walls, no bookshelf to hold them.

Shampoo in the shower. It still smells like Nan.

I haven’t been able to remove my pictures off the wall in my bedroom at her house. Not yet. Maybe another time. I don’t think I could bear to see them here and yet, I couldn’t bear to throw them away.

It’s not easy.

***

I run my finances through a calculator. Money in vs. money out.

Groceries. Petrol. Bills.

I don’t like the numbers so I run them again. And again. And again.

There is only so many things you can cut out.

Fuck.

I need a job.

***

Amy sleeps until 9.30am this morning, a welcome break. Unfortunately Isaac awoke at some ungodly hour and refused to be consoled with boobs. It’s not how I was planning on starting my morning.

It never is.

Neither kid is sleeping well and my insomnia has well and truly set in.

Eventually I will crash, but not now. Not today.

***

My postpartum hair loss stopped in May. I was thankful. There are only so many strands of your own hair you can choke on before it starts to get old.

However.

My hair is falling out in handfuls.

Stress maybe?

***

Yesterday was a day filled with energy and tasks and hot baked bread.

Today is cold and dreary and time is running slower. A good book and a hot drink would be more than welcome but my short people insist on food and entertainment and attention. Naptime is never long enough and Amy doesn’t nap anyway.

***

A program on TV. Someone dying, a family standing around crying.

‘Turn it off Nathan. I don’t need to watch that. It’s worse when it’s real life.’

Click.

Posted in Headfuck.

22 comments

By Veronica – July 15, 2009
Fatty Lumps and Dirt

So firstly, the lump in my breast? It’s just a fatty lump. Nothing to worry about.

Thank GOD. I was really really stressed this morning prior to the ultrasound. [So was Mum. So stressed in fact that she came to the appointment with me and played with Amy in the waiting room] The lump may or may not grow, I’ve just got to keep an eye on it and if it gets bigger, possibly think about removal.

So there. It’s always good to be told that you don’t have breast cancer.

***

I’ve been digging a garden. Sure it’s nearly killed me and somehow I’ve got a bruise that runs from the heel of my hand all the way to my elbow, but it feels good to look outside and see pretty dirt, just waiting for me to plant vegies in it.

So far, I’ve got peas, spinach, parsley, mint, kale and silverbeet planted. Also some mignonette lettuce and broad beans.

It looks good. Fresh. New.

Exactly what I need.

Dirt to centre myself and to cry into if need be.

Posted in Headfuck.

25 comments

By Veronica – July 9, 2009
Tired and Sad

Today was the first day since Nan died when we were back to a normal routine. Nathan got up at god-awful o’clock and left for TAFE (welding course) and I was left at home with the two children, one of whom is still sick and completely unable to be separated from me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love snuggling with Isaac, but when it’s the 5th consecutive hour that you’re doing it and you’ve only had a few (non-consecutive) hours sleep, then it starts to get a little old.

My shoulder and lower back are complaining rather a lot at the extra 7kgs of badly distributed weight. Sigh. I feel old today.

Old and sad.

Sad and tired.

Nan was a huge part of my life. I catch myself thinking I’ll just ring Nan… and then, fuck. And then I cry.

***

When I rang Nathan that Wednesday morning to take me into the hospital, I stopped breathing properly. It was almost like hyperventilating, only not. I flew through a shower and getting the kids ready. Nathan walked in the door and we walked out of it 30 seconds later.

I didn’t breathe again until I hit that hospital room and Nan was still breathing. She looked awful, but that is part and parcel of cancer and steroids. She got quite distressed until David and I had hugged her. Apparently she’d spoken to Mum prior to her downhill slide and said that she needed to let Davey and I know that she knew we were there. She definitely managed that. I hugged her, laid my cheek against hers and told her I loved her.

We settled in to wait.

The waiting was the hardest part.

We took turns holding Nan’s hand and she had enough energy to occasionally give us a squeeze. Visitors came and went and still we sat. Talking, laughing, reminiscing, waiting.

Eventually Nan’s breathing got worse. She pulled her oxygen mask off and rolled onto her side. She opened her eyes and looked straight at her mother (Kath*) before closing her eyes again. Kath held one of Nan’s hands and I held Kath’s other hand and her shoulder. She gripped me like a drowning woman as her daughter started to slip away.

Mum said ‘You can go now Mum. You don’t have to stay here for us. We love you.’

I echoed ‘Yes. We love you Nan.’

Her breathing slowed and then stopped completely.

It was peaceful. She was done fighting.

At 2.10pm on the 24th of June ‘09, my grandmother died, surrounded by family.

*I’m calling her Kath for this blog post to prevent confusion. In real life, she is just Nan.

***

I can remember everything about that afternoon, even down to how the room smelled and how it felt to clean the room afterwards. We organised clothes and flowers, books and magazines and then we left the room and Nan behind.

***

I think those first few days were easier to deal with.

After the funeral, the hustle and bustle died down and the reality of Nan’s death set in. I can’t ring her. I can’t visit. I can’t do any of the things I used to do on a daily basis. Nan was such a part of my life; to have her gone leaves me with a gaping hole and a pervading sense of sad.

I can still smell her perfume on the clothing she gave me before she died. I wander around the house and suddenly, I can smell her.

And it hurts because it’s not her and eventually, the smell will fade no matter how I try and preserve it.

***

I threw the last of the flowers out yesterday. The lilies that had been in her room withered and died. An empty coffee jar sits on my counter with no flowers left to fill it.

***

It’s the middle of winter. It’s cold and icy and horrible outside. I yearn for warm days and blooming flowers and sunshine that warms my soul as well as my body. I know that spring will come in it’s own time. I know that eventually the keen knife edge of hurt will fade. I know this.

This hurt is a wound that will eventually heal, leaving me with just a scar and memories. Knowing that this will happen doesn’t make the days in the interim easier though.

***

I’m a writer and I won’t appologise for ripping open my soul and leaving it here on my blog for you to read, even though I feel like I should be appologising for my lack of humour.

I hope that you can hold my hand and walk through this with me as I process it. That said, if you find it hard to comment, or can’t make the words come out right, don’t feel you have to comment profoundly. Simply knowing you’re reading still is enough.

Posted in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck.

45 comments

By Veronica – July 6, 2009
Don’t piss the universe off

The morning of Nan’s funeral dawned grey and bitter. Awoken by Isaac looking at me and smiling, I was hoping like hell I could feed him and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Amy woke up part way through the feed, so I was listening to her yelling ‘Mummy! I AM awake NOW!’ while Isaac kept breaking off to smile. I dragged myself out of bed and looked at my outfit hanging on the door ready to be put on. It wasn’t going to be a good day.

Mum forwarded a copy of the Eulogy to me. It was a first draft put together by my uncle. It was good, but it needed editing and polishing. So, I rang Mum, we talked and then I rewrote parts of the Eulogy and tied it all together into a cohesive speech before sending it back to Mum.

Just a heads up for anyone else who may or may not be involved in organising a funeral. Rewriting a eulogy on the morning of the funeral? Yeah, I don’t recommend it.

I was so stressed that my uncle would be upset with me for rewriting parts of it, but I pulled myself up, tucked myself in and figured that of course he wouldn’t be annoyed, it was only a first draft after all and it was too long and missing chunks and it was better now.

Right?

Eventually we were all ready and packed into the car.

Turn the key. Click click click goes the car.

Nothing.

Again, turn the key. Click click ffffft.

Nothing.

Fucking fuck of a fucking car. Fuck.

Dressed to the nines, we were standing in our very soggy front yard with a dead battery. FINE. We’ll just change the battery from the other car. Nathan jumped into the other car and checked to see if that one would start. Click click whirrrrr fffft.

Two cars. Two dead batteries. What are the odds? Dear universe. I know that you can fuck things up if you choose to, but really, don’t we have enough going on? FortheloveofGOD.

A phone call later, Mum and Dad were on the way to help get our stupid fuck of a fucking car started.

I have never been so stressed in my life. We quickly rearranged Amy’s care arrangements, knowing that no way in hell we had enough time to get her out to his parents AND back to the funeral.

Mum arrived and after enough swear words to make a sailor blush, our car was started and running.

I had the shakes, I felt nauseous and I was more than ready to be done with this day.

We got to the funeral uneventfully. Just as the car died. In the car park.

Oh my fucking god.

But we’d made it and everything could be sorted later. My stress levels were through the roof (have I mentioned I was a little stressed?) as I got Isaac out of the car and into his pram to walk in.

I flicked my head back, drew in a deep breathe and walked through the glass doors. My uncle saw me, looked at me and then immediately looked away. I didn’t notice really, I was too busy looking for Mum. I was about to fall apart.

I found Mum and started swearing about the car. Nothing better than a minor emergency to take your mind off the big things.

I was keeping my shit together fine, until I saw two of my parent’s friends walk through the front doors. Two men, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Two men, who weren’t there for any other reason than to say goodbye to Nan and provide support for US.

I burst into tears I was that pleased to see them.

The service was lovely and I cried the entire way through it. All the work put in and it pulled together perfectly. I made it there on time and Isaac was good throughout. You can’t ask for anything more, can you.

And if a certain family member of mine refused to acknowledge my presence there, merely exchanging polite words when I initiated conversation, well then. That’s not my issue. That’s his.

****

In other things:

I asked and I received. I had my big girl panties all ready, but it turns out I didn’t need them. Not really.

Go on, go and read it.

And… I had my breast checked by a GP today. Definitely a lump there and it feels mobile so that is a good thing. In most cases, mobile lumps are benign cysts. I’m not terribly positive that it does move though and I’m the one feeling it at every available opportunity. HOWEVER. We’ll just not think of that. I am off for an ultrasound of it (‘it’ sounds weird. I almost feel I should name it) next Thursday. I’m much less worried now that I’ve seen the doctor and we’ve got things in motion for checks and stuff.

Right.

Posted in Headfuck.

24 comments

By Veronica – July 2, 2009
Happy Birthdays and Goodbyes

Happy Birthday David. I’m truly sorry that we’re burying our Nan on your birthday. This last week has sucked. Sucked LOTS.

So, even though we’re spending today in a funeral home, surrounded by lots of family we may or may not get along with, I’m wishing you a happy birthday. I do love you. Even when you pulled all the clothes out of my dresser when you were a toddler. Even when I dressed you in girls clothes and makeup when you were five and you wouldn’t let me photograph you. Even when you kept interrupting me and my boyfriend on Mum’s say so.

Even then.

Nan’s funeral is in a few hours and I’m desperately stressed. I’m going to miss her more than I can articulate.

Lyn Rossendell – 11.04.1945 – 24.06.09

Goodbye again Nan. You know I love you. I’ll never stop missing you.

Posted in Headfuck, Life.

29 comments

By Veronica – June 30, 2009