Things I have learnt in the last 9 months

So it's been 9 months since I have moved in to look after my dad & I have learnt a few things, mainly the hard way. These include:

A. Anti depressants are really quite good and don't numb your creativity.
B. You don't actually die if you're getting next to no sex.
C. I have no idea how all these people who are raking it in on benefits do it.
D. Dementia is really messed up. It's not just about your memory going, whole bits of who you are fall down the cracks.
E. I actually don't need as much money as I thought.
F. My wardrobe however, does.
G. Good gin is really nice.
H. Social Services really are as shit as my dad always said they were (he worked in care).
I. You really do find out who your friends are during tough times.
J. I have more patience than I thought - but I am def not a patient person.
K. Even when you have low expectations of someone they can still disappoint you.
L. If karma exists it needs to be quicker.
M. Never go into the bathroom barefoot - stepping in someone else's wee in your bare feet is not fun.

There's prob more lessons learnt but that's my list for now. 

Technically I'm dressed (and kinda ok)

Well by my rules I am. The rules state to qualify as dressed you must;
*have had a shower & brushed your teeth
*have a bra on
So even though I'm in pj's I'm dressed. 

The doctor has put me on anti-depressants (after a second meltdown in front of her) and they've obviously not made everything ok but I feel a bit more able to cope with things. I've stopped being a total girl & crying all the time for starters - I hated that, it was so not me! I still have no life outside cooking, medicines, cleaning & my shitty job and am still anxious about the future but I'm writing & getting my hair done & stuff. Baby steps!

"I always said I'd move back in if things got bad"

*warning*
this post is just one big rant

"I always said I'd move back in if things got bad" VERY GOOD, SO WHY DIDN'T YOU THEN? My mum had an affair & left my dad when she was sixty / he was seventy (+/- a year, I'm never that good at remembering specifics). It was with another woman, I don't feel that that makes a difference but most of my family are so backward she gets referred to as mums 'friend' and its not seen as an affair. She didn't want to divorce mainly it seems because she wants to pretend she still lives here for various reasons, she wants to keep herself in the closet & she doesn't like being on her own so she comes & watches tv here when her gf is at work (she hasn't quite retired yet.

So she didn't move back in when my dad got bad, I did. She does 2 lunches and one dinner a week while I'm at work. Yesterday she attempted (i am immune to her attempts after thirty cough years of it) to make me feel guilty coz her gf is annoyed that next week mum will have to do lunch on both of her gf's days off. IF I WASN'T HERE YOU'D BE DOING IT EVERY DAY. She wouldn't put him in a home because the house would be sold to pay for it so she'd lose her little bolt hole & pretence of being straight. 

I don't actually see her much - she doesn't come round to help when I'm here. On the occasions she does she sits in the lounge nibbling on her scrawny person lunch watching loose women or something equally dire on the tv & asks me to 'help her' with things. I end up sat in my room.

Next week my brother is visiting - she will manage to be here everyday cooking the golden child's meals & making out she always helps that much. She has no doubt prepped him again that I am evil & horrible and that she does everything. He is so much like her it is scary. The visit will involve her doing her martyr act & the both of them having a go at me. I hate my family but I won't bore you by extending today's rant to the rest of them!

I feel a bit better for that!

Bricklaying & Caring

Not two careers you'd link together but apparently they use a similar skill set.

The carer (I am using this term loosely) who comes round twice a week for half an hour to wash my dad is going back to bricklaying. Social Services outsource this to a private company. Clearly this company
A) think that bricklayers are suitably skilled to become carers - bricks, people, they're similar right?
B) offer such a brilliant job that people would rather do the job they chose to leave in the first place.

This departure means a return to a parade of even worse carers who do their best to get in & out the house without doing anything. He had dementia he;
A) lies
B) doesn't like washing
You'd think that "carers" would at least try to get him in the bathroom and would at least have had some basic training. For example if you wash his back, dry his back. He obviously can't reach.

Two words: care crisis.

Pet Names

My dad keeps giving me little pet (and they're always small animals) names when he says goodnight. Yesterday I was pussycat today I am monkey. He's never been one for terms of endearment and the fact they keep changing makes me wonder if it's just because sometimes he can't remember my name.

It was mum who wanted to call me Claire; named after a nurse she had 'great respect for' and a suspected crush on, so maybe this is a rebellion too! I think dad wanted to call me Helen but mum vetoed it coz she didn't want 'common people' dropping the H and calling me Ellen. My parents were definitely from working class stock but my mum always though herself 'better' than that. My dad's expertise in the field of caring for the disabled & running homes saw him rise to senior management & consultant level which I'm pretty sure made us middle class though I think me & my brother might be taking us back!

I cried at the doctors today

I cried at the doctors today and all I got was a rough bit of kitchen roll stuff. I was only allowed ten minutes of tears obviously. You'd think as I'm saving the NHS and social services a small fortune by caring for my dad it would be in their best interest to keep me going in a non sectionable state.

I still get cross with myself for crying, but I really don't seem able to control it at the moment. 

My dad is still here but I miss him

It's Fathers Day and I know for a lot of people its a sad day coz they're missing their dad. Well my dad is still here and I miss him. The man I care for is not my dad, he is vague & confused and not the man whose little finger I would hold on to when we walked in the forest. One of my earliest memories of him is all of us waiting in the car to get on a ferry & cross a river in Devon (or somewhere - I was small) and the news filtering down the queue of cars that someone had had a heartattack. My dad went & brought him back after his heart had stopped then came back to the car cool as a cucumber LIKE SAVING A MAN'S LIFE WAS JUST SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED SOMETIMES. This man I care for struggles to tell the time. Ten past eight or twenty to two?

I miss my dad and this man who looks like him but is not him is an imposter.