My mum seems more coherent this morning. The delirium of yesterday is very mild. She thinks she can hear church music. The little boys and girls of yesterday have, touch wood, kept away, and she’s now enjoying American news coverage of last night’s debate. I don’t expect it to last but compared to yesterday morning, it’s much better. It’s clearly linked to tiredness — any doctors out there care to tell me why? Late last night, just before bed was the hardest bit of the day.
Yesterday was also very long for me. In the end, I put my mum to bed at 10.30 — her usual time — and then went almost straight to sleep myself, setting my alarm for 1.30, ahead of the Presidential debate. By 5am, I’d finished a piece about the night (or the political parts of it, as least), which you can read over yonder. Please do. My getting articles published make life more bearable and the good people at Reaction deserve a visit.
As for the debate, I don’t know how people who weren’t super-stressed and utterly exhausted found it. By the time it ended, I felt physically sick, like I’d experience sensory overload. I was eating chocolate digestives at 4am to give me a little energy. Trump was the very worst Trump I’ve seen.
Today I’m hoping for a slower day, when I might actually catch up on a few jobs. As a northern working class guy, I have a great reluctance to admit it’s “housework” but it’s housework. Dull, repetative, but strangely satisfying housework.
It’s typical of my luck, however, that the only post today was my annual statement from the publishers of my Monks book. Talk about a cruel reminder of the life I could have had, right in the midst of the life I do have…
Today I might also have to take a peek at my bank account. I’ve been spending money like a madman (well not quite but I haven’t really thought “can I afford this” as I hit the purchase buttons). Small crazy essentials like spare batteries of the blood pressure kit, cartons of cranberry juice which the science says doesn’t help UTIs but every wise housewife I know tells me otherwise. Today I’ve also booked a consultation with a private GP (£40 for 15 minutes… feels like prostitution and morally wrong but I have no choice), just to get some advice, a second opinion, and just to hear from a different doctor. Every person I know who has an elderly relative who suffers from UTIs mention that they go straight onto antibiotics despite negative urine tests. My Mum is younger than their parents, has the absolute classic symptoms, yet is being refused the treatment. I’m utterly appalled at how cruel that is. I just do not understand it.
As for myself, I’ve shaved off my beard. First time I’m hair free on my chin since last November. I nearly made it to my goal of having a ‘yeard’. But, last night, I lay in bed thinking about it. I was worried it made it harder for my Mum to recognise me in her delirium but also (and yes I’m a sentimental fool) it never felt right giving her a kiss goodnight with that damn hair on my face.
Far too sentimental, that. A tad too honest but I’m beyond really caring about such things. It takes a crisis to make you realise that the things that would once appal you are simply things that doesn’t require much willpower to do. I’ve done a lot in the past few days that probably earn me an extra stripe as a carer. If you ever find yourself in the same place, know that it’s really not that bad.
Hope you’re all well and having a better time of it. Life is cruel, as I wrote yesterday, but I have to also remember that some people are kind and those are the people it’s worth cherishing. So, to anybody who has reached out to me, thank you, and to those that have read the blog with concern but haven’t felt comfortable contacting me, know that I’m also very grateful. I’ve cherished all your kindness and attention.