For the second night in a row, I tried using a sleeping aid. Not sleeping pills, but a podcast designed to help you get to sleep. The idea is to find a substitute for the endless scrolling of Facebook reels. This particular podcast is called Nothing Much Happens. There are dozens of 15-45 minute short stories narrated in a soft, sleep-inducing tone. As the name suggests, nothing much happens in each story. There is no drama, no rage bait, nothing of excitement at all—simply a soft voice talking about nothing in particular. So far, it seems to be working, so I will continue the experiment further and see if it affects my sleep in any meaningful way.
Despite the ease with which I drifted off to sleep last night, I awoke with a bit of back pain. I put this down to the change to a new bed. I find that the first night or two in a different bed often induces an aching back in the mornings. It probably didn’t help that the bed was a little firmer than I’m used to. I didn’t bring the camping mattress with me this time. That’s still at John and Lisa’s in Wales.
I had a couple of commitments this morning, including a call with my boss. To prepare for that, I took out my work laptop and logged in. As luck would have it, Caroline, a member of my excellent team, was online, so we chatted briefly. Caroline is lovely, and we get on really well. She’s one of a small handful of people with whom I have a non-work connection. We maintain a normal professional relationship at work, as is right and proper, but we occasionally chat about non-work-related topics. Caroline is also an avid follower of my blogs. She got hooked during last October’s trip to Florida, when I churned out a daily blog for five straight weeks. I said I’d mention her in today’s blog, so “Hi, Caroline. I hope you’re still enjoying the blogs :-)”
Caroline isn’t the only admirer of my writing. I have followers all over the globe. Some keep in touch with me almost daily; others reach out occasionally, or at the end of a blog series, to let me know they enjoyed travelling vicariously with me. I frequently hear from people long after the fact that they had been reading along but just didn’t interact with my Facebook posts at the time. It’s hard to put a number on my reader numbers. I don’t necessarily write for an audience. My blogs are more about me processing the day’s events, thoughts, and feelings. That said, I do genuinely get a kick out of hearing that someone is reading them. I’d say most authors are genuinely pleased whenever someone reads their words.
My call with my boss went well. He has been incredibly supportive throughout this journey. I’m always completely open and honest with him about what’s happening, where my thinking lies, etc. I think that’s important. He seems to genuinely appreciate that honesty also. I’ve been really lucky at this stage of my life to have landed with an employer who is so supportive of what’s happening with me. I couldn’t imagine it being this way in any other country I’ve lived and worked in.
The other commitment this morning was a scheduled callback from the hospital’s complaints officer. This was in relation to the neurology department where I got my Parkinson’s diagnosis. The doctor was terrific. However, I had an unfortunate experience with some of the staff there when I was trying to subsequently get the neurologist to write my levodopa prescription. The admin staff at the time seemed more interested in ending the call than in providing me with meaningful clarification about what I should expect. I wrote about this extensively in day 3 of this blog. To compound the issue, the complaints department at the time intimated they were only able to adjudicate medical-related complaints. Did I have to have a limb amputated before the complaints department would deal with me!? That became a second complaint I filed. The complaints officer today listened carefully to my explanation of the events and seemed genuinely ready to accept my interpretation. She clarified that I had a valid point on both counts and that she would address both issues. I felt heard and vindicated, which is all I can really hope for. We agreed that she would give me an update after addressing both issues, so I now consider the matter closed. I’m trying not to allow my quiet sense of satisfaction to deteriorate too far into smugness: trying really hard.
Paul had errands to run today, so I had to pick up the reins a little with Dad’s care. Before leaving the house, Paul showed me what I needed to do with Dad’s meds, feeding and so on. How hard could it be? I was to find out.
For much of the morning and early afternoon, I sat at Dad’s bed, and we just chatted. Mostly, I was a listening ear, affording him the opportunity to recount stories of his and my childhoods. I told him that Richard had used foul language throughout his chat with Joey yesterday. I then recalled that it was Dad who instilled in me a disdain for profanity to begin with. When I was around 8 or 9 years old, I was walking down our road with Dad when we passed a group of louts. These teenagers were chatting loudly and profanely, as teenagers often did back then in South Ockendon. I think that created some tension with Dad wanting to shield me from that kind of behaviour. He relieved that tension after we passed the boys with a simple remark. “Don’t listen to them, son. They are only using swear words because they don’t know how to use the English language correctly.” That was it. That simple throwaway remark stayed with me, and I’ve hated hearing people swear ever since—especially within earshot of younger children. I can draw a direct line to many of my character traits from simple little things like this from both my parents. I’m sure that’s the case for my other siblings as well, though, at least in this regard, it does seem that Richard is cut from a different cloth.
Shortly before I was due to visit Carol and her siblings, I popped out to the shops. While there, I realised I was a tad early. As it was so blisteringly hot outside, I decided to look for a place to park in the shade while I sat in the relative comfort of my car’s A/C. At nearly forty degrees Celsius, that relief was only partial. Even though I had the A/C serviced before this trip, it struggled to cope with those temperatures. At times today, sitting in the car felt like sitting in an oven.
Just as I was about to head to Carol’s house, I received a call from Paul. Dad had hit the panic button. The control centre contacted him, so he contacted me and asked if I would go back to check on Dad, which I did immediately. I found him indeed in a mild state of panic. There was nothing actually physically wrong. He was just scared and confused. He was looking at his watch, wondering why his carers weren’t there (his care package includes 4 daily care visits). His confusion was due to his watch being upside down. When I rectified that and calmed him down, he realised what was going on and came back down to earth again. I gave him some tea and made him a bite to eat. Truthfully, I think the only real problem was loneliness, which deteriorated into fear and further confusion. The problem was easily rectified. It just needed someone there at that moment to be with him.
After getting Dad settled with a cup of tea (it’s actually a child’s sippy cup—handing him a real cup or mug with hot tea is just a recipe for disaster), I asked him if he wanted something to eat. That piqued his interest. I offered him an apple tart, which he really likes. For the next 10-20 minutes, as the time for me to visit Carol came and went, the conversation with Dad played out roughly as follows:
“Chris?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Can you make me some custard?”
“Yes, Dad.”
I went off to the kitchen to find and make some custard
“Chris?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Can you warm this up a little in the microwave?”
“Yes, Dad.”
I take his tray back to the kitchen to warm up the custard, a slight grin on my face.
“Chris?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Can you pour the custard over the apple tart?”
“Sigh. Yes, Dad, of course.”
I poured the custard over the apple tart as requested.
“A little more…a little more…keep going…some more, please.”
“Chris?”
“What?”
“Can you warm it up some more?”
“Sigh, of course I can.”
The grin on my face is rapidly becoming more of a grimace.
“Chris?”
“What now, Dad!?”
“Can you make me a cup of tea, please?”
…
This pantomime played out a little more, and I did my level best to be patient with him. I wanted to get him to the point where he was comfortable and assured—without letting him think he was being a pain. Only then would I feel happy to leave him again so I could visit Carol. I was developing a new appreciation for what Paul has been dealing with over the past couple of years. There’s no doubt about the toll that being a full-time carer has on people. I had only the briefest taste of it today.
To help put Dad further at ease, I showed him how to answer the phone and told him I would call now and then while I was visiting Carol. In the end, he never picked up the phone when I called. He either nodded off, didn’t notice the phone was ringing, or simply couldn’t figure out which button to press.
I finally made it to Carol’s house, which turned out to be a real treat for me. Along with Carol were Brenda, Janice, Sharron, Keith and David with his wife. The only missing cousins among them were Linda and Terry. Linda couldn’t make it, and it’s quite rare for Terry to attend these types of things anyway. I immediately felt at home and in the warmth of family. These are all the children of my Uncle Dave and Auntie Lilly, both of whom have passed away in recent years. Dave and Lilly now have an extensive family of around 50 children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. This family was a big part of my life from a young age—all these cousins were a consistent presence from when I was around 5 years old, when I used to play in Auntie Lilly’s hallway with my little brother, Richard. He and I, being the babies of the family, would frequently tag along with Mum, who visited Auntie Lilly just around the corner from where we grew up. To me, these cousins would all have been older teenagers back then. Despite seeing them all in their sixties, they are still my older teenage cousins in my mind’s eye.
We enjoyed recounting stories of back then, when our families were much more intertwined in daily life. They all evidently get together every few weeks, which I just love. I wish that could have been something our family could have maintained, but alas, the paths of my siblings and me were to diverge more over the years. It probably didn’t help that Sandy and I went off jet-setting to all the corners of the globe for years on end.
Our trips down memory lane covered a wide range of topics, including health issues, autism, my own blogs and publishing history and even a couple of eyebrow-raising surprises about things I wasn’t previously aware of. I won’t go into too much detail. After all, nobody wants to rehash what happened all those years ago between cousins on the couch that time when Dad walked in and…well, like I say, I won’t go into the details to prevent someone’s embarrassment. Was that tactful enough, Keith?
All good things must come to an end, and we all parted company at the same time. I found Dad at home, comfortable and settled. I had feared he might descend into panic again if he realised he was alone, but fortunately that never happened. His carers had been and gone and had done their thing. I made Dad something to eat and drink. Soon thereafter, he drifted back to sleep, giving me a chance to write up today’s blog.
I thoroughly enjoyed making more memories today and reconnecting with yet more family members. I have been coming to terms with the fact that not all of my direct family cherish family connections as much as I do. I find that a real pity and a shame, but it is the way it is. It’s in keeping with a theme coursing through my life at the moment—something I cannot control and must simply learn to accept.