I decided to clean my room and then I figured I should clean my condo.  It’s a thankless job and I hate cleaning.  But it’s just to messy.  I got sick of cleaning so I decided to workout instead.  I went to the small gym in my condo.  It was a brief workout.  My muscles trembled, my lungs burned, my head started to spin, my butt started to quiver and my heart started to pump like crazy.  While doing a set of squats, I ripped my boxers.

At the gym, I could see how badly I got out of shape.  I should eat properly too.  Maybe I’ll make some curry chickpeas w/ veggies and brown rice.

Now I’m too tired to shower.  I stink from the sweat.  My arms are too tired to type.  If 20 hot naked Asian guys show up, I would be too tired to do anything.  But if they do show up, maybe I can get them to finish cleaning my condo.

I held his hands and told him what an awesome dad he was.  I thought he moved his fingers a bit.  I watched as his breath grew shallower and slower.  I yelled for my siblings to come to the room.  We watched him take his final breath and said our goodbyes.  Just moments before I thought I could sense my mom but maybe it was my imagination.  He wasn’t in pain or discomfort.  We made sure the there were enough meds.  He had his last rites just hours before.  Our house is just a modest home but to him, it was his castle.  He loved it and died there.

Goodbye dad, I love you.  We’ll miss you.  Give mom a hug from all of us.  I’m happy that you’re with her now and free of the pain and suffering from your illness.

It's been awhile since I've posted anything.  It's partly because I don't really have anything good to write about.

These past few years, the long, dark days of winter have dampened my mood.  I've also gotten way out of shape.  When I'm stressed, I tend to eat more.  When I'm at my dad's place, I snack like crazy.  It doesn't help that my sister leaves a lot of junk food around.  Dinners there are usually take out food.  No one really has time to cook.  I downloaded a fitness app only to find out how far out of shape I'm in.  I don't sleep enough.  I know I'll pay dearly for this.

My dad's health is declining rapidly.  We used to celebrate minor victories.  He ate well.  He slept well.  He had a bowel movement.  There wasn't any pain.  It's hard to find those minor victories now.  I stayed over the other night.  I told my sister to go to bed and she did around 1 AM.  My dad called out frequently when he is asleep - not deep sleep.  I had to keep checking to see if he was really calling out or just talking in his sleep.  He did wake up a couple of times and I gave him some water.  I would hold his hands to give him some assurance and told him to rest and go back to sleep.  I think the hardest part is watching him grimacing in pain when he is being changed.  I finally got to nap for an hour around 4.  My sister woke up a few times to check.  She eventually got up around 5.  It's like this for her every night.  I left the house just as the rush hour started.  When I got home, I fueled myself with caffeine to get me through the day.   My brother came over later that day with food.

Is this heroic? No.  I'm just doing my bit to help.  I have no idea how previous generations handled all of this.  How do the people living around the poverty line manage with elder care and dementia?

Writing is one of the few things that keep me sane.  I wish I had more time for this.

A few years ago, I lost my mom to cancer.  At least, that's what I tell people.  She was diagnosed just before winter and passed away in the summer.   She knew she didn't have long to live when she went into the hospital.  It was for a tracheotomy.  The tumor was creating a lot of pain in the neck area and slowly choking her.  All she wanted was just a few weeks - preferably at home.  I remember her laughing after the surgery. We tried to make the hospital room as comfortable as possible.  The nurses and staff let us use the second bed.  We brought in a CD player and her Chinese newspapers.   I would bring in my photography magazines so she could look at some of the wonderful outdoor & wildlife photography.  Everyday she would ask what day it was.  Eventually we would just tell her the date right once we showed up.  Her bed was too low and too far from the window.  All she saw was the sky.  We would describe the scenery to her.

One day, my dad  said "listen to this".  In her new guttural voice, she said "Happy Birthday" to my dad.  My dad laughed.  It was the first time both of them laughed in the hospital.  I had forgotten it was my dad's birthday.  She started to talk cautiously about coming home and to see her garden.  I wondered how we were going to handle this but was glad that there was a chance of her coming home.

Then the cruel daggers of reality struck.  Several times a day, her throat had to be cleared of mucus.  It was a tube sucked the mucus out.  She struggled and it was a painful ordeal.  The nurses wanted teach us how to do it.  Both my sister and brother tried.  I didn't.  I couldn't bear to see her struggle as if she was being choked.  There was also a rotten smell from the opening.  My mom's sense of smell was very keen and I don't know how she coped with it.

One day, my sister and I were with her.  She wanted to go to the bathroom.  I had done this before with my brother.  I held on to her while my brother wiped her.  I felt her shame.  This time my sister was there so I thought it might be a bit easier.  But as she went into the bathroom, she fainted.  I held on to her desperately and let her body leaned on mine.  I had the wall to support my back.  But my arms couldn't hold on to her.  I slowly slid down the wall to the floor while holding on to her.   The nurses came in and took over.  I felt so useless.

When I spoke to my mom afterwards, she didn't remember what happened.  A couple of days later, I got a call from my sister early in the morning.  My mom wanted to meet with all of us.  When we got there, she told us in that strange new voice "I want to die."  I didn't say anything.  I noticed my dad slowly walking out of the room.  He put his head to the wall and started to cry.  I walked over and just put my hand on his shoulder.  The next few moments are a blur.  A priest came in to give her the last rites.  I mumbled the Lord's Prayer.  Later that day, a nurse removed the tube for her peritoneal dialysis.   Her doctor saw us afterwards and assured us the diabetic coma would be painless.  There was a part of me that was numb to all of this. One night, it was just me and her in the room.  She was asleep.  I started by rattling off the date.  Then slowly as I held her hand, I thanked her for being a wonderful mom and for raising me.  I struggled because I had to speak Cantonese.  I felt like a child again.  I told her she would see her mom, dad and sister.  Then I said she would see her beloved cats.  She suddenly smiled and held that for about a second.  I knew she heard me.   I just wanted her to know things would be ok.

She passed away while my brother and I were in the funeral home making arrangements.  I realized then why she kept asking us for the date.  She hung on 1 day past her wedding anniversary.  I knew she didn't want my dad to associate that day with her death.  The cancer didn't beat her.  She was brave to the end and died on her terms.

To my readers, I'm sorry if all of my recent posts have been grim.  I need to slowly get this stuff out of me.

Dementia has got to be one of the most cruel diseases around.  It's reduced my dad from a very intelligent & articulate man to one that lashes out (verbally and physically), cries and hard to manage.  It escalates at night turning bedtime into a nightmarish situation.  I don't understand his mind.  He seems fine during the day and during the night - this other person comes out.   My sister bears the brunt of this.  I'm able to go home and wallow in guilt.

There's some odd things happening in my condo.  A couple of weeks ago, in the wee hours of the night, I heard creaking sounds.  I tell myself it's the temperature change that's causing the hardwood floors to creak.  But this time it sounded as if there was someone walking inside my unit.  I got out of bed and looked around my unit.  There wasn't anyone of course.  But a couple of my kitchen cupboards doors were opened.  Hmm.... I have left them opened before but I had no idea if I left them opened that night.  Needless to say, I left the lights on when I went back to bed.

A few nights ago, I was washing dishes when I heard a loud noise behind me.  A box of plastic food containers fell and spilled open.  This box has been sitting on top of a case of water for months.  The only way it could have fallen if someone walked by it and caught the edge of the box with their foot.   I'm sure there is a logical explanation but I haven't figured it out yet.

Strange...

Update on my dad:  He's not doing that well.  He got a bit violent, pushing the personal support worker, swearing and throwing things. I had to keep calm when I talked to him.  The doctor at the hospital told us that when the dementia gets worse, some of the patient's fears and behaviours gets exaggerated.  If the patient was a cautious and suspicious type of person, that behaviour might become dominant.  In my dad's case, he is a solitary figure.  He just kept telling us "leave me the f*ck alone!".   I know something is bothering him but I couldn't get it out from him or he wasn't able to express it which made him even more frustrated.  The home care is still best for him now despite all the challenges.

It hasn't been easy putting my thoughts on paper.  I thought I was better able to handle  end of life care, palliative care, DNR and stuff like that.  But when doctors ask me (and my siblings) at the hospital "Does your dad understand what Do Not Resuscitate mean?  Have you looked into palliative care? Does your dad prefer to die at home or at a hospice?"

I thought with my dad at home, we could manage the visits from the various people (everyone from nurse to social worker).   But they just tell my sister they are coming over.  The house is just an extension of the hospital.  I guess surprise visits are part of the routine.  It doesn't matter that my sister has to stop work for an hour or two to deal with them.  So she now bears the brunt of the questions.   They insist on asking my dad questions about end of life care.  I wish they would just f*ck off.  While dad knows he doesn't have years left, I don't want him to think he only has days to live.  In his current mental state, I don't know how he'll react.

Recently we got word that my favorite aunt passed away.  My siblings and I have different views on whether or not dad needs to know and what to tell him.  It hasn't created a rift or anything like that.  I told them if he ask, I'll tell him that she passed away.  I was the one that told him at the hospital about signing consent forms for applying to a hospice / palliative care centre and that the entire program of living at home is part of the hospital's palliative care.  He paused and listened attentively.  I tried to keep it as simple as possible.  It seemed to work. He asked a few questions and was fine with it.  I think he was just glad to be going home.

I'm going to miss my aunt.  I spoke to her before she started her chemo.  Then everything fell apart.  She never made it back home.  I'm just glad she's no longer in pain.

If you read this far down, you must be made of stern stuff.  I know a lot of my  recent entries have not been easy to read or even comment.  A blogger who I respect wrote that he was at a lost for words and felt helpless reading my recent entries.  But he wanted me to know he still read them even though he didn't leave any comments.  I thanked him, not just for his honesty but for making the journey in life a bit more bearable.

I don't know how to close this messy entry.  I know I'll be fine and make it through this.  I've been down this road before.

I saw this tip from godisinthewind  but didn't know how to like or reblog her entry.   So I'm just cutting and pasting until I figure out a better way.

• Name Link not Working?

  If you notice that names in comments are no longer clickable and the avatars lead to a ‘not found’ page, do this: Top right, of your screen where your cute lil avatar is, chose Edit Profile. Scroll through and look for the space next to Website. Add in your xanga address (eg. http://myname.xanga.com) and this make it so that your name becomes a clickable link. It still does not work with your avatar image however. Now going to look and see why that is.

Finally - it took ages for the internet to work its magic before I can get in. I guess the estimate of 12 to 36 hours were correct after all. So who else made it over?

And who are all these people I'm following? Where are the themes? And where's that picture I posted of myself? (just kidding...). I thought it would have all those themes that I have in my WordPress account. But I think I'll just take a few days to figure out how things work here.

I hope everyone is doing well and I hope Xanga will find a way to grow.

Why can't I comment on people's blogs?

My dad was a typical Asian father.  He was in charge although we knew mom was the bedrock of the family.  Dad sacrificed a lot and made sure we had a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs and an education.  When I started to work and gave money back to my parents, it was always to mom.  I pretty well used mom as a buffer.  It wasn't that I was scared of dad.  It was just the way it was. 

Mom was always the one who would speak to dad.  She understood my father, his way of thinking and knew how to talk to him.  No matter how tired they were, they always made time every night to sit together and chat quietly.  Because dad was older, I always thought he would pass away first.  But that wasn't the case.  Mom had a lot of illnesses and contracted a vicious form of cancer.  She passed away a few months after.  Dad was shaken to the core.  I didn't know what to do with him and I never knew how to really talk to him.  But since mom's passing, our relationship slowly grew.  He can be stubborn and annoying.  But I gradually enjoyed my weekly dinners with him.  He became my "date".  We went to bookstores.  He would pass by the "Romantic Novels" section and proclaimed loudly that it was "garbage".  We got a few glares from those faithful readers.  I helped him with his banking.  He never stopped giving me advice. 

When he started to get more and more confused, I started to get worried.  My instincts were to simply gradually bring him back to reality gently rather than act shock or confused.  He got me my first jock strap when I started high school.  I was too embarrassed to buy one myself for gym.  I got him his first adult diaper.  He told me he was too embarrassed about the problem and didn't know what to do.

Every day at the hospital, I would make sure I hold dad's hand or stroke it gently.  I joke with him.  He told me he was scared and that he prayed very hard.  He wasn't sure if his prayers were answered.  He thought his prayers weren't eloquent.  I told him prayers are prayers and they will be heard.  I keep telling him that we will be here and won't abandon him. I never knew he prayed.  I never seen him this scared before.  

I don't know what each day will bring.  Right now he just wants to go home.  So that's what we'll work towards.  Maybe the doctors will let him go home.

Mom was indeed the bedrock of the family.  She gave me one last gift when she passed away.  It was an opportunity to know my father a bit better and to see him in a different light. 
Thanks mom.