Helen came to visit yesterday which was a real joy - to Richard and to me.  Didn't know patients are allowed only one visitor a day.  Due to Helen's charm (and normal temperature!) we visited him together.  Took him outside in a wheelchair, sat him in the sun.  Colour good again.  More with it although I fear the whispery voice is a permanent fixture.  No pain evident.  He will be in good shape to be moved this week - physically at least. 

Helen didn't warn she was coming so it was fortuitous I was there at the same time.  B Movie comedy in taking different elevators at same time to find one another.  Twice.  Helen's a tonic. 

On the other hand, my poor country is going up in flames fueled by the ego of a crazed orange man  wearing a red hat.  Nothing would please him more than  a civil war.  People continue to die from a virus probably let loose in a 'wet' market in China, the earth struggles to breathe as we wipe out forests but rather than pull out all the stops on a planetary emergency he flattens the curve on his golf score. 

There is nothing saintly about me.  I get angry.  I'm impatient.  I take short cuts.  I think unkind thoughts.  I can be petty and mean.  In short I'm human but even with my weaknesses and faults, I think if I were in a position of power as Trump is I would aim to rise above my shortcomings and endeavour to lead the country (and by example the world) out of the mess it's in.  Wouldn't having that much power inspire one to do better?  Be better? 

Calmed down now but have spent most of the night wondering how I was going to live.  Received the costings for Richard's stay at Heritage and even with the government's help I have about $180 a week to live on.  From that I have to save enough to pay rates, house insurance and car registraton, insurance. 

Have decided to sell the Skoda.  That will help and I can't justify having two vehicles now Richard won't be coming home.  It was lovely to have a quiet comfortable car for long trips (long being 30 minutes to Tweed and the occasional trek to Brisbane).  The Yeti is the most luxurious car I've ever owned.  It only has 62,000km on it even thought it's 8 years old.  But it has to go.  The serviceable VW Caddy; noisy, rough and with the lingering smell of cigarette smoke from the previous owner will have to do.  But it's a tough little car, reliable and hardworking, great for horse feed and Mikaela.  And it gets from point A to point B and that's all that's needed.

Richard was sitting in a chair yesterday, brighter and more with it.  He kept asking how could he get out of there.  Told him I couldn't look after him - and it took 2 burly people and a walker to get him back to bed.  I feel for him.  He's sick of being sick, sick of the hospital and because he has dementia - no one besides the nursing staff is reaching out to him.  Mr. Genial Sociability is isolated and lonely.  Even though he was having a good day - and that residual guilt bubbled up because he wasn't home with me - I know he isn't safe at home.  Have yet to tell him he's going to Heritage Lodge next week.

The boys still haven't been to visit him.  Anthony was going to research coming across the border.  One click and I find there is no problem and never has been for a Queenslander to come to NSW and return again.  The problem is with NSW residents going to Queensland.  But that is his lookout.  I'm not in their good books anymore.  Cameron emails are civil and businesslike, no saluation, no more 'Love, Cam'.  Ah well. They still don't believe their dad is as bad as he is and think I'm shirking my duty.  But as a wise actor once said, what they think of me is none of my business.  Thanks Anthony Hopkins.

I thought it would be easier when I wasn't looking after him and in a sense, because I know he is safe, it is.  But Jesus, this is tough.  My lovely loving best friend, companion of my heart, disappearing down a tunnel I cannot follow. 

One long long slow goodbye.   A grey morass of grief, an endless sea, flat calm, no horizon, no sun,   Death by nano degree.

Yesterday's visit.  Apathy.  He just watches everything through hooded eys.  Didn't care I came, didn't care I left.  The physical robustess beginning to wan.  His skin with the pallor patina of the sick.  They got him up yesterday to shower but he was a danger to all as he wouldn't take direction. 

I talked and talked and talked.  Showed him pictures of Natalia, spoke of his kids, his siblings, the horses, Mikaela, the weather, anything to give him a fixed point on which he could ground his attention and reel himself back to reality. But it didn't work.

The one good thing of all this, he no longer wants to come home so he's not sad.  He just doesn't care one way or another. 

This is his broken hip.  This is his pneumonia.  Richard isn't going to recover from this, whatever 'this' is.  The doctor, an oriental woman without an apparent ounce of warmth or empathy, said we can do nothing more for him.  Pain relief and rest, that's all.  We won't do surgery.  We won't intervene (because he is 73, has LBD and Parkinsons?).  Best thing I can do is move him to a home.  The sooner the better was left unsaid.

The male nurse said they suspected something more sinister - and they seem to have taken more scans which still show nothing.   Why did he say that?  I knew when talking with this doctor I would get nowhere.  She was stone.

On the other side of the coin is the social worker, Katy.  A bundle of energy and warmth who goes the extra mile.  I met with Mary who did the second ACAT assessment, a formality. She didn't ask Richard any questions to gauge his mental acuity.  I signed papers which confirm him as needing High Care Permanent Residency rather than High Care Respite.  And, due to Katy's enthusiasm and love of her job, there is a good chance Richard will go to Heritage Lodge.  I contacted Heritage before because it is regarded as the best home in the district.  A friend of a friend's motherr was cared for at Heritage. She had LBD.  Turns out she was a long term resident who developed LBD so they just carried on.  They don't have a dementia unit.  But as Richard is immobile, not abusive, nor loud they will take him on trial. 

This is the universe looking after us.  He will be in the best place and the best place is in town so I can visit every day.

Just looked up broken hips.  Wonder if they did an MRI.  I'll ask today.  I'll ask one of the nurses - don't think I'll get anywhere with the doctor.  And if they haven't done an MRI I'll request one. 

The greatest danger to Richard now is immobility.  The doctor pointed out he was extremely constipated - rather accusingly I thought.  Him being constipated is clearly a result of lying on his backside and change of diet.  I teased him last week of beiing like a horse; pooping copious amounts frequently.  Our diet, full of fibre and raw stuff... constipation is not an issue. 

Don't know why I didn't put two and two together before.  Because it didn't have the name broken hip?  If he is going to die of this, I hope it is sooner rather than later.  The difference between him yesterday and the day before was profound.  He was very vague and prone to drifting off to sleep, even while I was feediing him lunch.  Perhaps it's better to sleep rather than be awake and be in pain - but it's a grey existence.  I hope at least he dreams beautiful dreams.

One of the boys finally said he would seek to come visit him next week on compassionate grounds. There has been nothing standing in the way of him investigating whether he could or not.  Only himself.  The guilt is going to hit big time - which I think is why he lashed out at me on the phone.  But he'll have to sort it out by himself.  The writing has been on the wall for years, the last six months on billboards.

I keep looking for him.  Feel his presence having a nap in the other room or leaning back in the recliner watching the news, or listening as he usually looked at the ground.  Even now I feel his presence in the living room calling me back to keep him company.  It is the oddest feeling.  Didn't have it or was too tired to take note last night. but tonight with less sleep and tiredness, his absence plucks at my sleeve like a malnourished child.

A soupcon of guilt remains - having nothing to do with the elephant in the room guilt.  Abandonment.

Card deck painted by local artist with pithy sayings.  I draw a card every day.

Sunday:  Prepare to celebrate
Monday:  Find the peace
Tuesday:  Embrace the change

Celebrate?  What an awful person I am if I celebrate Richard's going into hospital. But I am celebrating.  Sad, yes.  But an enormous weight is gone.  I am free.

Peace?  Find the peace to accept that my emotions don't follow the proscribed and socially accepted format.  To accept my feelings of relief, even of gratitude doesn't make me evil or uncaring. It makes me human.  It accepts I am tired in spirit and need time to recover.  To accept my weakness, to acknowledge I'm not 'good' enough, is human and that I did try and if I forgive myself I will find peace.

Change?  Yes, all of it.

Richard went into hospital today, the second time in 3 days.  It's possible, probable, he won't come home again.  It is too unsafe now.  When he 'goes away' with the LBD, I can't keep him safe.  He doesn't understand or follow directions, even when he is in serious danger of falling over.  He collapsed on Wednesday and fell against me.  He had a skin tear on his elbow but it could have been so much worse.  Another fall I tried to catch him and ended up pinned beneath him.

When he is 'good' he is quite good.  He had a good day Friday, walked, talked, made sense sometimes although often he says things and I have no idea what he means ('It's good to have 30 or 50 of them."  "Of what?"  "Sugar."  "Sugar?  Like sweet sugar?"  "No, SUGAR,' gesturing toward my midriff).  But when he forgets who I am, who he is, what he is...I'm helpless.  I can't leave him but I can't stay at his elbow all day either.  The senior paramedic this morning said I had to make a point of looking after number one.  I didn't tell him I'd already made the decision to place Richard in respite then permanent care.  But then on Friday, when he had only one small accident, I think, piece of cake.  I can do this!

Except I can't.  I know I can't.  On the bad days.  Four half showers, one full shower, endless laundry, stripping of the bed, knowing oh, knowing there comes a time when afternoon walks end, when the horses have to  cope with grass only, when arrangements have to be made about the groceries, when I become  a prisoner in a beautiful prison.

And am I a 'big' enough person not to resent him for being the cause?  I hope I never know.

So why is he in hospital? He complained about a pain in his groin a week? ago.  Nothing much, hurts a bit, not too bad.  Saturday morning, 12:30 he is whimpering and asking to be taken to hospital.  Call an ambulance as I don't feel I can get him to the car safely.  The emergency doc palpates and finds the sore spot on his pubic bone, right hand side.  Come back in the morning for xrays.  We get home about 4am, don't sleep, return to hospital for xrays.  Nothing.  Sent home with half a dozen codeine derivative pain relief tablets.  Yesterday afternoon, not too bad, he sleeps a lot, spends most of the day in the chair but doesn't complain, can walk to the loo, eats dinner.  Give him paracetamol before dinner.  12:30am crying in pain.  More tablets and again at 5:30.  Doctor rings at 9.  We have a pre-arranged appt.  Tell him the story.  He urges a return and admission to hospital for scans.  Surprised he was sent home in the first place (as were the paramedics).

The scans show nothing.  Soft tissue injury the hospital doctor suspects.  But if soft tissue why is it worsening rather than getting better over the past week?  But they will treat it symptomatically, try and get him back on his feet.  They had to give him morphine this morning to get him out of bed.

Tomorrow I will seek out the social worker and say I cannot have him home again.

And here it is, after 6pm and I can sit in the computer room and write this without  checking on him, without worrying I'm offending him by not keeping him company.  And then when I climb into bed tonight...to sleep alone.   I grieve and I exult.  There is loss and there is  freedom.   Massive guilt and bubbling joy.