Don't think of pink elephants
11/03/2018 11:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
izmeinaIt has been an unusually mild summer. Not one single solitary day over 40c when we normally get 4 or 5 of them
In fact I do not remember such mild weather ever since coming to Oz back in 1993
And then there was the Fringe Festival. 30 decadent days of freak shows and weirdos.
Got to see 18 shows this year. Had saved up a war chest for the occasion but kept on fringe bingeing even when it was empty. The old plastic fantastic to the rescue
But unlike previous years, barely a squeak about them because in spite of all these wonderful things, the best way to describe the last few months would be
“But apart from that Mrs Lincoln, what did you think of the play?”
Yes. There has been a giant elephant in the room. And this week it became a very bright garish shade of pink.
Early last year the Izzie ma - also known as Petunia was diagnosed with the sort of cancer that can be best described as - “the mechanics have never seen this model before”
On the one hand, the rarity meant that she got preferential status as a research subject so she got the sort of treatment that would bankrupt half a city if she had been in the USA. On the other, it meant that they were desperate to hang on to their golden goose long after it was well and truly cooked
So she had a ten hour operation followed by chemo and radiation a few months later in May last year. But the problem was that the cure soon became worse than the disease.
Within 2 weeks of chemo she would lose so much weight and become so dehydrated that she would end up having to go back to hospital again and go on drips to get fattened up.
The third time she cut the chemo short because it was getting so awful.
It was a strange merry go round. While on the chemo she would feel totally miserable and would say “Never again. Just give me a pill to end it all and get me out of here” but then a few weeks later the docs would insist she do another round and she would agree to it. I guess it is a sort of high stakes gamble or clutching at straws
But then in early January they told her that the cancer had spread from the stomach to the liver and lungs but still recommended more chemo to nuke the nasty sarcomas
Once more she agreed but again within two weeks she was back in hospital due to rapid weight loss and dehydration. That was last Sunday.
After visiting her on Monday and Tuesday she said that the Boss Doc had given up the “it’s up to you” sweet talking and basically told her that she had to have the next round of chemo and she had no say in the matter.
I asked if he had given her the numbers. Firstly I was surprised that she even agreed to the round that ended up with her being there. I said that surely they should explain that with the chemo you will probably get so much time and without it will be some other smaller number and if the difference is not ridiculously big then you are likely better not to bother because an extra few months spent feeling nauseous, nuked and totally miserable should simply not even be counted as life because it is merely existence.
So she had another CAT scan and got the results on Thursday.
All of a sudden, the Boss Doc was no longer on the scene spruiking his nukes.
He had literally given Petunia the pink slip
The results of the latest scan showed that far from the chemo actually containing the cancer, the damned thing had been on steroids. Some tumours had nearly tripled in size in only 2 months.
So she is now back at Privet Drive on palliative care. Apparently they don’t like to give time limits these days since they seem to act as self fulfilling prophecies but when the Doc was spruiking his nukes, he told her that the odds were only a few months without the next round of chemo.
So what had been a possibility since March 2017 has now become pretty much cold hard facts.
While on the one hand it was just over a year ago since the original diagnosis, so there has been plenty of time for Petunia and the rest of us to get used to this new and nasty state of affairs, it is still a bit of a shock.
Vernon Dursley is running around like a boiling bubbling pot of Polonium tea radiating his toxic aura everywhere while carrying his Martyr’s cross. Of course he is devastated by the news but the sad fact is that Petunia prefers to be in the hospital than in Number 4 Privet Drive which would be a paradise without the ever present walking toxic waste polluting the atmosphere
If he had gone first and after so many recent operations and things, the dice should have fallen that way, she would likely have lived at least another ten years quite happily as the quirky chook lady in the Garden of Eden and it would have been a fairy tale ending to a long life.
Now it seems more likely that she will be gone within the next six months and he is not likely to linger more than another six months after that.
After all those years working in the nursing home, I have seen the pattern far too often.
The women get a new lease of life once their husbands die but the men fall off the perch within a year when their wives depart this mortal coil.
In spite of all their proclamations of being indispensable, the centre of the universe and the measure of all things, the real spare ribs are the folks with the Y chromosomes.
So now begins the slow shuffling off of this mortal coil for Petunia.
She is the one who is cool and calm and almost stoic and it is just sad and pathetic that she has to deal with Vernon’s pity parties and dramas when she is the one who is actually dying.
This was the man who many years ago proclaimed that the male menopause is SO much worse than the women’s and the poor men just suffer so much.
In other words - if it does not happen to him, it does not happen. His sore toe is worse than your cancer and that is not just his opinion but everyone else should think so too.
Petunia told me last week that when he visited her in hospital, he was telling the nurse about his heart operation, his hip replacement, his recent eye surgery etc etc and she was so embarrassed that she wished the ground would swallow him up
I says to her that next time he does that - just say “Shut up. Donald”
That should put him in his box and it is such a sad twist of fate that she will be in there first.
In fact I do not remember such mild weather ever since coming to Oz back in 1993
And then there was the Fringe Festival. 30 decadent days of freak shows and weirdos.
Got to see 18 shows this year. Had saved up a war chest for the occasion but kept on fringe bingeing even when it was empty. The old plastic fantastic to the rescue
But unlike previous years, barely a squeak about them because in spite of all these wonderful things, the best way to describe the last few months would be
“But apart from that Mrs Lincoln, what did you think of the play?”
Yes. There has been a giant elephant in the room. And this week it became a very bright garish shade of pink.
Early last year the Izzie ma - also known as Petunia was diagnosed with the sort of cancer that can be best described as - “the mechanics have never seen this model before”
On the one hand, the rarity meant that she got preferential status as a research subject so she got the sort of treatment that would bankrupt half a city if she had been in the USA. On the other, it meant that they were desperate to hang on to their golden goose long after it was well and truly cooked
So she had a ten hour operation followed by chemo and radiation a few months later in May last year. But the problem was that the cure soon became worse than the disease.
Within 2 weeks of chemo she would lose so much weight and become so dehydrated that she would end up having to go back to hospital again and go on drips to get fattened up.
The third time she cut the chemo short because it was getting so awful.
It was a strange merry go round. While on the chemo she would feel totally miserable and would say “Never again. Just give me a pill to end it all and get me out of here” but then a few weeks later the docs would insist she do another round and she would agree to it. I guess it is a sort of high stakes gamble or clutching at straws
But then in early January they told her that the cancer had spread from the stomach to the liver and lungs but still recommended more chemo to nuke the nasty sarcomas
Once more she agreed but again within two weeks she was back in hospital due to rapid weight loss and dehydration. That was last Sunday.
After visiting her on Monday and Tuesday she said that the Boss Doc had given up the “it’s up to you” sweet talking and basically told her that she had to have the next round of chemo and she had no say in the matter.
I asked if he had given her the numbers. Firstly I was surprised that she even agreed to the round that ended up with her being there. I said that surely they should explain that with the chemo you will probably get so much time and without it will be some other smaller number and if the difference is not ridiculously big then you are likely better not to bother because an extra few months spent feeling nauseous, nuked and totally miserable should simply not even be counted as life because it is merely existence.
So she had another CAT scan and got the results on Thursday.
All of a sudden, the Boss Doc was no longer on the scene spruiking his nukes.
He had literally given Petunia the pink slip
The results of the latest scan showed that far from the chemo actually containing the cancer, the damned thing had been on steroids. Some tumours had nearly tripled in size in only 2 months.
So she is now back at Privet Drive on palliative care. Apparently they don’t like to give time limits these days since they seem to act as self fulfilling prophecies but when the Doc was spruiking his nukes, he told her that the odds were only a few months without the next round of chemo.
So what had been a possibility since March 2017 has now become pretty much cold hard facts.
While on the one hand it was just over a year ago since the original diagnosis, so there has been plenty of time for Petunia and the rest of us to get used to this new and nasty state of affairs, it is still a bit of a shock.
Vernon Dursley is running around like a boiling bubbling pot of Polonium tea radiating his toxic aura everywhere while carrying his Martyr’s cross. Of course he is devastated by the news but the sad fact is that Petunia prefers to be in the hospital than in Number 4 Privet Drive which would be a paradise without the ever present walking toxic waste polluting the atmosphere
If he had gone first and after so many recent operations and things, the dice should have fallen that way, she would likely have lived at least another ten years quite happily as the quirky chook lady in the Garden of Eden and it would have been a fairy tale ending to a long life.
Now it seems more likely that she will be gone within the next six months and he is not likely to linger more than another six months after that.
After all those years working in the nursing home, I have seen the pattern far too often.
The women get a new lease of life once their husbands die but the men fall off the perch within a year when their wives depart this mortal coil.
In spite of all their proclamations of being indispensable, the centre of the universe and the measure of all things, the real spare ribs are the folks with the Y chromosomes.
So now begins the slow shuffling off of this mortal coil for Petunia.
She is the one who is cool and calm and almost stoic and it is just sad and pathetic that she has to deal with Vernon’s pity parties and dramas when she is the one who is actually dying.
This was the man who many years ago proclaimed that the male menopause is SO much worse than the women’s and the poor men just suffer so much.
In other words - if it does not happen to him, it does not happen. His sore toe is worse than your cancer and that is not just his opinion but everyone else should think so too.
Petunia told me last week that when he visited her in hospital, he was telling the nurse about his heart operation, his hip replacement, his recent eye surgery etc etc and she was so embarrassed that she wished the ground would swallow him up
I says to her that next time he does that - just say “Shut up. Donald”
That should put him in his box and it is such a sad twist of fate that she will be in there first.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-11 05:10 pm (UTC)(Why didn't she get a divorce years ago, if it's been that bad all the time?)
*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2018-03-12 01:40 pm (UTC)I never did expect Petunia to survive the mammoth operation she had last year so all that extra time has been a bonus. But even though children outliving their parents in the natural order of things, it is still hard to get used to the fact that she will die soon.
Petunia is from the twilight generation. The one just before the baby boomers where women were brought up to see themselves as spare ribs and mere appendages of their husbands and where marriage is for life (Catholic indoctrination comes in there too)
Of course escaping Ireland and living in Australia for many years knocked some sense into her but not sufficient to overcome such ancient programming
Daisy and I have often asked her why she never got a divorce especially in the 10 years when Vernon has become seriously insufferable. It is almost like asking her why she doesn't fly to the moon. Simply outside her frame of reference
no subject
Date: 2018-03-12 01:07 am (UTC)Well I guess there won't be too many visits to the Dursley residence after your mother has gone. And I guess he will complain about being ignored. My father used to claim that he wished it was him who had died, but I think he was just feeling sorry for himself. I guess his generation of men were used to being looked after by a woman from cradle to grave.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-12 02:34 pm (UTC)It was just very bad luck that the sarcomas decided to make an appearance in her stomach and oesophagus and not some place else. Even liver or lungs would have been better than that for the simple reason that once you have trouble eating then it does not take long for even the strongest immune system to start falling apart.
That was the reason she went to the doctor in the first place because she had lost a lot of weight in the space of only six months and had a cough that would not go away.
While oncologists may often suggest doing chemo first to shrink a tumour before resorting to surgery, that was not an option because it was taking up too much space in her stomach and she would either have to be put on drips or would starve.
After the op I stayed there for two weeks helping to look after her (soups and porridge was the thing after the operation)
These days I stay over there on Fridays and get fruit, yogurt or cream cheese and cut them up and put them in a bowl and bring them to her.
Because she was on chemo or suffering the side effects of chemo, everything would taste strange, tasteless or disgusting so the trick was to always have lots of different things around and ready made in the hope of tempting her
Vernon on the other hand would just constantly carp and ask her what she had eaten and nag her about eating more etc etc and then just complain that she is being fuddy duddy and fussy etc etc
So often I would say to him that his cycling friend who is also on chemo has exactly the same issues as Petunia. They meet and chat almost every week so he has no excuse for not knowing that. I guess he just refuses to listen.
Of course the perfect solution to Petunia's problem would be for me to go stay at Privet Drive while she is still alive and exile Vernon to the Lair. The bedrooms and bathroom of the Lair are upstairs and her garden and house is just so much nicer than mine. But there is just no way that he will have a bar of that.
She loves pottering in her garden and chatting to the chooks. Nowadays she does more sitting than pottering but she still loves the garden and the multitude of birds.
She came out of hospital on Friday and a nurse will be coming once a week to begin with and more often as she needs more pain relief or other assistance.
But now the side effects of the chemo seem to have finally worn off, her appetite is back and she is still pottering around quite happily but gets tired much more quickly than she used to.
I still cannot believe that I made so much effort to be nice to Vernon at Christmas 2015 just after his hip operation as I had assumed he only had a couple more of them left.
Didn't stop him from trying to make it miserable that year and even last year when it seemed quite likely that it would be Petunia who would not be there for the next one, he still kept trying to bait me (at the breakfast table!) and to start petty fights. But this time I knew what to expect so I just ignored his pathetic attempts at provocation.
The fact that the pair of them were even talking and sitting at the same table on the dreaded day was progress of sorts I suppose
Well I know one thing. I will not be caught dead there for the next Christmas.
One thing in all this drama that is amusing. One more than one occasion. Petunia has asked me if I would adopt her chooks and bring them over to live at the Lair and look after them for her.
She has not once mentioned the same concern for the welfare of Vernon after she is gone. So I will likely escape being bound by any promises above and beyond the minimum duties of a daughter to look after a father in his dotage.
What you said about your father sounds so spot on. A large part of the drama and pity parties is the sense of betrayal that my mother has broken some sort of invisible contract to look after him. She had been doing that after his heart and hip operation and now it is his turn to return the favour and he does not like it at all
no subject
Date: 2018-03-12 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-12 01:51 pm (UTC)You have walked a similar path before me.
Strange that while it is the natural order of things for children to outlive their parents, it is still a dark and difficult time.
The only consolation for me is that I have been able to spend so much time with her during the last few years. It is going to be so much harder for my sister who lives in Amsterdam.
I am also dreading to think what Vernon Dursley is going to do with the garden that is her pride and joy. He hates green and growing things and will soon be slashing the trees and scaring away the birds. Even the avocado and mango trees are not safe from his chainsaw.
She has asked me to bring the girls (the hens) to the Lair and look after them there and I will also ask her what sort of tree I should plant in remembrance.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-13 01:07 am (UTC)I'm glad that you have had the gift of time with your mother. It is precious.
As her garden should be. Maybe you can convince him that she would like it if he kept the garden going. It may be a slim hope, but it would be a tragedy to slash and burn it. Still, he does sound like the sort of person the very soon to be my ex is -- he'd set himself on fire in the middle of summer if he thought it would makes us more uncomfortable.
The girls will be very lucky to share space with you. I hope you can salvage some of the garden via clippings, etc. and that her tree lives long and healthy as her living tribute.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-14 12:58 pm (UTC)Funny that you mentioned Lord of the Rings
After the second round of chemo, Petunia's hair started faling out and soon she was left almost bald with a few thin wisps of hair remaining
She looked uncannily like Gollum. Lucky it was appearances only
The greedy grasping pathetic self pitying part of Gollum is being well and truly channelled by Vernon
I am staying with her this week as she is now on palliative care and needs an antidote to his endless drama which was particularly disgraceful today
The sad thing with the garden, it is an old house on a big block and will be far too much for him to manage on his own especially as he hates gardening
So he will have to sell the house and unless a cashed up Chinese buyer comes along, the place is doomed. Because the land is far more valuable with apartments on it, just about most buyers will bulldoze the whole place and leave not a single tree standing and cover every blade of grass with bricks,concrete or steel
It will be a death sentence for several 25 year old mango and avocado trees grown from seed since they are too large to successfully transplant
The girls and some cuttings will be the last link to Petunia's garden of Eden