Posted by Ann Teve
August 2, 2009
Filed in Society Girl's Personal Blogs
2,145 views
Wow, I absolutely can't believe that my last blog was in February. A lot has happened since then. The biggest news, without doubt, is that my mother is terminally ill. She has, according to the doctors, only about two to three months left. It is so very difficult to believe this as she is the picture of health at the moment.
It all started very unremarkably in November when mother -- who is 86 -- had a regular x-ray done. There was a 'consolidation' in one of her lungs. She had spoken of 'not being right' for a while, but what does that mean with an elderly person? I should have paid more attention. Another x-ray was scheduled for December. Consequent to this, Mother was asked to visit a clinic. On December 22nd it was explained that she had plueral effusion -- the build up of fluid in the cavity containing the lungs. It was decided to delay the procedure to drain this fluid until after Christmas.
Shortly after Christmas and before the scheduled appointment I awoke to a crisis. There in the kitchen was mother, quite blue, gasping for air. An ambulance was called. The family was called. Panic set in. The fluid had displaced mother's lungs and, in the hospital, an emergency procedure drained the fluid. Mother could again breathe. The family arrived, at first braced with panic. This quickly devolved to anger. How could I, as mother's principal caregiver -- I've been living with her since, my own breakdown -- allow this to happen? Shaken by the thought that mother might die, I was now crushed by this new turn. I have been mother's constant companion since I came home slightly over two years ago. For two years, she nurtured me as I faced the losses incurred by finally accepting my transition. Now I nurtured her. I had given her time, love and care. I had allowed her to continue to live her life just as she wanted. To my family, the house wasn't clean enough, the pantry empty and mother frail. But all these were mother's choices. I felt betrayed; I felt I had failed.
Mother recovered. The cause of the fluid was left a mystery. My siblings returned to their lives.
Mother's appetite waned. Diabetic doses of insulin calibrated to a full diet were now massive overdoses as she ate less and less. I pleaded with her to make changes. Ever independent she bristled at my intrusion into her life. Our relationship began to slip. Her strength diminished. She became pale and weak. The more I pleaded, the more she resisted. A second crisis arrived.
Mother was rushed to hospital. Tests were done; the family was called. An x-ray revealed a massive increase in fluid. All day I sat by mother's bed in the emergency ward. And into the night. I was unnerved but tried to be strong for her. Late at night an emergency procedure was again done. More than three litres (some 30% of her lung capacity) was drained away. Frail from malnutrition and perilously low blood sugar levels, mother was weak and helpless. The possible loss of mother -- the person who had salvaged my life as I had struggled with my identity -- shattered me. I went home to an empty house. I hugged Smudge my cat. I sobbed.
Hospitals are places of miracles. Day by day, mother's health and strength improved. Her colour came back. She was still weak and breathless but growing stronger. Doctors came. Therapists came. Social Workers came. Nurses hovered attentively. The Canadian health care system worked its magic. The only concern was mother's well-being. She became more talkative and more feisty. She came back to me. The family returned.
"Ann can't look after mother!" How can a trans-woman and someone bi-polar at that, take care of an elderly woman. My siblings kicked into gear, efficiently kicking me aside. I was devastated.
Being bi-polar and not knowing of the condition is a nightmare. One faces days of depression -- the inability to muster one's resources to accomplish anything. Then there are the days of brilliance, when nothing is too great a challenge and one's efficiency and creativity climbs through the roof. And continues to climb, and climb and climb until, like a firework at its apogee, one simply explodes and descents as fizzling fading ineffectual particles. The stress seemed to create that mania in me. I became obsessive at work. I got 'written up' for obsessively helping customers. I became angry and paranoid that my manager was out to get me. I began to smoke obsessively. I gardened until my hands were immovably cramped, my knees ached and my back was burned by the sun. I slept fitfully, awaking early unable to return to sleep. I cried spontaneously. I felt profoundly lonely. I took a leave from work.
I visited mother every day. We would sit and talk. Every day she improved. When the family visited, I would leave offering that, "it allows you to have more personal time with mother." I declined invitations to dinner with my visiting siblings. I was drawing away from them, they felt. They felt maligned. "What's the matter with Michael?" My brothers could not bring themselves to call me Ann. I felt alone without choice. My world seemed to be collapsing. My job was in peril, my energy gone. The one person who had stood by me without question was slipping away.
It was cancer. Perhaps 6 months; perhaps a year. My siblings received the news stoically. Arrangements had to be made. Care given. They conferred dispassionately. Duties were assigned. I retreated to a now vacant house and cried. Just at this moment when my life as Ann was coalescing into happiness, at the moment when I could see a future, the most important person in my life was losing hers.
My mania grew. I gardened. I smoked cigarettes. I cried. My mind filled with words that I had to get out. My job -- now reduced to 16 hours per week -- barely paid for food. I had to get these words down.
"Perhaps three months. Perhaps less." Their words left me cold and empty. I had never felt so alone. Our time together was slipping away too quickly. I sold my ROLEX, a watch that I had purchased when I was 18 and which had been my constant companion. I cried at its loss but I bought a computer.
I am not religious but I am profoundly spiritual. A scientific, critical mind is my curse. I wish it was so simple to believe in a God and a Heaven. But I cannot. If a God exists; they must be beyond earthly conception. It cannot be so simple. But it cannot end like this. I could not sleep for tears and fear and loneliness. And in the morning it came to me in a poem for mother.
Where Will Your Spirit Go?
where will your spirit go,
when your final rest has come
where will your spirit go,
when we’ve said our last farewell
and the warmth has left your hand
where will your spirit go
when you’ve closed your eyes
and I’ve whispered my goodbye
where will your spirit go
when I’m left alone to cry
into the garden where your roses are
and onto the dappled lawn
into the cherries that the birds would eat
and the pears the squirrels steal
into the bough of strawberries
the nasturtiums, the columbine
by the curve of the road you once walked
and the gap in the backyard fence
at the stop for the bus where you once stood
and the places where you worked
into all the hearts of all the friends
that you have ever known.
where will your spirit go
when your rest at last has come
when you say goodbye and close your eyes
and I am all alone
into Smudge’s gentle curl on your now empty bed,
and into her silent padded tread,
and the pleasure that she gave.
into her search for her missing friend,
and the spot next to where you sat
reserved for her alone.
where will your spirit go
when your rest at last has come
when you say goodbye and close your eyes
and I am all alone
into the words you spoke to me
and the kindness I recall
into the hours that we spend
and the places we would go
into the pictures you once held
and the stories that you told,
into the tune you searched to find,
on the piano in the hall.
into the music father played
and the quiet late at night
when I lie sleepless in my bed
where will your spirit go
when your rest at last has come
when you say goodbye and close your eyes
and I am all alone
into the doubts that you put at bay
and the courage that you gave
into the joy that your friendship brought
and the tears together shed
into the comfort that I’ll feel
knowing I am now my own
into this new life you’ve given me
and all the trials that it took,
into the happiness that I’ll find
and all I’ve yet to do,
into the family that I have
Geoff, Jon and Jen and Kate
and the people who they love
into the memories they hold of you
and their hearts for ever more
where will your spirit go
when your rest at last has come
when you say goodbye and close your eyes
and I am all alone
into the eyes of a yet born child
to whom we’ll tell your stories
and the stories we have of you
where will your spirit go,
when your final rest has come
where will your spirit go,
when we’ve said our last farewell
and the warmth has left your hand
where will your spirit go
when you’ve closed your eyes
and I’ve whispered my goodbye
where will your spirit go
when I’m left alone to cry
into the shade of the quiet bough
and onto a granite plaque,
where I'll touch your name
where a date’s now etched
and I'll find you there and comfort too,
and I will be at home.
Ann 2009
