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Its taken me a while to get to the point where I could write about losing my lovely little dog Kish.  Guilt and grief are powerful silencers.  For quite a while before now, possibly even a year, she was rarely able to last the day without needing the loo. As Mr Lily and I were both out at work, it meant we'd often come home to puddles or poops in the kitchen where we'd moved her bed for ease of cleaning up.  Even though I'd spread puppy training mats all over the floor, sometimes she'd managed to miss them or paddle in her accidents, leaving huge areas to clean.  Unfortunately I was usually the second one home at night, almost always to be greeted by an extremely pissed off husband who'd had to deal with the mess, not a task with which he coped well.  He constantly insisted it was time she was "put down" but I ignored him, reasoning that at her age (16) it wasn't surprising that she couldn't hold it in all day - we couldn't - and in other respects she was fine, eating and drinking normally, enjoying pottering around the house and garden, not in any obvious pain although a little stiff in her back legs and lately had often to be helped out of her bed.  I loved my hairy little daughter and wasn't ready to say goodbye.

Three Fridays ago I drove home from work.  At the corner of our village I stopped to speak to Mr Lily who was waiting for a lift to the pub.  He said Kish had weed and he hadn't had time to clean it up so had just put an absorbant mat over the puddle.  I carried on  home.  I'll never forget the sight that greeted me when I opened the kitchen door.  Kish was on her side on the floor, thrashing about in her own shit, panting, panicking, desperate to stand up but unable to get to her feet.  The mess was smeared all over the floor and her and when she turned her head to look up at me as I entered the room her big brown frightened eyes pleaded "help me!"  I managed to get her up, covering my hands in poo in the process and put her outside while I cleaned up the kitchen floor.  (I never minded cleaning up after Kish - I'm blessed with a poor sense of smell.)  Then I took umpteen anti-bacterial wipes and did the best I could to clean her up.  I couldn't have bathed her - the last time we tried that she had a panic attack and couldn't breathe, I didn't want to distress her further.  This is Kish just after the clean up, you can see how wobbly she had become.....

That Friday was when I realised it was time to let her go.  It would have been cruel to put her at risk of another episode like that - what if she were left floundering from the morning onward? No, unthinkable, watching the video I'd taken on my mobile I could see she was a tired old girl.  I phoned the vet and booked her in for the following day - having made the decision, I didn't want to delay.  I phoned lovely daughter and she came straight over, bless her - much as she loved Kish she supported me in my awful decision and promised to come with me to the vet's the next morning, cancelling other arrangements that she'd made.

I was up at 5.30am the next day, couldn't sleep and wanted to spend as much time with Kish as possible before going to the vet's at lunchtime.  I brushed and brushed her to get rid of all the grey tufty moulting hair so she looked sleek and pretty.  I talked to her and stroked and cuddled her and LD put her coat on her to keep her warm....

For the first time ever, Kish was calm at the vet's.  No longer scrabbling and pulling on the lead to get out of there as fast as possible, she lay quietly in lovely daughter's arms and while standing on the table, buried her nose in my neck for ages while we talked to the vet.  They decided against shaving a patch on her leg as the poor old girl was covered in lumps, so gave the injection without fuss.  Kish just glanced at the vet then turned back to me, we kept eye contact until her head drooped and she gradually slipped away.  It took me a long time and a lot of tears before I was ready to leave her.  I cried and cried all weekend and on and off the following week.  Getting up on a morning and coming home at night to a Kish-free house was awful, so empty, so soul-less.  I started to question whether I'd acted too soon and wished I could turn back time and have her with me just a little longer.

Kish came home this Tuesday.  We had her cremated on her own and have put her casket on the  mantelpiece next to a photo of her as a beautiful young dog, decorated by her name tag and a taffeta bag containing a few tufts of her hair.  I have kept her original adoption papers, collars, halti, harness and frisbee - I couldn't part with all her stuff, seemed so callous.  I took her in the kitchen with me last night while I did the washing up and found myself crying while I talked to her about what had happened and how much I loved her.  Cracking up, obviously.  Here's a few photos of Kish throughout her long life with us, that's my foot she's cuddling in the last one. 

Those of a nervous disposition look away now......

This is a true story.  It happened to me today and yet I still don't know quite how it happened.  Anyway, this morning I had to go to a meeting in another workplace.  You should know that my job requires me to wear a lanyard round my neck with my office swipe card, door key and ID photo hanging off the bottom of it.  Before I went into the meeting, I went to the loo to spend a penny. An hour later, I spent another penny before the long walk back to the car, along many a corridor and past many people, mostly male.  As I got into the car, something caught my eye on the end of the lanyard.  There, stuck firmly to the swipe card was a panty liner.  Not just any panty liner, but the very one that just over an hour previously had been stuck equally firmly (or so I thought) to my pants.  Now what I want to know is:

1. on which trip to the loo did the transfer take place and how?
2. did anyone notice but feel too embarrassed to tell me?

"WOLF!" ?

The care home rang again this Friday to say they'd insisted the doctor came out to mum because she seemed to have a very bad chest infection and they wanted to be sure it wasn't pneumonia.  It wasn't, but it was sad to hear that mum didn't recognise/remember her all time favourite doctor when she visited her. I was expecting to find an even frailer mum when lovely daughter and I went to see her yesterday but amazingly she was in the lounge, quite alert, making comments and responding to us and her cough was only intermittent!  She wouldn't drink much of her build-up milkshake (nor would the other residents) but when weighed was 35 kilos, which is not bad going for mum - she did get down to 32 at one point (77 and 70.4  pounds/5 stones 7 pounds and 5 stones and almost half a pound).

Oh bugger, I've just sprinkled ground coriander on Mr Lily's porridge instead of cinnamon :-(  Its a sign that I should stop blogging lol

feeling my age

Had a great 60th party, now back to reality.  Last Friday the care home rang to say that they'd called the doctor out to mum because they didn't think she'd been herself all week.  The doctor told them to let the family know that mum was in the "final stages of dementia".  I was on my way home from work when they rang so of course thought of lots of questions after the phone call, especially after I'd looked it up on the net and seen all the horror stories about the final stages.  Lovely daughter and I went over the same night and had a long talk with the staff. They couldn't give me any timescales but said that the doctor had stopped all mum's medication apart from aspirin because at 91, she'd "had a good innings"- its a blessing I suppose as getting her to take all her tablets has always been a struggle. She sleeps a lot, doesn't have the balance to walk unaided and isn't drinking enough, although she has good days with her eating.  Mum was already in bed when we went at 6.30pm so we returned on Saturday morning.  She doesn't initiate conversations any more and although she responds when you talk (very loudly) to her, half the time its clear she hasn't heard or understood you.  She seems lost in a world of her own most of the time and sometimes says she wishes she were going home, which I think is probably her childhood home.  I filled in an end of life form again, confirming that I didn't want mum to be taken to hospital but treated at the care home if ill, didn't want  her resuscitating if her heart stopped but did want her to receive non-invasive life prolonging treatment to make her comfortable, like oxygen or antibiotics.  I even phoned the travel insurance people to check we were covered if we had to cancel our holiday at the beginning of August (we are).  Am I awful to hope things don't drag on too long?

I'm off work this morning, which is just as well.  Had a chewy day at work yesterday - someone kicked off and threw a chair across the room, I wasn't under threat but it had an impact.  I've felt exhausted and down ever since.  Beginning to think I'm too old for this job.

I'm almost a sexagenarian!

I shall be 60 on Tuesday, a depressing prospect made slightly better by kidding myself that I shall then be a sexygenarian, oh yes I will!  Beloved son has come up to spend the whole week with us, a huge treat, and him indoors and lovely daughter are busy organising my 'surprise' party for next Saturday - a humungous affair of which I am supposed to be ignorant but actually know just about everything, given HI's total inability to keep secrets.  I'm not so worried about BS now, he's still deeply committed to exposing political conspiracies and cover-ups but seems in good spirits and has just been invited to submit an article to a prestigious website, which hopefully will lead to better things.

A friend and I visited a 'psychic' the other week. I thought the readings were 50% bullshit - character descriptions that could have applied to anyone, 'spirits' with very common names getting in touch and some stuff that was just plain wrong. Also, when my friend and I got together afterwards, we discovered that half of what had been said was the same for both of us!  However, the psychic lady did pull a face when she said there was something in the bottom left hand corner of my garden that needed attending to - she couldn't have known I'd been meaning to flush out the dog toilet for ages! and she asked if I'd got the blind fixed - there's a raggy one still hanging in the kitchen at mum's bungalow. Here's a few more gems from that session:

• There's going to be a birth in the family and the name Helen is significant (-my middle name. Given the psychic was looking at a middle aged woman who probably had relatives of childbearing age, not a huge surprise, although lovely daughter has come off the pill...)
• someone called Sarah with an unusual degree will be instrumental in finding beloved son a job, something to do with the media/music and what looked like lots of intertwined Ss (treble clefs, dollar signs?)
• BS will find his soulmate and live abroad (oh no - he already has an american cyber girlfriend!)
• BS needed to see a dentist about a problem at the back of his mouth and he'd had knee trouble (no he doesn't and no he didn't)
• If anyone has to go to Kent, not to go by car (LD and her partner  have to go to a christening in London next week, hope she drives carefully and doesn't get ANOTHER speeding ticket - 98mph recently!)
• I'm going to get an invitation to stay with someone with property in France and should take it (don't know anyone)
• Money from property is coming my way (again, at my age you might expect legacies I suppose)
• Someone called Margaret is going to have health worries but she'll be ok
• September is significant, I could be influenced by someone to take up training in a new hobby
• I've had a hard few years (well yes, but I would imagine most people going to a psychic are hoping for reassurance about a happier future)
• my kitchen is on strong ley lines (wonder if that's why the dog keep losing control of her bowels and bladder in there?)
• I'll have two holidays this year (actually I am thinking about planning a romantic break for him indoors' 60th in November)
• My daughter must not cut her hair (well it is long and looks very nice)
• Richard will pass with flying colours (?)
• Someone called Andrew will try to get me involved in raising money for charity
• my uncle Jack told her I didn't put all my Christmas decorations up, spragger! (who does these days?)

There was lots more but because I couldn't take notes during the hour long session, I'd forgotten or confused some of it by the time I came to write it down. I shall keep an open, if sceptical, mind and post again if any of the above come to pass.

bureaucrazy

For weeks now I have been corresponding with a pensions company who tracked me down about my old ICI pension - I only worked there from 1969 to about 1972 but was looking forward to a modest windfall. I had to provide my birth and marriage certificates and umpteen examples of my maiden name and current signatures before they would tell me how much was in the pot.

The eagerly awaited letter came yesterday. Apparently, I have two options:

#1 - a cash sum of £25.46 woohoo! (75% of which might be subject to tax) or

#2 - an annual pension of £1.34 throughout my lifetime! Tempting.

To register my choice, I now have to complete a 3 page Retirement Benefits Questionnaire, the purpose of which is 'to confirm that benefits are within the Lifetime Allowance, which stands at £1.80 million.'

Can I be arsed?

and here is the news...

*bong* lovely daughter and her equally lovely partner have now officially moved into mum's bungalow and taken over the bills. LD and I wallpapered the living room, big bedroom and hall (amazingly not falling out in the process) which LD then painted and the final crowning glory was old oak laminate flooring in each of those rooms. Looks great.

*bong* had a funny few days last week, really missed my dad - watched 'Hope Floats' and cried on and off all through, that film really pushes my buttons when it comes to parental relationships lost and dysfunctional. Then the next day I found myself getting tearful for no apparent reason until I realised the radio was playing 'Around the World (I've searched for you)' - a song my mother used to sing a lot and one I've always loved.

*bong* mum has a black eye, the staff at the care home don't know how she did it but its likely she either got out of bed during the night and fell, or fell asleep in the chair (which she does a lot lately) and fell. I happened to mention that when she first went into the care home, it was suggested she get a mattress alarm to alert staff when she wandered during the night but it was never provided. As luck would have it, they'd just received one so mum now has it on her bed.

*bong* I turn 60 in three weeks time :-( I've booked the week off work and am having a surprise party, oops I'm not supposed to know that!

*bong* I'm loving my new job, interesting work, great team, pleasant location and a fantastic drive to work through the countryside every day.