there is no escape

 

In a previous post, "Invisible Friends, Imaginary Enemies" I wrote about what it is like to care for a relative (in this case, my father) who has both narcissism and dementia, a situation in which not only is the carer never truly seen by the outside world, but the person they are caring for can't see them as a friend only as an enemy. It is devastating and being any kind of carer for anyone is already incredibly fatiguing, challenging beyond belief, and difficult to get any kind of respite, and news flash: most carers are dying for some kind of relief... but lately I have felt, more than ever, that there is no escape.

I feel like I'm in a labyrinth with the exits sealed off, one by dementia, and one by narcissism and I'm never getting out of here. 

Every single person feeds the narcissist and not one person ever feeds the carer. Not only are we starving, but when people pander to a narcissist they ultimately make the narcissist's personality and the conditions surrounding them so much worse, for everyone. Because it has to be said:

You cannot feed a narcissist, because you cannot fill a narcissist. They are a bottomless pit. A sink hole of humanity. A parasite. Engorged by glory, they expect more glory. More of everything they want. Without consideration for anyone else. Without appreciation for anyone else. Without reciprocation. Without pause.

Even aged care, dementia, and medical professionals pander to this man. No one has formally explained to my father that he has dementia. Let's think about that one for a moment.... most people with dementia, are given their diagnosis, yes it is distressing, (and sometimes they might even forget it temporarily) but over all, what happens is - they are given time to prepare. They lean on their family, they allow a spouse or family member to cover for them when they forget what day it is, or an important birthday, or can't remember where the car is parked. They trust their family to help them when they are confused or frightened - yes eventually the cruelty of this disease (or condition) is that they will eventually find little comfort even in their family, their panic and confusion escalates, but at least in the beginning, they were aware that something was happening, and that they could harness their family and friends to face this responsibly.

Even when my father is assessed for dementia, and the progression of his dementia, he is told "you did so well!" he emerges dripping with praise - now its well meaning, I grant you, it is said to make the person feel better after being probed, quizzed, and asked to jump through mental hoops, I get that - but all he remembers is that he did well.... he uses it as proof there is nothing wrong with him. 

NO ONE HAS TOLD HIM and we, his family are copping the brunt of it all. I am the only person who attempts to explain to him, and my mother rushes in, tells me to be quiet and then gives Dad whatever the hell he wants. And he's not so far gone that he hasn't learned that temper tantrums get rewarded because he at least has the savvy of a two year old.

He does not understand why he cannot have the house keys anymore. He doesn't understand why he is not legally allowed to drive. He doesn't know he doesn't still own a house he sold over 30 years ago and accuses my mother of selling it out from under him and taking all the money. He doesn't remember his sons, even in photographs from the past, because his particular brand of dementia is not making him an expert on every tiny detail of the past, it is destroying his brain and his entire mental capacity across time - his memories of the past are not even correct. He tells me he likes my sister better than me and I don't even have a fucking sister (its not however news to me that he doesn't like me)

And yippee, in the middle of this we get approved for an entire day of dementia day care for Dad once a week. Please make sure you read yippee in my most drippingly sarcastic voice because this is what we needed for Dad two years ago, and now my greatest fear is that this one day of "relief" a week will simply allow my mother to keep us all living in this untenable situation for even longer. Because the one day a week does nothing to improve our daily home life - it does not give us superhuman strength to fully supervise my father like a toddler holding a button battery needs to be supervised. It does not keep any of us safe, de-stressed, or lessen in any way the relentless screaming and fighting in this household. It does, however, increase it. So thanks for that people. That's fucking awesome.

In order to get our day of "relief" we have to fight with Dad every day for a week because he does not remember the days of the week anymore and cannot believe us that it is not Thursday yet. In fact Dad has some theories about the calendar being changed and that weekends never come anymore, and that he liked the way the calendar used to be. And because he is a narcissist, the thing is, if he doesn't know what day of the week it is, we sure as shit don't know either. Because we are lesser. 

Then on Thursday mornings we have to search dad for "show off materials" because the only way he knows how to socialise is to show off all his accomplishments (as an artist and before that as a competitive cyclist) with photo albums, books, scrapbooks, certificates and all kinds of vintage papers that we have been asked not to allow him to bring because this is just a day where people socialise as naturally as possible. Which is completely unnatural to a narcissist. And we have nuclear tantrums over this every week. 

At the end of a very long day, really too long for my father, we bring home an over tired, cranky old man and have trouble getting through the necessary end of day activities made even harder by the fact that any time my father leaves this house, upon return we can have 2-3 hours of screaming about things he has lost and that are in the car. That are not in the car. Because they are on the table right in front of all of our very eyes. Usually it is his eye glasses. He has one pair of sunglasses, two current prescription sets of glasses, and one old prescription set of glasses. And you can lay all the glasses cases out in front of him, with a pair of glasses in each and he swears black and blue they are not there they are in the car and we have to let him search the car for things that cannot possibly be there... because they are here but he cannot believe us and he cannot let go of the idea that he has to search the car. Even if we let him futilely search the car multiple times. And then it arcs up again right before bed when we all should be relaxing and getting ready for some sleep.

And that brings me to my next point... I don't even have the escape of sleep anymore. It takes hours to get to sleep. It takes Dad about 2 hours from when he says goodnight to when he stops yelling and fighting and faffing about. I need a couple of hours to unwind. Then if I do achieve sleep, Dad comes into my room in the middle of the night saying things like "there is someone at the front door" followed by "I guess she is staying out all night" (meaning my sister, who doesn't exist... but might possibly be a memory of me... because I have a theory that he thinks bout the relationship he used to have with me before he was my childhood abuser and our relationship was altered forever) but he worries incessantly about someone not being here who should be here, and opens all the doors and turns on all the lights and I just need some fucking sleep.

I also used to escape by taking my dog for a walk, but even that escape has been taken from me.... and this is how narcissism is a tricky devil. My Dad, who still goes for walks in the neighbourhood on his own (I personally don't approve of this at all, but Mum lets him) anyway.... he tells everyone he meets about me and my dog, Captain, so now all the people in the neighbourhood who used to be my friends, and part of my escape.... first thing they ever do now is ask me "how's your Dad?" I JUST WANT TO GET AWAY FROM HIM AND ALL THOUGHTS OF HIM is that too much to ask? But all the people have to tell me in great detail how concerned they are about him when they see him walking, because he struggles so hard with his mobility, he is so slow, he is oblivious, he can't hear traffic or people calling out to him, he walks in the rain, he walks in the cold, he walks in the heat wave of summer, he walks on the road if there is no foot path and sometimes, worst of all, he walks without his walker and then tells concerned people that his wife has the walker (a. she doesn't need a walker b. he has two walkers) and then he wonders how I could possibly know any of this about him... because he doesn't realise telling every single person in the entire neighbourhood identifiable things about myself and my dog is the reason everyone knows exactly who to come to with their worries about him. And when is the last time he ever thanked me for being concerned bout him? Twelfth of Never. That's when. 

And I forgot to mention that the day of "respite" actually cost us another essential service we use - transport. Because Dad got assessed at a higher level, my parents now have lost their transport service because that provider can only cater to entry level care and so even though mum is entry level, dad is now higher and they can't have access to subsidised transport with their original provider AND NO REPLACEMENT has been offered. And we can't cancel the daycare because its under contract and although my parents do not pay a cent for the daycare, they would have to pay to cancel the contract. And the only way we are getting out of this is to put Dad in a home, which is what I want, and what we all need, and is probably never going to happen. 

And that is how you get a pressure cooker of a care situation. And since I'm venting, please, don't expect me to magically resolve this for everyone right here and now. I feel like am trapped and have no escape and I am not ending this post on a positive note. I just am not. I'm too lost and broken to do anything but lay it out for you. Caring for someone with dementia is hard. Caring for someone with dementia and narcissism is full nuclear and should not be attempted in your own home. And people in the dementia and aged care fields need special training to identify dementia patients who have narcissism so that they can respond appropriately to the patient and their family. That's it. That's the post.

If I'm still here next week instead of rotting in an insane asylum I will try and write a new post. With humour. 

live-in aged care: our journey so far...

I'm in the trenches every day, first hand witness to the decline and change in my parents, something many people prefer not to witness when it comes to their elderly relations. I'm not here to condemn anyone who decides that living with their aging parents is not for them - there are many reasons why its a wonderful thing to do and many more reasons why its probably not the greatest idea in the world.

I wrote about role reversals in the parent child relationship in the post Every day is Freaky Friday and one of the greatest changes you'll note, besides the increasing feelings or protectiveness you have over your parents (its like having the world's oldest children "don't touch! hot! Don't climb on the shelves to reach something! Put the axe down now....") is that while they once monitored and assessed your development, you are now constantly appraising their declining abilities. The social niceties can be the first to go. Table manners of course fall by the wayside. The ability to assess what is and is not interesting, what is and is not important, and they probably lost their memory 30 years ago we just weren't there to observe its departure.

The constant losing of keys is one of my great stresses, its mostly Dad, but this one time with Mum last year was particularly stressful, here is my Facebook post from that night:  hello Barkeep, I need copious amounts of alkyhol, I know you don't know me, that's because I don't usually drink. And I don't care what you bring me I just need to blot out that my 80 year old mother lost her keys half way through locking the house up, and whatever can obliterate the screaming as my mother tries to explain (for the one billionth time) to my Dad that the keys are not out the front or in the garage she's quite sure because she locked the front door and then lost the key, and the door is locked so the key has to be on this side of the door, and he can't grasp it.... and whatever you recommend that will erase this I will take immediately, and more.

But mum is still going on very strong, at 80 she actually can still wield a hack saw out in the garden for a couple of hours at a time, and I don't usually know she's at it until she's dragging the corpses of tree branches into the back yard for disposal by me.

Dad was the handiest guy in the world. He could design and make anything, he could repair anything, and was genius at substitutions for broken or missing parts. Somewhere along the way of course, certain jobs become physically too hard - not that he can admit it, and I'm still fighting a losing battle of stopping him from doing things he really shouldn't do. Just the other day he asked me where the little saw was he could use to cut up some hard roots invading the garden drain. Yes, at 85 years old, previously had two heart valves replaced, got dodgy knees, and a previously broken hip he wanted to get down on hands and knees and hack away at something. Its now at the point where I don't want him to do things anymore, that's to be expected, right? But now I can't even consult with him over how I should do things.

How I discovered this? Well, and this just came up in my Facebook memories from a few years ago, I wrote at the time: My Dad is making an adjustment to my furniture. This involves taking it apart, reassembling it with glue on the screws, dowels and bolts, and adding some support brackets.... but why has he come inside for a box of matches? I am so afraid to ask. Please don't burn my furniture Dad!

That would be about the last time I asked Dad for a favour. I actually sneak around now when I need to assemble something, or book a friend in to help me if I think I can't figure it out on my own.

Of course I'm here to basically do favours for my parents, that would be the service I provide them in return for economical living and a permanent address. Mum just comes straight out and asks me for things, and that is wonderful. Dad asks me in a way that arouses the most fear and dread possible. In the time it takes Dad to get to the point and ask me for a favour, which begins with "can I ask you a favour?" (and then descends into a rambling stroll through the Valley of the Shadow of Death) the sun has shifted significantly in the sky, I have imagined 50 things I hope he's not about to ask me, and a new billy goat hair has sprouted out of his ear. All to ask me if I have change for a fiver.

And those niceties, the little social graces, the supportive parenting statements.... its safe to say those are gone. Not long ago I was showing my mother some new photos of myself, they were nice photos taken so I'd have something to use if someone asked me for one for an article or a feature, of course Dad wanted to be included and asked to see them too. No problem, here you go, Dad.... "you've turned ugly!" he exclaims in horror. WTF? If those photos are ugly there is no hope for me as I am with no makeup and my hair not done the way he sees me every day. Stings a little, coming from my Dad. Oh wait.... he's got massive cataracts and he's not wearing his glasses. Crisis averted. "You can't see properly!" I exclaim "you're not wearing your glasses and you've got cataracts". Oh be fucked, that was the wrong thing to say he flung the photos down and screamed "don't show me anymore pictures then!". And he's the injured party. I won't lie, I was pretty upset after that. Not that he noticed.

And that's why I say that aged care is not for sissies. You just have to get out of bed every day and hide the damn hack saw.

the positive side of living with elderly family members

I've written a lot about the challenges of living with my elderly parents, and I will continue to do so - because it's honest, and it's important - no one should go into this blindly, and because I need to communicate and to laugh in order to cope. Its also really important I take some time to say that living with elderly family members can be really wonderful and beneficial to both old and young.

Of course I need a break from the bickering, of course I'd like the house to myself more often, of course the needs of my parents override my own, and life is very much focused on their medical needs and issues as a priority while scheduling for myself takes a back seat - but I can work on that.

In spite of needing to fight stress with laughter and go running to someone to say "guess what just happened?" a good 10-20 times a day, I also get quite a lot of peace of mind having my parents with me.

If my parents were living alone I'd be worried about them a lot more than I do now, even if we had a daily check in call, or they had a duress alarm with them at all times, things can go wrong. Someone can fall after their check in call and lie in pain for nearly 24 hours, and its hard to press that duress button when you're not conscious. With my parents here I know their baseline - I can easily see change and decline. I know they are eating, sleeping, going to the doctor when warranted, not climbing up ladders to change light bulbs, and they aren't shy about asking for what they need done for them - whereas if I lived out of home they might not want to bother me with requests, or they might not want to wait to get that light bulb changed - its all fairly immediate and the temptation to take risks is extinguished.

My parents are also far less vulnerable living with me, my presence helps deter scammers and intruders. I was shocked by the amount of scam callers my parents were receiving at home, but with me here to answer the phone that quickly stopped. Having someone young seen coming and going from the house all the time - and my trusty dog - helps people think twice about targeting our house for a break in or vandalism. My poor grandmother and aunt were constantly experiencing home break-ins in their final years, both were elderly and my aunt was vision and hearing impaired. It was very stressful and my grandmother was very lucky not to be beaten (it kills me that we have come to saying its lucky an old woman wasn't beaten in her own home) because she caught a guy in her room at night and started hitting him with her hot water bottle.

I watched my mother stress for many years because she lived interstate from her family at the time they needed her the most. Its very hard to be apart, not that being together is all roses either but it does allow a family to be able to personally care for and protect each other. My grandmother made it to 97 still living in her own home to her last day, and I'd like to think my parents won't need to leave their home either.

Living together with family of different generations is one of the most amazing experiences - it gives an incredible perspective of life, it challenges and engages both old and young alike, and builds connections and empathy that I can personally attest were lacking in our family before this chapter of our lives began.

I carried with me for many years an incredible amount of pain and emotional baggage from the relationship I had with my dad when I was a child. His constant refusal to acknowledge or empathize with me caused more and more damage along the way and we just could not get along. The journey of living with my parents, feeling protective of them, caring for them, and even facing the possibility of losing them at different crisis points, has given me the opportunity to build a relationship in the here and now and let go of the need for a really very specific vision of closure that I had, and get actual closure.

As difficult as this journey can be, it has been the very thing I needed, and I believe has been essential and good for all three of us. My parents are safe with me, and I am here to enjoy them and be part of their lives and to share my life with them.

However, my friends are not facing this journey yet, and caring for seniors and the elderly can be fairly isolating and I am looking to build a like minded community for support, friendship, laughter, and inspiration. I'd love to hear from you if you have older parents, grandparents, or family/friends that you care about. Your comments, experiences, questions, and basically anything you would like to share can be so very helpful and will really be appreciated.

the state of the union

If you're wondering how we are getting along.... well you see, its like this:

Daily serious ruffling of the feathers, with intermittent outbreaks of fire, some passive aggression, the occasional bonding over dessert or a joke (at someone else's expense) and then we rupture over some other issue and it all starts again the next day.

Sadly it seems like a lot of our suffering has come from Dad not being diagnosed for Parkinson's and therefore having absolutely no assistance for his mental and emotional decline related to that over the past 15 years. Meaning, Mum and I cop the brunt of his depression, anxiety, low self esteem, and the fact that he can't hear us doesn't stop him from screaming "fucking shut up" at us like a total savage when we are not in fact having a go at him and might actually be discussing our shared loathing of Pokemon Go, or our Liberal government (state or federal, you pick).

My parents who probably should have been divorced in the mid 1980's will be married 42 years in March. People always say they stay together for the kids, in our case I think to torture the kid, but what can you do? They think they are a great couple. They say the nastiest and most juvenile things to each other multiple times a day before settling down to hold hands in front of the tv every evening, so go figure.

The house is starting to show its age. The windows sound like car crashes when you close them (its like screeching tyres followed by a loud impact). I did not get the lock fixed on the bathroom for my birthday and am still showering in a state of constant alert. My toilet was starting to have difficulty flushing on half flush, so my Dad, determined to fix it, rendered it more broken than ever before so that we can only use the full flush. He talks about having another go at it, and I'm afraid I'll end up with a totally broken toilet. Won't that be nice!

There aren't enough power outlets in the kitchen. There's not enough bench space in the kitchen. There's a seriously dodgy corner pantry (that is not a walk in, and you literally have to poke your arm in blindly to the far corners and hope you get what you want without smashing anything made of glass) and my excess food is stored in a cupboard in my office but at least with the dog bed being pushed hard up against those doors at night I'm pretty sure mice will never get in to raid.

I constantly find disembodied band aids in the bathroom, kitchen, and laundry. Usually soggy, dirty looking things. The floor around the dining table is usually good for a used toothpick or two. The dog licks the carpet hoping for cheese and bread crumbs, but cereal is also a fave.

Anything I cull because I seem to be the only one aware of how limited space is in this house, gets adopted by one of my parents before it hits the bin or the roadside bring out your dead collection. At a time when I've switched to kindle and iBooks because we just can't keep accumulating books, my parents have stopped going to the library and are bringing in hundreds of books they've purchased and are mounting up in the house like I can't describe. They NEVER bought books all my life, only read for free from the library, but now apparently is the time to be fast and loose with the money! As long as its for fun things and not helpful things like I don't know home maintenance and getting a handyman.

Dad, in my opinion, is about ready to lose his key privileges. Its hard to say that to a parent, but honestly the number of alarmed searches for vital keys he has lost is getting to be too much. We have spares, but we don't want his keys falling into the wrong hands.

I'm not sure how long Mum will continue to drive for, though at least our lives improved in one significant way last year, and that was my parents were assessed and approved for subsidised gardening help and driving - since I don't drive at all, they really need that help getting to out of town medical appointments. Dear God, the medical appointments alone are never ending and overwhelming.

And somewhere, amid all this screaming, I manage to run my business, Starzyia, and perhaps haven't completely lost my mind!

how to kill a blog project you love, in really easy steps (and how to save it)

(A gratuitious photo of the Heavenly place that I live)

Last year I did something I had been building up to and planning to begin for a long time, I started this blog. Yes this tiny thing. I happened to believe that it was worth sharing my experiences living with and caring for my elderly parents. I thought I had a lot to say (I always actually have a lot to say) and I thought it would be really great to build a supportive community for people of all ages as they face elder care and family issues. And then I nearly killed it in its infancy... here is a break down of how....

1. I started a large topic that might never be satisfactorily explained or factually expressed - why does the parent-child relationship get reversed as parents age? - right before my busy season. Busy season for me is preparing for a 3-4 month sales blitz leading up to Christmas, and the endless need to create tray after tray of art pendants, shrink plastic jewellery, air dry clay pendants, kilt and shawl pin brooches, art tiles, art canvases, wrapping and packaging, earwires, and market all of these things successfully online and at handmade markets.

2. I intended to resolve the theme/topic in my next post.

3. I realized I was not in the mental place to complete that topic but would not let go of the idea that the next post I wrote had to follow on exactly where I left the last post on this blog.

4. I lived in the fantasy land that I would one day feel up to the task of completing that topic.

5. More than 6 months of no posting on a new blog that should be gaining an audience and finding its niche were wasted, lets face it I haven't done the maths, but its probably more like 8-10 months. That's a huge period of idleness and hard to regain the attention of the actual people who were enjoying what I had created so far, who I said I'd be here for and wanted to build a community with... oh dear. Blog project death.

But wait, there is light at the end of the tunnel

 

The magic of time and perspective have allowed me to face up to the mental hurdles and obstinacy that I am solely responsible for and have made me realize a few things. 

The first is that there aren't really hard and fast rules for blogging, I can just write a new article about anything really. Anything I'm genuinely moved to say, and on this occasion its to encourage anyone who has ever boxed themselves into a blogging corner (I call it blogging oblivion) because the only way a blog truly dies is if you decide you can't or won't save it.

Secondly I really started to miss this blog, and realized that a lot of things I really wanted to share were being wasted simply because I wouldn't write them until after I'd resolved the un-resolvable situation I'd mentally created. 

And finally I can say I have the maturity now to pull myself out of blog oblivion and at least for my own sake start processing the things I'm experiencing in life through the therapy of writing, and hopefully connecting with people who can also shed light on what happens to families and individuals as parent's age. 

Phew! I'm so relieved. It feels great to break down those barriers and be free to write again, and if you're reading this, thank you! and please let me know how you feel about it.

how I got my dog

This is my dog, Fizzy, he's a rescued border collie x kelpie and today is our third anniversary or "gotcha day" if you are familiar with rescue terminology. Since he is such an important part of my life, I thought I'd share how miraculous it seems to me that he is mine, and the magic he works daily on our family. To be honest, I don't think we'd have made it this far without him.

Fizzy is my very first dog. I never had a dog when I was a child. I wanted one desperately. I don't think any child has ever been sent more gaga for want of a dog. We would be out and about as a family and I would see a dog, with a collar, and tags, and a family of its own on the horizon somewhere, and I would be crying and begging my parents to save this poor, wretched homeless dog that needed us. Loudly. Passionately. Blind to all the facts. I am sure many a family left in a hurry "quick Marge, put the dog in the car and let's get out of here!"

I was hysterical in my desperation to have a dog. To add fuel to the fire, my Dad was always whistling or singing 'How much is that doggy in the window'. He's not an evil genius or anything, he's just oblivious to the effect he has on the people around him.

I left home, lived in student housing (no pets allowed), lived in share houses (no pets allowed), lived in rentals (no pets allowed) and dreamed of the day of owning my own home and buying a dog even before fully furnishing the place... and somehow ended up back with my parents, and nothing wears away your morale more than being an adult and needing your mummy and daddy's permission to get a dog.

I wasn't overly hopeful about the chances of getting a dog - my parents never gave me any signs of hope that they like dogs at all.... they didn't want to pat dogs when visiting other homes and had steadfastly resisted all forms of begging and pleading for over 20 years.

But my Mum knows how much I need pet therapy for my mental health, and a 19 year old cat that poops on our beds during the night was a) not going to live forever and b) thankfully, not going to live forever. I said to Mum, "Mum I'm never going to have kids, and all I've ever really wanted was a dog. What if I die and I've never even had that experience of owning a dog?" (Oh Yes, I Did) and she told me that when my poor old scared cat left our lives I could get a dog.

Dad said "it will have to be an outdoor pet" and I said yes, mainly, but we've got to at least let is sleep in the laundry at night. So he made a pet gate for the end of our hallway. I still was a bit nervous about his attitude to our potential new pet, but Mum assured me he would be the softest of all of us and would let it in even if we didn't want him to.

And she was right. My dad, freaking loves this dog. My dad has never raised his voice to this dog, he is more patient and kindly with the dog than with us... but bygones....

We adopted a friendly but frightened, beautiful 8 month old boy named Tizzy (I renamed him Fizzy) and from the first day he has brought us nothing but joy. He is the most perfect pet we have ever had. He is gentlemanly, eager to please, grasps his place in the home (he never jumps on their bed or the couch) he doesn't dig, or bark, or steal our food, he is gentle and exceptionally patient with children, he brings joy to the elderly nearby who have no pets, and is everybody's favourite dog. They tell me every day.

My parents say "you could not have gotten a better dog" and I glow.

Fizzy is amazing, he has brought magic into our home. It brings me joy to see that he is pet therapy for both my parents and not just me. I accept many things about my parents that I previously would have fought them on because I think "they let me have a dog, let go of it". We laugh together, we enjoy his antics, we enjoy his love, we share his love.

For three years we have had better lives because he is with us.

a typical day in the nest

Morning has broken - my mother will rise and turn the television on by 7am and it will remain on until bed time. I hate television.

I squabble with the dog all the way around the block - he is afraid of an increasingly inconvenient list of things  all of which can be found in our 'hood or flying overhead (drug houses, airforce jets, small poodles, eagles, strange smells, hoon drivers, the rubbish truck) we tend to go the direction he decides moment by moment, is less threatening, and usually end up stranded with no "safe" Fizzy approved way of getting home.

While my parents breakfast at a table that had been almost completely set after dinner the night before (tablecloth, cups, saucers, bowls, cutlery, cereal... basically everything but milk and the teapot) I rush to the computer because my first thought is whether any orders have come in for my business Starzyia overnight, or if I have any customer questions to respond to, I love this!

I lovingly wrap any orders for my customers so I can ship them when I go to the shops, which is early, but fits around any doctors appointments my parents might have.

We shop or run errands.... if Dad comes there is a walker to collapse and shove into the boot and he likes to do it himself (which takes 50 times as long as if I did it but its better if I stand back and let him do it himself while I cop dirty looks from passers by at the sight of an 80 year old struggling to lift a walker into or out of a car while I stand doing basically nothing)

No matter the size of my "to do" list compared to the size of their lists, I will always, always be the one waiting for my parents. Its impossibly freakish the way it turns out. I play games on my ipod while waiting. Sometimes I wait so long I worry they have forgotten where we said we'd meet and agonize over whether I should look for them at one of our other meeting places. Sometimes I wonder if at least one of them has collapsed in the centre and I can't understand any of the PA announcements in the mall.... its all gibberish. I could be getting paged and I wouldn't know.

My father who recently passed his driving test to remain on the roads, will insist on driving and will quite roughly hit the curbs at least once there and back. It makes me incredibly nervous when he checks his wrist watch while driving, fails to register the time, and looks about three more times before asking me what time I think it is. Why time is important I don't know, none of us have anywhere to be in life, really. Though I think about Hawaii quite often.

After unpacking any shopping, I have to take the dog out at least to the park (3 houses down) or to the end of the street because he absolutely will not take a crap in our yard, though my life would be much easier if he would. He likes to do it in the 'hood to mark his territory. He is submissive to every other dog in the world but he can fake a good confident "this is mine" poo, I think, I'm only guessing.

At least once a day the phone will ring and my dad will answer it even though he cannot hear anything on the phone, and usually ends up hanging up because he couldn't understand the person's accent, or if the person is lucky, he will come and grab either Mum or myself to get to the bottom of what is going on.

At least once a day the phone will ring and my mum will hang up summarily on the person, because when she said "hello" they didn't say "hello" back right away which she believes is 100% proof that the person is in a call centre. They might just be a medical receptionist distracted mid ring by a patient or other staff member or any number of other legitimate callers who have just been given the Short Shrift.

I hardly ever answer the phone. I'm the one who can hear, does understand, doesn't abuse a call centre person until they've earned it, but I HATE phone calls.

Lunch time! I eat in my room while watching an episode of whatever show I'm binge watching on dvd.

After lunch I either: create new products; conduct photo shoots; write blog articles or my email for my VIP members; update bookkeeping; unpack supplies parcels; shop for supplies online; or when it hasn't been achieved in the morning - housework or garden and yard tasks my parents can't do.

At least once every hour while they are awake, my parents have a bickering match that begins over not being able to hear or understand each other and sometimes I have caught them arguing the exact same side of an issue only in different words and not comprehending that they are actually in complete agreement with each other. I face plant.

Nearly every day I will be actively involved in a dispute with one or both of my parents, in which I am treated incredibly rudely, and let's face it, I'm not one to cope well with being treated unfairly. Because of the way I was treated by my father as a child, I refuse to take abuse from him now. So when I call him on his current behaviour.... which I call "holding a mirror up" things tend to go badly. My intention is to show him how he has just treated me, but being unable to perceive that in the first instance, he still cannot detect it when it has been replayed for him. Its the biggest emotional void in my day and is one of the things I have to work on letting go of. But it sucks that I have to let go.

There's usually no way in hell I can get access to one of the toilets when I need it, because since Mum had bowel cancer she has had irritable bowel syndrome, and Dad has heaps of troubles himself. He will usually crap in the bathroom in the morning when I want to clean my teeth. Then Mum does it. Then Dad does it again. There is always spare underwear and a plastic bag in the car glove box. Unless I go to consult the map and the underwear is no longer spare... Eww!!!

Dad likes my cooking, mum does not, plus Mum can no longer eat foods that contain fructose since her bowel surgery. I don't like Mum's cooking (and never have) and don't want to kiss goodbye to so many gorgeous fruits and vegetables, plus I don't really eat meat... so every day there are two dinners prepared in our house. But not at the same time because the kitchen is too small. So I often cook early in the day and reheat for dinner. If I'm smart and cook for 4, I can get by having a day off in between cooking, and have a hot lunch and hot dinner every day. I buy my own groceries and only make the things I like, so its pretty good.

I come home from walking the dog to potent mixed aromas - Deep Heat and gravy would be one of my least favourite combinations (considering I hate both, and together, forget about it!) Whatever the smells are that day, they are bound to clash with the smell of my dinner.... and again, I eat alone in my room. Separate meals, at separate times (I can't force myself to eat dinner at 4.30-5pm every day anyway) this is the most independent part of my day.... the closest I come to living alone.

The dishes are washed and put away, the table is set for the morning, and I work on Starzyia tasks until 7.30 which is my designated computer shut down time. Relaxation begins and the dog loves his cuddles on the bed while we watch an episode or two on dvd.

A basic day in the nest! There are lot of things that are the same each day, but the variations are insane - the actual subject of any bickering match is sure to be one for the record books. I hate the tension, I like peace and quiet, but as long as we are having insane arguments and getting in bizarre predicaments I figure I might as well treasure them as the uniquely hysterical hilarious moments of our lives. There will be plenty of them. I hope they make you smile.

my escape and return to the nest

I left home as soon as I possibly could - I had just turned 17 and was starting university in the next city. Its fair to say I was pretty excited, and fair to say my mother had grave reservations, mostly because she knew I had a bad relationship with my Dad and it might not get fixed by going our separate ways.

It actually got worse in fact, because when we spent time together - and by this I mean a short afternoon tea visit on neutral (public) territory or the occasional overnight stay so I could come home to visit friends - we were almost outraged to find how much the other one pissed us off. We couldn't cope anymore because we were out of practice, and being suddenly thrown together only brought the personal atrocities of the other as a shock to the system.

I hadn't forgiven my father for abusing the heck out of me when I was a child, and he hadn't forgiven me for growing up and having an opinion - and it wasn't just that I had opinions about our family or our relationship, but actually any time I opened my mouth to comment on, well, anything, he pulled the incensed face. Steam could have literally come out of his ears, even when we have the same bad opinion of the same bad eggs.... the fact that I could express myself when I was raised not to, was something he struggled to adapt to.

He still makes a face when I express myself, and mostly tries to remove me from a group discussion on anything - seriously on a daily basis he will hijack a conversation I begin with my mother and then become angry that I am an active participant in the conversation..... and he has absolutely no awareness of his role in the conversation or how it is he became angry.

And here I am living with it full time again - which is a pretty surprising turn of events, but I guess life knows what we need, and if my 83 year old father isn't going to live forever, this is our only time to learn to live peacefully together and patch things up.

When I was finished uni my parents were ready to Grey Nomad it, and offered me the house in return for paying bills, watering the garden, and caring for pets. Awesome. We mostly only spent Christmas and significant birthdays together..... until, surprise twist, I got sick.

I started to need my parents to be there - and by the time I had my life on track, Perth was entering The Rental Crisis. I spent a long time trying my guts out to get a lease anywhere on my own, on disability pension, and being passed over constantly for families and groups who could pay a higher rent - even if they ultimately trashed the house, never paid rent, and were forcefully evicted.

While my health at least stabilised - Dad's declined - and every time his life was in danger my Mum and I appreciated the comfort of being together, and living as a team, pulling him through, getting things done, supporting each other through code blues, and open heart surgeries, and one damn thing after another.

The Grey Nomading chapter is over.... we are here together.... learning to live together and trying to make the most of time together (and not kill each other, to be honest) this is it - we cope better together even though some of us have very poor social skills and are at different stages of our lives... it just kinda works.

Introduction to Strange Nest - who we are and how we live

I'm Starry, young, fun, and single.... and living with my elderly parents in what I refer to as "an interesting social experiment"

Our nest is strange, it is cramped, one of the birds is deaf, we're all cracked.


I've been dealing with the huge age differences in our family for as long as I can remember. My parents were middle aged when I was born, senior citizens when I was in university, and elderly when I was in my twenties. 


At first my twenties were awesome - I lived in my family home solo while my parents went grey nomading. Paradise! But health statuses change, and I started to share the home with my parents, which was weird at first, plus its socially awkward admitting that you live with your parents but our mindset has begun to change and we see living as a team as a really smart option. As a team we are stronger and more financially stable. I'm not a mooch, I pay my way, I do the tasks they can't do, I avoid the rent crisis, they get to stay in their home for as long as possible (hopefully the rest of their lives).

To succeed as a family we have to reinvent our existing family dynamic. If you've got older parents, you know what I mean - at a certain age you parent them.... but they don't like it. And it gets tense. They need to see me as an adult, and understand it is not usual for me to live like this. I need to understand that their abilities are changing, and that it is still their nest and I'm the guest (who can be addressed far more rudely than you'd ever entertain speaking to a real guest)

If you want an idea of what its like to look after aging parents, or you're trying to decide if you can cope with bringing your parents into your own home, this is probably the blog for you - you'll get plenty of insight here, and solidarity too. Sometimes the most important part of coping is having someone you can let off steam with. Plus sometimes you will laugh until you cry.

At the core of this experiment, is my belief that family is one of the greatest blessings but also the biggest trial a person faces in their life.

I hope our concept of "living as a team" prevails over our trials. But even failure can be fascinating (people are still intrigued by the Titanic, after all)

So behold... our experimental lives!