Prose: Selections of a Diary
Lyn is Jaimee’s 83 year old grandmother, now retired after having worked as a legal secretary. She lives in Whanganui where she grew up and raised her four children and is ‘Nana’ to an ever increasing net of grand- and great-grandchildren. What follows are two day-diaries that Lyn has written. They provide a window into her life—a typical day—both a few years ago and right now.
Castlecliff, Whanganui. Photo: Jaimee van Germeden.
A Day in 2018
12.30am – Woke suddenly from deep sleep, feel pleased and ready for day then notice the time, botheration, only been asleep an hour and a half, hate it when that happens, hope it is not going to be a wakeful night, will avoid thinking of serious things and may drift off.
1.00am – Just about asleep when he starts the slow move to get out onto the commode, hope he manages to get back into bed again and doesn’t need help to get feet back in and the covers up.
1.10am – Uh oh—needs help, I keep one eye shut like I used to when attending to the babies when they needed a nappy change and settling down, this little trick always seemed to help me get back to sleep quickly, get him settled and I get back into bed and, yes, feel myself drifting off.
4.00am – Stir again as he gets out again to commode, he manages it ok this time and I drift off again.
7.00am – I wake again, another commode trip but managed ok and I hear the first Air Chatham flight pass overhead and think to myself that, yes, I will be on a later flight in a few weeks’ time! I drift and doze for the hour before rising time. Maybe I will vacuum the house today (maybe not).
8.00am – His body clock switches on, breakfast time! He fumbles for the first two pills of the day, paracetamol for his permanent headache, sometimes he manages to get them out of the foil and other times I have to reach out and extract the pills for him. He thanks me. He pulls the extra pillows up and sits up in anticipation. In the past he would get out of bed and open the curtains to let the daylight in but his legs are too unreliable to risk this now.
8.10am – Whether I want it to or not, our day is started so I get up, open the curtains and we see whether it is sun or cloud, and the traffic is already passing on our busy road. At least we see the world go by. He thanks me.
8.15am – Toilet and pills for me. As I let our Charlie cat out he greets me and I take 5 mins to sit and commune with him. He goes off to check his rounds before breakfast. I send a short text to an elderly friend; this is our routine as neither of us has neighbours to check our curtains are open and all is ok. She replies and all is well in our worlds.
8.20am - I get the paper in and start our breakfast.
8.25am – Make breakfast, cereal and toast and tea, yoghurt or fruit on his cereal, take it with his toast and tea and pills to him, feed him the cereal as he can no longer grip the spoon or control the shakes, he thanks me and I leave him with the toast and tea in special flask.
8.30am – Have my breakfast and read the paper and do the first word puzzle to get my brain ready for the day.
8.45am – A quick text or phone call from one of the family to check in with us. Always nice!
9.00am – Clack clack clack—he is coming to the living room with his walker. The convulsive shaking of his hands as he grips the handles and brakes of the walker announce his every move. He sits in his chair and I make his coffee, he thanks me and reads as much of the paper as his shakes will allow.
9.15am – Clack clack clack—he is on the move to the toilet. Use it or lose it is the catch cry for being up and about and we are in a Catch 22 situation of using it to avoid further weakening of muscles or staying in bed to avoid collapse should the legs give out. Day by day, decisions on the day is the only way to go. Clack clack clack—back to the living room. Today is a good day; sometimes it is already back to bed after this effort.
9.30am – I tidy the bed ready for his return later this morning, empty the commode, have my shower, clean the bathroom and toilet, organise the laundry in the washing machine, do the breakfast dishes, check my emails (not many!) and sit with him for a few minutes before shower time.
10.30am – Agency carer arrives for the morning shower, this is much looked forward to, not only for the shower but for social contact. Carer Claire has become a friend and she monitors his every move for signs of weakening or collapse.
10.45am – Shower completed without problem, Claire tells us he even managed to get fresh pj’s on and he is feeling fit enough to return to the living room for coffee. Sometimes he needs to return to bed but not today, he thanks her and she tells him he is very welcome. She puts the pj’s and towels etc into the washing machine, cleans the shower and joins us for coffee and chat, an important socialising time for him—and for me. A good friend calls in, Ron visits every couple of weeks, another important social contact. Claire hangs the laundry on the line, checks there are no other little jobs she can help with and then leaves.
11.40am – He asks for lunch, I try to stall for 10 minutes but he is reaching his limit so I make his sandwiches, cut fruit and check he has his fortified water to drink, he usually manages to hold the sandwiches but I help if necessary. Clack clack clack—always another loo visit during lunch time.
12noon – Clack clack clack—he goes back to bed with a sigh of relief, turns onto his left side, I draw one curtain to block out sun or breeze, tell him if I intend going to the supermarket or elsewhere, he thanks me and is out like a light for 2 to 3 hours.
12.10pm – I have my own lunch, do the next word puzzle in the paper and decide what to do in the next hour or so. My choices—a little free time to read or potter in the garden, but on every second day or so it is a quick trip to the supermarket for necessities. I am always aware when out that he may need the toilet and his legs may give out so my outings are brief. Unlike days in the past there are no neighbours to keep an ear or eye upon things. He wears a medic-alarm but it would depend on the problem as to whether he would think to press it, or indeed be able to do so. Maybe I should do the vacuuming? I get the cleaner out and think about it. Maybe not today.
1.00pm – A welcome phone call from another of the family, she checks that all is well and we have a chat—hands free car phones are great!
2.00pm – I switch my alertness back on from whatever I may have been doing and check all is well.
2.45pm – He is sitting up with extra pillows and is watching the TV quiz that gives our brains a little workout. Clack clack clack—off to the loo.
3.00pm – I make his afternoon coffee and we sit and watch the quiz, he watches the world pass by, the neighbourhood kids are going home from school and the traffic is constant. Thank heavens for a bed-sittingroom at the front of the house with large windows letting in sun and air. A friend calls in and joins us for a cuppa and chat.
4.00pm – He changes channel to some mind-numbing trivia and I leave him to it. Another half hour for me to use as I wish, garden, read or?? The vacuum cleaner looks back at me—tomorrow!!
4.30pm- Another coffee is requested, I take it to him and he thanks me. I get the laundry in from the line, never much these days but good to keep on top of. It is almost exciting to see a full line!
4.50pm – Start to prepare dinner, early dining times now and once a week a meal bought from a catering company makes a nice change from thinking of what to cook and then doing it. I do the crossword in the paper while dinner cooks. Phone call from family member finishing work.
5.30pm – Plate up dinner, put mine to keep warm and take his to him, with pills. I have to feed him his meal, he opens his mouth like a baby bird and I put it in as we watch another quiz on TV. All done in 5 minutes. I used to grumble at him rushing his meal and hardly noticing what he was eating, now I am glad it just goes in quickly. He thanks me and I go and eat mine and see the last few minutes of the quiz before the news starts. I only watch the headlines these days.
6.00pm – I take him dessert (if it is a lucky day for him!) and check that he has had enough to eat. He always has, but maybe another coffee? I get this for him and he thanks me.
6.10pm – I clean up the kitchen, my work day is done and I sit and check TV options, maybe something I have recorded if offered programmes are not inspiring.
7.00pm – Charlie cat asks for his tea and he is shut in for the night. Clack clack clack—last trip to the toilet. I close the curtains, he settles down in bed - on his right side this time and apart from getting out to the commode he will hardly change position all night. He can still see the TV and will switch it off shortly. He thanks me and his day is done.
7.05pm – The evening is mine—TV, reading, handwork, maybe Charlie cat on my lap.
7.30pm- Phone call from another family member—as the days pass we hear from them all and these calls are so vital to our wellbeing.
8.00pm- Very often a welcome phone call from an overseas friend. Social life is very sparse these days and it is so true that “Old Friends are the Best Friends.” These are the ones who keep in touch when health and opportunities start to deteriorate.
10.00pm – Time to call it a day, Charlie cat and the house are locked up for the night.
10.15pm – I turn on the bedroom light, he hardly stirs. I write my diary and settle with my book. I couldn’t exist without my books!
11.00pm – I turn out the light. Another day is done, this one without drama of ambulances and A&E visits. Thank you God for family.
11.05pm – I really will try and do the vacuuming tomorrow!
A Day in 2021
Midnight – oh dear, I shouldn’t have kept reading but I did want to finish that chapter—I turn out the light and settle to sleep in my bed. I say ‘my bed’ because I had to convince myself it was okay to have a new bed after 59 years of a shared bed, the last few being used for 24/7 care, so well worn.
3 am – I wake suddenly—just as a mother is alert to every sound and snuffle of her child, so have I been conditioned to every change in breathing—or even lack of breathing—which heralds yet another emergency. Again I realise those days are past, it is just simply the quiet of the night. I sleep.
6.50am – I wake again and listen—yes the early plane to Auckland flies overhead. I like to imagine it winging its way north and know that I can take a later one at any time I choose to do so, to visit family there or transfer to another destination. My days are now my own, and their doors are always open to me. I doze.
8.15am – I wake again and consider the day ahead. Lots of choices—to do or not do, to meet or not meet—my days are my own and I am fortunate to have lots of options. I no longer have to be up preparing for carers to arrive. We were so grateful for this help in the latter years of what I call my past life, and some deep friendships were formed and memories are still shared. I rise.
8.30am – I text my 90 year old friend who, like me, lives alone but she has many limitations of health. She replies by text and I know all is well. The days of caring neighbours who watched for curtains to open each morning or to chat over the fence or at the local shops are, sadly, long gone. Living alone is not the problem—aloneness is the bugbear of old age.
9.00am – Breakfast, read the paper and do the word puzzle, and confer with my friend who does the puzzle each morning, to – as she says—‘keep my brain working’—I do the cryptic puzzle too, but she passes on this one. Shower, dress and check my relaxed diary. The entries are not many but fill my need – maybe a monthly International social group meeting to mix and mingle, listen to club and guest speakers and decide whether to join a dinner get together, go on a local visit or a day trip. Not this week though, I have the monthly U3A meeting of the writing group so I had better get this assignment finished. I see a note for next week, the meeting of the Church group who knit for the local Mission. When not knitting for family needs or friends’ requests I make jerseys and beanies for this local cause, and with the recent huge donation of wool by a sympathetic citizen, I am almost spoilt for choice.
10am to noon – Some perfunctory housework, a potter in the garden, maybe a quick visit to the supermarket—and always the texts from family members, not to check on me but simply to share our day together as we are now valued adult friends as well as an ageing Mum with adult kids! A phone call from a friend, a quick pop-in visit from another, and maybe a cuppa shared—or not. We are all relaxed in our busy lives. Contact is my by-word for everyday life and this is a two-way thing. Even if not physically connected, a text or phone call—or even old fashioned snail mail letter—is a valued way to keep contact and much better than impersonal Facebook which goes to everyone but sometimes misses that important personal contact. But that’s just my ageing viewpoint!
Lunchtime – And thanks to TV1Plus1 I can check my brain as I eat, with Bradley and The Chase. I even think I can often do better than some of the much younger contestants!
1pm to 3pm – A good time to visit one or another friend who is in a retirement village or rest home, who knows what lies ahead? Always good to test the feel of a place—just in case!!!! But maybe just relax and knit, the sun is nice as it comes into my living room in these cooler months … oh no, I did it again, I nodded off. Oh well, it doesn’t matter—just a 20 minute catnap. As a very old now departed friend said years ago—“funny thing, after lunch, as bum hits comfortable chair, the eyelids close.” A cup of tea and one, just one mind you, treat – a chocolate sultana pasty or, my current favourite, a slice of ginger loaf? I have to watch my intake of these sweet things, and that is another thing I am thankful for as I age—good medical checks which enable me to keep good health.
… A sit in the sun, wander round the garden and always a weed—or two, or lots—to pull out, another text or phone chat and I marvel again at the busy lives all my family lead. I guess I was that busy once and I am happy to have been there and done that, but am now in this ‘’relaxed/busy’’ phase of my life.
5pm – My day is nearly done, dinner time, and I take something basic from my supply in the freezer. My enjoyment of cooking is also a thing of the past but I do enjoy a ‘’cook-up’’ every month or so, and I prepare my style of meal, casserole, or roast meat and gravy to put in one-size meal portions in the freezer, and just re-heat to serve with fresh vegetables each day. I even indulge with a once a week treat of the commercially prepared meals advertised on TV which provide a fully balanced meal after just 5 minutes in the microwave. I know which is the best brand!!
Evening – Usually another quick catchup as a family member returns home and is stuck in traffic—good time to chat!
Time for Television – I find plenty to interest me despite the wails of so many—‘’nothing on TV’’—some good wildlife programmes or documentaries screen late at night or during the day and I record these to watch at my leisure, always the knitting to pick and before I know it another garment is nearly completed—and there are my books! Hundreds of them, I re-read favourites, explore new authors and enjoy biographies. So much to see, to learn, and now the time to do it—and also the excuse to simply enjoy what has been, and still is—and to feel excited about what’s to come.
And, I give thanks to God for my life, my family, my friends and my ability to understand my choices and to make my decisions and to pray for long time control overall.
10.30pm - I read.
11.30pm – I turn out the light, I ponder the day, I sleep.
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Lyn van Gemerden lives in Whanganui where she knits often and occasionally writes.