So, had a bit of an unexplainable experience and I’m now convinced that it was Scooby visiting me.
Where do i even start this one?! My brain is doing loops and criss-cross and…. Euch. (Also i now have no idea how to put a “break” in the post because my app updated and now that’s disappeared and i cant remember the HTML for it. Sorry.)
Ok so i moved out of gran’s because she was treating me like absolute shit. She passed racist and homophobic comments which made me very uncomfortable and even accused mum of stealing her money.
So we managed to find her a spot at a respite home for two weeks which was supposed to be peaceful. Didn’t end that way. She was constantly complaining she wanted to come home, she didn’t like it there, why couldn’t we just look after her? Everything to make us feel guilty. Didn’t work.
She came home last week on the understanding that neither me nor mum would live with her and that we cant take care of her so she would have to have home help. She was fine with that – until Friday when she told mum she didn’t want the home help she was perfectly fine on her own. Which is total bullshit. We told her she has two choices; home care twice a day or she goes into a nursing home full time and she won’t have a choice. She doesn’t want either and doesn’t (or won’t) listen to why she only has those two choices.
Her memory is totally fucked. She is denying saying anything offensive and accusing mum of stealing money. She swears blind she never treated me like shit or like a slave.
And once again…. She knows best. She knows everything. Oh and we have to stop shouting at her. Even when we weren’t shouting at her. She got pissed at me cuz i was talking to Kath and not her then snapped because mum was trying to say something. Truth is mum was counting to ten.
That person is not my gran any more. She looks like her but she isn’t acting like her.
It has taken me 12 years to be able to write this down….
I’m now 29 but when I was 17, after dislocating my left knee four times, surgeons decided I needed an operation to figure out why is was happening and to fix whatever was wrong.
The day came and I was so nervous. Terrified in fact but I couldn’t put a rational thought to it as to why. My surgeon was lovely, always remembered his name as Duttah (literally pronounced as dutt-ah).