Panda 1: Fucktards 0

And so back to our regular programming.

In our last episode we had left our heroine bemoaning the fact that The Brother can’t take a hint even when it’s spelled out in interpretive dance. Since then, our heroine wrote her mother a very long (4 pages, single spaced, 12 pt font) letter explaining in great detail why this situation was a complete clusterfuck, why she no longer wished to acknowledge her brothers existence and why she would not be partaking further in the family’s game of “why Panda is a total fuckup and we’re all saints and do what I say or I’ll scream.”

In today’s episode we discover that The Powers That Be, when apprised of the facts of the situation and having to deal with The Mother themselves (“having difficulties with her being rather…um…assertive”), are quite capable of coming to the same conclusions that our heroine has been banging on about for the last 18 months. As amazing as it may seem to our regular viewers, Someone Else has finally recognized that a woman who has almost killed herself and her husband from neglect should not be allowed to go home and continue to be the carer of said husband. The Powers That Be conclude that the best place for The Father With Alzheimer’s is in permanent nursing care, and that the best place for The Mother With Fucking Selfish Bitch Disease is either at home on her own with extensive support or in assisted living with The Father. The Powers That Be will under no circumstances allow them to leave the nursing home and enter an situation which is unsafe.

The episode closes with our heroine feeling rather smug and flicking the bird towards The Brother.

Cue swelling triumphant music.

Its Creepy Because Its True

Especially # 3, though I suspect #8 would ellicit a little more than 7 years bad luck.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Spudly!

1. In Chinese, the sound 'Spudly' means 'bite the wax tadpole'!
2. The porpoise is second to Spudly as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
3. Spudly is incapable of sleep!
4. Only 55 percent of Americans know that the sun is made of Spudly.
5. By tradition, a girl standing under Spudly cannot refuse to be kissed by anyone who claims the privilege!
6. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Spudly.
7. Wearing headphones for an hour will increase the amount of Spudly in your ear 700 times.
8. If you break Spudly, you will get seven years of bad luck!
9. The state nickname of Iowa is 'The Spudly state'.
10. A bride should wear something old, something new, something borrowed, and Spudly.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Hi, I'm Panda. And You Are...?

Now, I have nothing against lurkers. You want to read but dont feel like talking, thats fine. Maybe you feel you dont have anything to add to the conversation, maybe you're shy, maybe you cant operate a keyboard...you know, whatever. Its all cool.

But I kinda think its good manners that, if you like what you read so much that you spend 6 hours a day over several days going through my entire archives, you drop me an email and say "hey, cool blog" or "hey, I've really enjoyed reading your story" or even "hey, you're a total trainwreck, its been real."

So would the person from or near Rhodes NSW who uses uu.net as their ISP please just say hi. And please dont turn out to be my goddamn brother.

Yeh, Well You and Your Cat.

Its amazing how much people give away about themselves by attempting to defend their actions to complete strangers.

Someone seems to not have a very good grasp of the English language, judging by the continued text messaging after having received the "do not contact me again" request. Man-way-lah, bless her fired-up little heart, sent the Fucktard an email reminding him of my request. It was a short email. Polite. A couple of sentences. It required no response.

Unfortunately HeWhoShallBeIgnored felt that the appropriate thing to do was to explain himself justify his actions in many long-winded paragraphs that actually ellicited no new information other than the fact that he is incapable of proper use of commas, officious to within an inch of his life and unable to communicate in any way that does not involve some use of bullshit pseudo-legal power trip.

Seriously, in his writing as in his speech, all that is missing from his Police Prosecutor role is the "I put it to you...I put it to you."

He sent yet another email last night, again long-winded excercise in self-justification, coupled with the re-writing of history (he's the sensitive caring one and I'm the evil foul-mouthed one who's confused about what he was talking about) and a pinch of either my mother lied to him or he lied to me.

It doesnt matter of course. I'm merely writing this down so that when insanity the urge insanity strikes me and I feel like I should be getting involved in this clusterfuck again, I can come back and remind myself of how bad it really is.

And by "it doesnt matter of course" I mean it matters in that "jesustapdancinchrist where do you people get all this crap from and why am I suddenly the bad guy when I've done nothing to anyone and maybe I've always been the bad guy to you all and never realised it until now and how the hell did THAT happen" kinda way.

Its very noisy inside my head as I try to put all this to rest. My parents are in their nursing home. All their belongings that I am "holding on to" and "refusing to return" will be given back to them tomorrow by Monkey Boy. The nursing home has been made aware of the family breakdown and that HeWhoShallBeIgnored is now the only contact for anything to do with their care. Tomorrow, as the very annoying Craig David song said, I'm walking away from the troubles in my life.

And The Winner Is...

Dont be silly. You didnt think there was going to be a winner in this situation did you?

You know things are going badly when the first words you write in a text message to your brother are "You chickenshit motherfucker".

Last night was the final act in Familius Horribilus Retardum. And by final, I do mean final.

Mum and dad had their Aged Care Assessment done yesterday, a four hour procedure which was painful to say the least. At the end of it the Assessor had the same opinion of the situation that I do; my mother is suffering from some form of mental illness and my father should not be going home with her, if indeed she should even go home. For now they are being put into a nursing home for at least 12 weeks, and they will both be assessed for their future needs towards the end of that time. Good, good. Ways to get a psych assessment done were discussed and were to be followed up on.

You know I talked to my brother about this. Well, that is to say, I tried. I really really tried. But the second that I said things he didnt agree with, and I mean THE SECOND, he got abusive. The Assessor spoke to him yesterday, and because she didnt mention the psych assessment to him, Brother thinks I'm full of shit and trying to manipulate the entire situation the get them both "put away to rot". He proceeded to blame me for everything that has happened, told me it was all my responsibility to do something about it, ("How many HOURS, Panda, how many HOURS have YOU spent looking after them? Why werent YOU doing something to care for dad's welfare if you were SO concerned?") and made further insinuations that I had done absolutely nothing and he's the big fucking hero who actually cares in this scenario. He even demanded to know why I hadnt informed him of the situation. WTF??? Does he not remember this or this and countless other emails I have sent him telling him EXACTLY the situation.

He then proceeded further to bring up every possible failing (in his mind) on my part for my entire life and use it against me PLUS said that mum told him that I was holding on to her bank books and credit cards and refusing to give them back to her (she'd given them to me for safe-keeping, at HER request) and that I was trying to get control of their bank accounts. I tried talking to mum yesterday about Power of Attorney for her to prepare for the situation when she's not able to sign anything herself or cant get to somewhere to take care of stuff and she twists this to make me look like a fucking villain. AND THEN after about an hour of this bullshit, when he's hung up on us twice, he goes for the jugular...

and god knows what relevance this has to anything, says that "well maybe we are just tired of getting phone calls from mum and dad about them having to go and pick you up in a state in the middle of the night..." to which I told him how dare you bring up my teenage years and whats that got to do with anything anyway and he responded that "oh no this was only a short time before you married MonkeyBoy." Oh yes...the night that I HAD BEEN RAPED.

Lets just think about that for a minute...everything to do with the totally fucked up situation our mother had wilfully got herself and dad into is completely and totally your responsibility to have done something about and your fault that it occurred and as an example of your total failure and fuckup as a human being lets just drag out that time that you were such a total fuckup that you managed to get yourself raped and then WE HAD TO HEAR ABOUT IT.

I absolutely lost my shit at him, MonkeyBoy grabbed the phone off me and lost his shit at him, and my throat is stillhoarse from me screaming at him that I had no fucking brother anymore and never ever contact me again Its 12 hours later and I am still shaking. I dont think I have ever cried like that before, I really dont. I have never been so angry in my entire life. We got in the car and came down to the in-laws at midnight (a 90 minute drive) just to have some sane company.

He insinuated that I had something to do with mum's enormous credit card debt and then he actually demanded to know how I WANGLED being second agent for dad's Medical Power of Attorney and why he wasnt on there as third agent and why I didnt consider what would happen since I was pregnant and could be in labour, or under a general or or or... Well, fucktard, a) i wasnt even pregnant when the POA was signed, and b) you can only have two agents listed and c) you're on the other side of the fucking country and d) MUM WANTED ME AS SECOND AGENT.

He talked to me like I was one of his bloody suspects in a police interrogation. I have never heard such viciousness directed towards someone before. Even my ex was never that vicious and he was an alcoholic violent unmedicated manic-depressive. My own brother...

The only end to a text message that started as above is:

"Do not contact me again."

***The End***

Some Very Late Night Rhetorical Questions Because I Cant Sleep For Angryness

How the bloody fuck does a woman on an Aged Pension (ie Sod All income) qualify for 3 credit cards with the same institution all with a credit limit of $20,000 and then proceed to rack up a credit card debt of FORTYFIVETHOUSANDDOLLARS at EIGHTEENPERCENTINTEREST????

Why does a woman who has refused all medical attention for 18 months and brought herself and her husband to the brink of death even get the freaking OPTION of saying "No" to any medical test that will determine the true state of her health once she is in hospital???? I'm sorry, but you "WONT HAVE A CT SCAN BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU HAVENT HAD A STROKE"?????? And you're not in the Psych Ward WHY?????

And excuse me, but if you can ring BENNY HINN MINISTRIES and give them money and ask to be put on the PRAYER CHAIN why the fuck can't you ring the doctor who is THREE BLOCKS AWAY?????

And why should anyone believe you when you say you realise you did the wrong thing and you should've listened to your family and you are a stupid old woman and now you'll accept any help you can get WHEN YOU GET HOME when you come out with crap like b) above. Will accept any help...wont have a ct scan because you havent had a stroke. Am I the only person on the planet who sees righ through this ridiculous charade?????

These and other unanswerable questions circle continuously through my brain at 2am. Stupid fucking caffeine.

In Which She Realises Her Life Is Coming Precariously Close To Being Described As A Trainwreck

Right, so back to the story....

Mum and dad both in hospital. Dad is doing as well as you could expect for someone with severe dementia, incontinence, lack of proper nutrition and a possible cancerous growth under his eye that wasnt there three months ago. He is very confused, doesnt know he's in hospital when he's talking to me and is so thin...SO thin... Mum...well they are testing her for all sorts of stuff. He electrolyte levels and blood chemistry were so screwed up it was life threatening. In fact she probably would have been dead within 24 hours if she hadnt been brought in when she was. Her legs are being treated with IV antibiotics and bandaging, her hip (from 16 months ago) is fractured (THANK.YOU!) and her knee is dislocated or possibly there is a torn ligament, they havent even looked further than "its not broken" at this stage. Today or Monday she will be given a CT scan to check for evidence of a stroke. She will have a dementia screen, be assessed by an Occupational Therapist, be given physiotherapy and (on my request) will be given a psych assessment. And then...then...if she has what they call Testimentary Capacity, which is the ability to make a decision EVEN IF ITS ONE THAT PUTS HERSELF OR OTHERS IN DANGER she is allowed to go home. Do I even need to comment on how I feel about this? Thought not.

This week has been hell.

This has not been helped at all by the following:

After running around like a headless chook and making numerous phone calls and having meetings with the appropriate doctors and social worker etc so that I actually know what is going on and have alerted the staff to the history, I get a text message from brother: "Mum very upset about U (his emphasis) putting her in a home. We should work towards getting them both home."

This particular message had Monkey Boy on the phone to the Fucktard letting him know exactly how insulted I was about this (since I'd never said a word to mum about this, and its up to the doctors anyway, apparently) and trying to make him aware of exaclty how bad the situation is. MB got exactly nowhere. HE thinks he can stick his oar in from 3000km away when he's seen them twice in the last 12 months and takes what mum says as the foundation upon which to base his assessment of their needs. Well you know what? If he thinks he knows whats best for them then let him deal with the ramifications of that.

Last night I had to take some things to mum from their house. It was 7.45pm. We'd been out all day. Spudly was tired, hungry, and in the car in the parking lot. With Monkey Boy of course. I was trying to get away as fast as possible but at 8.20pm when mum was still blathering about CRAP I said several times that I really.had.to.go.because.there.will.be.a.screaming.hungry.baby.in.the.car...well what else would one respond to that other than "forget about the baby, there are other things to think about besides the baby. It wont hurt him to let him scream."?

Did we get that folks?

Ignore the needs of your child and pay attention to me.

Umm..well...no, actually. You can go fuck yourself.

And this...this is after she has repeatedly told anyone who will listen that she didnt call me to ask for help because she didnt want to bother me when I had the baby to look after.

I dont know why that comment came like such a kick in the guts, but it absolutely floored me. Not helped, of course, by the line "now you have two children to look after" as I left.

Well, that's where you're wrong, mother dear. I have one child to look after, who is the most important thing in the world. There is NOTHING more important than him. HE is my child, he is my responsibility. You...you are a grown woman who has chosen to not be responsible for her own life anymore. You are not my child to look after, and I will not put my family through any of your bullshit just because you have decided to behave like a child.

Fucktardus Siblingii will be coming here at the beginning of December, at which point there will be a "Family Conference" with the entire medical team and mum and dad. Oh joy. A family conference. Duck and cover; this will be nasty.

Test

Testy testy test test

Site Feed

A brief note to those of you who read this blog via RSS feeds:

I have turned off my site feed to stop my posts appearing on the Bitacle site. From now on if you want to read this blog you actually have to visit me. Sorry 'bout that.

Pop by anytime. We have lots of coffee in the house.

The Crisis We Had To Have

My parents are both in hospital.

My mother fell AGAIN and very badly hurt her knee. Doctor was called. Ambulance was called. Doctor shocked at general state of mother aside from broken knee, ie ulcerated legs and general starvingness. I call friend. Friend goes round to make sure dad okay. Father extremely distressed at being left alone without only carer. Father chokes on food and vomits. Ambulance called. Father taken to hospital as completely unable to care for self.

Panda gets to hospital, barely recognises either parent.

They are skeletons. Its clear they havent been eating. My mothers legs are lumps of raw and rotting flesh. She says she hasnt been able to wash for weeks and hasnt slept for weeks either and looking at her its easy to see thats the case. My father looks like he's about a week away from dying. I spoke to her a week ago and all she said was that she had been sick with v bad gastro. With what I know now its obvious that it wasnt gastro, it was her body shutting down.

We were at the hospital til midnight last night. I've had three hours sleep. Its obvious that neither of them will be going home again. 3 months ago...3 MONTHS...a nurse at their doctors surgery was informed of the situation with them and an appointment was made for her to go around and attend to my mothers legs as a pretext for getting someone in the door to assess them. Its clear she never went. What the fuck is up with the health system that when the medical profession is informed of patients in dire medical need they do NOTHING???

I cannot get the smell of my mothers legs off my own skin.

I expect a phone call from the hospital saying that they have both died. And I think it would be a blessing for both of them if they did.

Scrape THIS Bitacle!

I intended posting on this issue today anyway, but something rather serendipitous has occurred to make this post even sweeter. I love a touch of irony in the mornings...

A couple of you may have noticed a little comment on the last post from a lovely visitor called Anonymous. For those who havent, let me publish it here:

Pero que puta eres, y tu hijo es un hijo de puta bastardo de mala madre.

The lovely Lioness happened to be online when I received this in my inbox this morning and reluctanctly translated it for me:

"What a whore you are and your son is a son of a whore, son of a bad mother."

Charming, innit?

Want to know who sent it?

Really guys, if you're going to centre your entire website around stealing other people's content, allow people to leave comments and then spam me with hateful abuse for daring to point out ON MY STOLEN BLOG that I dont really appreciate the fact that YOU HAVE STOLEN MY ENTIRE BLOG, then have then sense to cover your tracks when you visit my ACTUAL blog.

BITACLE, you scum sucking bastards, you may have blocked my IP address so I can no longer access your website from home, but you cant block every IP in the world. And have you really disabled the comments feature now so people cant leave comments on your website thinking that this is actually my blog? Since I cant access your website I had someone else do it for me. No comments feature anymore...gee wonder why??? But you're dumb enough to leave your email address up.

You're also dumb enough to scrape even this post and display it on your website WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

Please, next time you wish to abuse me for asserting my legal rights get your facts straight first: I never charge for sex.

We Are SO Hosed...

One day shy of his 7th month, Spudly decided that crawling is for chumps and stands up on his own and beats his toy box to death.


We are so not ready for this. Arent they supposed to crawl for at least a few months, just to get you ready for the idea that your house is actually a death trap?

Send help. And possibly restraints.

Okay, Okay...

I will stop ignoring the Blogger Dashboard button on my browser as it sits there all silent and accusing, waiting for monumental inspiration (or at least three active brain cells) to give me the impetus to post something deserving of anyone's attention.

Sure, there's stuff happening. It just doesnt strike me as particularly interesting stuff. I mean, does anyone really want to hear about my monumental attack of Salmonella courtesy of a rather large portion of Blue Castello cheese, which left me with a fever and not one ounce of fluid in my body for 48 hours, or all the work I've done in my garden weed pit jungle backyard that means we can not only see soil but can also plant stuff like vegetables in it - vegetables that our vast collection of earwigs and grasshoppers enjoy snacking on overnight - or the fact that doing lots of work outside means that no work gets done inside and therefore there hasnt been a clean work surface in the kitchen for about two weeks and its driving me INSANE. See, its just not interesting.

But in a vain attempt to rescue this from being one of those posts where one blogs about having nothing to blog about....

We have a TOOTH! We have clapping! We have independant standing up! It must be his magical wizard powers...

Sleepy

For so long I have said to myself "I really must do something with my photography again." And what have I done? Nothing.

No more! Lala alerted me to JPG Magazine, the website where amateur photographers can submit their best work for publication. After much tearing out of hair that my photos arent good enough, I submitted this shot of Spudly falling asleep at my boob for their next issue.

I sure would appreciate it if you'd go vote for my submission if you deem it worthy.

Fuck You, Universe!

FUCK YOU WITH A GREAT BIG STRAP-ON.

Still Alive But Trapped Under Something Small And Screaming

Yeh, good one. Blog about how you dont get to do anything that resembles your old life and all you are is a wiper of bums and noses and then not be able to do ANYTHING other that wiping bums and noses for three whole weeks.

Perhaps I should blog about how all I am is a lady of leisure with wads of cash.

So, you know, there's no time for tales of dering-do right now, because something much more important has come up.

The Spud has today reached the grand old age of six months. SIX MONTHS!!!! At exactly this time six months ago I was about to have the epidural inserted, having given up all hope of dilating all on my very own like a big girl, and it was still 13 hours to go before he was pulled out of my twat with the Salad Tongs From Hell.

Right now the Bestest Baby Ever can sit unaided, manipulate two objects at once, play independantly with his toys, babble incessantly but most importantly says "Mamma". He loves solid foods, adores avocado and should probably never again be given beetroot unless I particularly want all objects stained purple as it goes in or his butt stained black as it comes out.

In the first few weeks of his life, I kept wondering when my life was going to get back to normal. Oh the naivete! Now I know better: that this is the new normality. I cant wear dresses or flimsy tops that allow no access to boobs. I cant stay up past 9.30 or stay in bed past 6am. I cant eat all the cheese I want without there Being Consequences. I cant go to the movies without some major organising. I cant shop for new clothes because every time I go near Target he starts screaming. Dinner has to be eaten quickly or or god knows Someone will start crying and it will go cold. Long showers without worrying whats going on in the living room dont exist. The washing AND the dishes have to be done everyday because there is no time to stand at the sink for an hour catching up with every piece of cutlery we own. I consider where to go out for lunch based upon how baby-friendly their facilities are. I dont care if my clothes are covered in baby puke. I dont care that every decision I make has to take into account a small nuggety type person, and I dont care that I cant do all those things previously mentioned.

Right now he is sitting on the floor on his playmat looking at me and saying "Mamamamama" and smiling. Oh, okay, now he's straining. And now he's stinky.

Its normality. And I love it.

NAQ

Am feeling very despondent about my knee, which may or may not require surgery and we wont know for a month. If its no better then its scans and Orthopedic Surgeons and being shunted through the public health system. Yeh!

My life has become so much about looking after other people now that I’m starting to forget all the cool, not-so-cool, downright horrid and really wonderful things I used to do and be. Right now I’m a mother and a wife and a Minister For Everything and occasionally a real-life friend, but not often. My only way of re-connecting to the person I was pre-Enspudification is through my writing at this point. So here’s what I’m gonna do.

I’m gonna write a list of things about me, you let me know what you wanna hear about. Maybe one day Spudly will read this and find out that his mother was more than the ass-wipin’, spoon-feedin’, blower-of-noses and taxi service and was, at one point, quite cool.

1. My adventures in drug-taking.
2. Dodgy things I have done (other than point 1.)
3. How I met Monkey-Boy.
4. That time I took my university to the Supreme Court.
5. How I took on my bank over my mortgage contract and won.
6. Returning to finish high-school as an adult.
7. The real story of my battle with depression and anxiety.
8. My brothers’ suicides.
9. How I fucked up my back and spent 6 months not being able to walk.
10. Umm...there is no 10. Ask me a random question.

Because I Really Need This Right Now

So its not enough that Monkey Boy has one arm for the foreseeable future and I am Minister For Everything. I also have to go and get myself one of these.

Right knee.

Fuckin fuckitty fuck.

Its All About Me

Lala asked me to write her bio the other day, which I dutifully did. It got me thinking. What do people know about me from just reading this blog. What impression do I leave? And how much does that relate to reality?

Lala responded in kind with the following witty missive.


Married to my twin
by Lala

Wait, that came out wrong.

She's married to a wonderfully intelligent, sensitive and funny man that she has, in the past, referred to as my twin.

THAT'S what I meant to say but I had to sensationalize to grab your interest, right?

No? Well, now that I have your attention, may I introduce the stunning and Gorm-endowed Panda.

Loving mother to Spudly, tolerant wife to the currently gimpy Monkey boy, confidante to roving infertiles (be they from the East or West coasts of Canadia), lover of caribou, cats and candy.

She's a renaissance woman with a deep intellect and sharp wit but not currently in possession of window screens. Some of her many talents include button hunting and hat sewing. She's a licker of many stamps but best of all, she calls me her friend.


What about it folks? What do you know about me? Write me a bio.

Crikey! What Was That?

Well, a stingray, as it turned out.

We all knew it was going to happen at some point. Go around sticking your fingers up an animal's butt and one of them is gonna get a mighty pissed at some point.

A lot of people loved him. Some people here where mighty embarrassed by him. I think Steve Irwin was one of those rare people who walked the walk along with talking the talk. He brought conservation and wildlife preservation to the public, made it accessible, made it watchable. More than that, he put his money where his mouth was and bought up huge tracts of land and made sure that they would be preserved.

Despite his unbelievable celebrity, he remained a regular bloke who you can imagine having round to your bbq and drinking all your beer. His death is a huge loss to the wildlife conservation movement, and to this country.

We'll miss you, mate.