Dr. Mamalegato

This past summer was supposed to be my “push to the finish line” and “bring ‘er home” summer. I was originally supposed to submit my thesis (this past) Friday, September 29. But things got a little complicated. and I asked for (and was granted) an extension. Sometimes I need to be hit over the head with a sign or two to really understand that just because I had planned something to go a certain way and I WANTED something to go a certain way- it might not necessarily work out like that.  My summer went something like this;

My summer went something like this;

May- Finish teaching gigs and gear up to get this PhD puppy DONE.

Last week of May, out of the blue, and within the space of a week,  the ol’ man (that would be my husband) discovers something is not feeling quite right, goes to the doctor, is rushed through a myriad of tests, is diagnosed with testicular cancer, has surgery to remove the cancer and returns to work 3 days later (even though the doctor had recommended 3 weeks off)

One week later, I get a call that my elderly father is very ill, has been admitted to hospital, has a “do not resuscitate” order on his chart and that I should get there pronto. I hastily book a flight and traverse the country to be with him. He improves but I spend a good part of 2 weeks in the hospital advocating for him.

During the first week I am there, I receive a call from my brother’s social worker (he is schizophrenic and has long been under the care of a mental health team while living independently in a specially designated building for those with mental health challenges). My brother, I am told, has early-onset dementia. He cannot live independently and will be moved into a group home.

My Mother has advanced dementia and has lived in a full-time care facility for four years. My grandmother had it, as did her sister, my great aunt.

During the second week, I am “home” to care for my Dad, I get a call from another hospital saying my oldest (61-year-old) brother is there. I had had lunch with him earlier in the week, he seemed fine I couldn’t imagine what could be wrong.

I arrived at the hospital and was escorted into ICU to find out he had overdosed on heroin. He was (I thought) a recovering addict. He had been (I thought) clean for 12-15 years.

He stayed in the hospital 2 weeks with sepsis (a blood infection from the intravenous drug use). My Dad got stronger, I got him settled back home, arranged home care, sold his car…my other brother was placed in a group home. I visited my Mum one last time before I flew back to my other “home”. Mum has no idea who I am, but she seemed happy for the company, I didn’t tell her about Dad and my brothers. she cant comprehend anything like that anyway– I’m glad I didn’t have to tell her all that.

Back home, with my ol’ man and the kids (he reminded me, or rather ribbed me about the fact that he had cancer as I was off looking after my father, mother and brothers…)

We spent a lovely 4 days on a lake because that is all we could afford financially and time-wise. The day after we got home. I was grocery shopping and planning out the rest of my “summer”…Kids were occupied with camp and activities and I was clear to write the bejeebers out of my thesis. The grocery cart was full when I realized I needed frozen mango for my ultra-healthy brain boosting green smoothies– I left the cart with the ol’ man and turned to go back to the freezer section when BAM! I go flying, I feel (although it was so intense I swear I heard it too) a POP! in my left leg- and the next thing I remember I was lying, screaming in a pool of cold water from a leaky freezer. An ambulance was called- I was carted off, put on morphine and told I had torn a hamstring.

That is when I realised that sometimes a little re-jigging is for the best. That is when I had to accept that the universe was essentially begging me to just STOP. Wait a gall-darn minute– Re-jig– you are NOT submitting September 29, 2017.

March 29, 2018 it is then.

Home again, home again jiggity-jig…

 

 

 

 

 

Everyday I wake up with the intension of having this kind of day– one where I am “learning at the edge of what I already know”– I needed this, need these kind of goals working to have more days with “sustained flowing, thinking and writing/talking over time”– except in my PhD work I am alone much of the time so much of the talking with have to be to myself!

What is a good academic day? What happens to make you go home/leave the office and say to your partner or cat/dog/budgie – I had such a good day today. I’ve come to the rather obvious conclusion that my good academic day is one where I actually get to do “proper scholarship”. My good day […]

via a ‘good academic day’ — patter

This year-  I am home for Mother’s Day- but I leave for another PhD trip in just a couple of weeks… this time I will be gone three weeks, total. I have to fly out on my daughter’s birthday and I will miss my youngest son’s birthday. It is always something. I work hard to schedule around school concerts, graduations, First Communions, but with six kids I miss something “important”  on every trip. It doesn’t get easier being away, in fact I would say it gets harder with every time I get on a plane. Sure, I am more organized, and maybe even the household runs much more smoothly when I am away now, compared to when I started three years ago. They’ve got it figured out, but the missing them all like crazy? I don’t think I will ever figure that out.

Here’s a little something I wrote when I was away last year;
As much as I tried to talk myself into believing that this was just going to be another day, I woke up feeling very aware that it is, (at home, not here) Mother’s Day, and that being 7,500 kms away from my own mum and 5,000 kms away from my kids, stinks. People often say things to me like, “Six kids! You must get spoiled rotten on Mother’s day!” but we’ve always happily rejected the “send Mom to the spa for the day” or “lavish Mom with jewelry” type of celebration. At our house it is always low key, and always includes things like, sweetly made crepe paper tulips or a carefully cut out construction paper card in the shape of a tea pot with a real tea bag tapped inside, sometimes there are flowers, and there is always a special meal (cooked by me, because, not to toot my own horn, but I am the best cook in the house), shared around the table with my old man on one end, me on the other, three of them to the right of me and three to my left. But today, not to sound like too much of a Debbie-downer, there will be none of that. As I sat having my coffee in front of the “telly” this morning contemplating that maybe I “deserved” a little “me time” and rolling up into a ball on the couch to watch a marathon of British gardening shows, seemed, momentarily, like a really good plan, I knew, in order to nip this pity party in the bud I needed to get up and get moving, or else, my whole reason, for being so far away from my family would all be for naught. I decided to go for a run along Birmingham’s Canal to clear my head and get my academic mojo flowing. 
A few minutes into my run, and what do I see swimming right alongside me the edge of the water? A Canadian Goose with her six sweet and fluffy goslings swimming behind her! (I am not making this up!) So, somehow in my fragile emotional state, I thought it would be a good idea to lean in for a closer look, thinking she too would be excited to see ME, a fellow Canadian and Mother! We would smile knowingly at one another, maybe share a few Mama-Goose comments like, “you’ve got your hands full!” or “enjoy, in blink of an eye they will be all grown up” but instead, she gave me one of those violent, demonic “back off crazy lady!” hisses and hurried her chicks away from me.
I get it. I was a new Mom once too, and let me tell you, Goosey-Goosey Gander, you will loosen up and you will relax. With #1 I was reluctant to let anyone near him, let alone touch him, and by #6 I was pretty much tossing him at everyone and anyone who I thought may be able to complete the pass just so I could have a few minutes of peace. 
But today, as I turned to continue trudging along the canal I realized that for this Mother Goose, there nothing I wouldn’t do today to hang on to each and every one of my fluffy little goslings just a little longer. 
Happy Mother’s Day.