Memories of My Paternal Grandfather

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today is National Grandparents’ Day in the United States. I heard of this a few days ago when looking for inspiration for my blog, but didn’t feel like writing about the topic at the time. Now, the subject returns in Marsha’s 10 on the 10th post. This is a meme in which Marsha asks ten questions related to a particular topic of the month. Rather than answer all ten, I’m going with one of them, which is to share a favorite memory involving your grandparent(s).

I have shared about my paternal grandmother a lot of times already. She was certainly my favorite grandparent. Today though, I’m going to share about my paternal grandfather.

My paternal grandparents divorced in 1973, years before I was born. They didn’t have much contact since, as all of their children were adults by that time. In fact, I can’t remember a birthday or holiday when they visited my family on the same day.

My paternal grandfather was a radio technician during his working life. He knew a lot about all sorts of science and tech things. Indeed, my parents tell me I acquired my first spoken word from him. As the story goes, my father and grandfather were discussing aviation and, at one point, either of them mentioned the word “aircraft industry”. I, then ten-months-old (seven months corrected for prematurity), parroted: “Aircraft industry.” This, my parents see as a sign of my being a genius. Most of my psychologists in my adult life have seen it as one of the early signs of autism.

My paternal grandfather was probably on the spectrum himself too (as is my father, though he doesn’t care about diagnoses). We had these traditions built into his visits with us. One of them was him always giving my sister and me ƒ5 each. At one point, when my father had probably decided we were too old for this, our grandfather put the coins in a very hard to open money-box with transparant sides, so that we could see our money but not reach it. I am pretty sure I had a tantrum over it.

My grandpa had a small motorized boat. Well, large enough to sleep in. My sister once went on a week-long sleepover on the boat with him. Mid-way through it, my parents and I visited them and we sailed IJsselmeer a bit. I was both scared and excited, as we could leave the boat when it was anchored and have a swim around.

I went to grammar school, the type of high-level high school I attended, in 1999. My grandfather had attended grammar school back in the 1930s, so he gave me some kind of a button with “grammar school 1” written on it.

By that time, age 75, my grandfather started thinking he was suffering from dementia. My father brushed it off, saying he probably thinks he has dementia when he doesn’t remember the most difficult of the Latin words he learned in grammar school. As it turned out, my grandpa was right after all, as he was diagnosed with pretty advanced dementia in late 2001, age 77. At this point, he needed to be placed in a nursing home. He died not even eighteen months later. Now that I know more about dementia, I know that the stage of not recognizing people and having no short-term memory whatsoever, is by far not the first stage of dementia. I realize now too that my paternal grandmother probably suffered from mid-stage dementia too, but died of another cause before entering the phase at which point my grandfather was diagnosed. It is truly tragic that my grandfather wasn’t taken seriously.

I Am My First Priority: Intentions for Focusing on My Quality of Life

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I paged through The Goddess Journaling Workbook again yesterday and saw the first prompt: “I am my first priority”. Okay, I did write about it already back in 2020, but I think I need to revisit it and set intentions for putting myself first. I know, we are often taught, especially in more conservative circles, that we need to put others first (or after Jesus, but ourselves last, in any case). Then some more leftist folks teach us about self-love as if it’s about essential oils and vegan smoothies. Which it could be, but this is not what I mean. Rather, self-love means being true to our own values over those imposed upon us by others. And that doesn’t need to be selfish.

Now of course I need to determine my values. I’ll narrow those down to what my major point is for being in care, ie. my main goal. This is quality of life. This may be obvious to most people who aren’t involved in the care system and it should be obvious to those who are too, but for many, the presumption of competence or the need to manage daily crisis behavior clouds their vision towards quality of life. In fact, I’ve even seen one care agency state that their aim is to “maintain and where possible promote” quality of life in their clients. Well, this is wording I’d expect to go with “independence”, not “quality of life”, since truthfully, quality of life can always be promoted.

So what does quality of life mean to me? It means that I decide what I spend my limited energy on. This doesn’t mean lazing around all day doing nothing and it doesn’t mean I won’t ever improve on my ADLs at all either. What it means is that I take the lead, focusing on my daily level of energy. I told one of my staff the other day that I would prefer if she doesn’t tell me to do something independently, but rather invites me by asking me whether I want to do it independently. In that case, she’s much more likely to get me to actually do it, as I don’t feel the pressure of her expectation, because I can say “No” if I don’t have the energy at that point.

It also means that I decide what activities to do during my allocated activity time. In my current care home, I have been sometimes not even consciously adapting to staff’s preferences for activities way more than I feel comfortable with. For instance, I’ve been taken on grocery shopping trips for the staff’s personal needs under the guise of an activity more than a few times. I eventually put a halt to that, saying I would only go if I too needed something from the supermarket. Another, even more frequent, example is my playing endless card or dice games because I’m assigned a new temp worker who comes across like they’re just here to pass the time. Yesterday, I was assigned one of those and had had it with dice and card games, so I thought, screw it, we’re making a smoothie. It turned out absolutely delicious!

It also means being intentional with my unsupported times. This means rather than mindless scrolling, doing actual reading, watching or listening online. I fully intend on blogging or at least journaling more often. If I can stop caring about my stats, maybe I can post here more often based on self-help journaling prompts. I didn’t collect those books for nothing, after all.

It means being constructive in my relations to my staff. It means being honest about my needs. For example, if a staff member (usually a new temp worker) causes me emotional flashbacks with something they do or say, rather than just telling them I feel in distress, I will hopefully be able to ask for a more trusted staff to intervene for a few minutes (which isn’t the same as demanding I be supported by all trusted staff).

Finally, I will also be constructive in contributing to my crisis signaling plan once it is revised at the new care home. My plan dates back to sometime in 2021 I believe and was immediately thrown out by my former support coordinator here because “it doesn’t work at this home”. What “works” here, however, doesn’t work for me, but that doesn’t mean my plan will be fully useable at my new care home. I will try to understand the staff’s perspective when updating the plan, but will still put myself first.

August 2023 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s the last day of the month, so it’s time for my monthly reflections. Overall, August was slightly better than July, but it’s still been quite a tough month. Honestly, it’s been quite a tough year so far.

My spouse’s car broke down a few weeks ago, so we weren’t able to see each other each week this past month. Last Sunday, though my spouse did visit me, it was in my mother-in-law’s car. Thankfully, the car has been fixed for now.

My mother-in-law also only visited me once this past month despite there being five Tuesdays in August and her normally visiting me every other Tuesday. On the 1st, she had to work and on the 29th, a new horse was delivered. The story behind her having gotten a new horse is a bit sad, in that one of her horses, Remco, passed away suddenly last month. I mean, he was already crippled, so could only step around a bit, but still his death was unexpected. The new horse is a young mare called Marrit.

Now on to my own life. It’s been boring. I’ve been mostly waiting to find out more about the move. Last Sunday, my support coordinator told me that I’ll move within six weeks, probably sooner. I honestly have mixed feelings about the whole thing. Obviously, I try to remind myself it can’t be worse than here, but what if it isn’t any better either? Will I be expected to magically flourish there just because it’s not this home? I’m hoping, of course, that I will eventually flourish, but this isn’t going to happen magically. Indeed, this requires work, both on my part and on the part of the staff.

I also, like I mentioned yesterday, have had an increase in flashbacks to my childhood trauma. Of course, I could hope this will lessen when (if?) I’m in a calmer environment, but still I’m pretty sure they won’t disappear without support.

In the health department, I’m doing pretty well. I had a meeting with the dietitian yesterday and she asked me not to lose any more weight. I’m not sure how to do this, truthfully, as I’m eating well overall. There’s also this thought at the back of my mind telling me that I could still lose 10kg and be at a healthy BMI. Besides, I still have quite a lot of abdominal fat and watched some YouTube videos a while back that mentioned the dangers of internal obesity. Then again, the dietitian told me there’s very little I can do about this. The YouTube videos tell me otherwise, but then again my healthy voice is telling me (or at least I’m assuming it’s my healthy voice) that following those YouTubers will just lead to extreme restricting, which will probably just cause me to relapse into bulimia. I’m still struggling intensely with all the things diet culture tells me about what to eat and not to eat to preserve my health and, at the same time, my dietitian has one foot right inside diet culture as well. After all, my food plan was a classic weight loss plan up until I reached a healthy BMI. Heck, the very fact that I mention the BMI here shows how much I’m into diet culture. I want to unlearn this, but I’m not sure how.

With respect to other health factors, I’m doing okay. I walk more than I did in July, have been swimming again and went on the stationary bike occasionally. That being said, I do worry about a decline in my mobility. This could be the YouTube videos again, which told me a loss of arm swing could be a sign of overall decline. I have absolutely no idea whether my arm ever swung at all though. That being said, my drop foot seems to be getting worse too.

I did finally get the eczema on my legs treated. I also got a slight infection on the skin of my earlobes, where I had my ears pierced in early July. I’m currently on a course of an antibiotic ointment, so hoping that’ll work.

In the crafty department, I haven’t been very active. I did create a lot of unicorns out of polymer clay, but they were all done using cutters, not sculpted. I intend to paint them and use them as gifts for my fellow residents when leaving this home.

I’m linking up with What’s Been On Your Calendar? (#WBOYC).

Decisions Made for Me

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all. I’m joining Denyse’s #WWandPics once again. This week, she talks about the letter D words that relate to her, among which “decisions”. I wanted to write about decisions too, but this time, about the reality of decisions being made for you. This may not happen to non-disabled adults much, but it happens to me all the time.

Like with my upcoming move. I know next to nothing about my future care home and, when I told my assigned staff that this frustrates me, she pointed out that I’ll move there anyway so how would giving me more info help?

Honestly, I wish I were given some way to have any level of input into the process. I know the reason the powers-that-be have decided to give me no choice is probably because they feel I’m too critical anyway. They believe I’m looking for the perfect home, which they and I know doesn’t exist given my rather complicated care needs.

They always tell me that I wanted to leave the care facility in Raalte, which was near-perfect compared to my current one. I did, in a way. That is, I wanted to have a discussion with the behavior specialist to explore the possibility of me finding another care home. That’s not the same. And they were the ones not being up front with me about all the things I’d lose if I wanted to live on institution grounds and have fellow clients with whom I could speak. They may’ve technically allowed me to make the decision to move here, but they gave me the bare minimum amount of information to make that decision.

Now they’re not letting me make a decision at all. It makes me feel intensely powerless and that’s a really distressing feeling. And who will be in trouble if my behavior doesn’t improve? Yup, me. Some staff have come to call me spoiled, in fact, so the burden is on me to show them I can handle whatever this new home has to offer. If I can’t, well, too bad, then I either have to learn to live with the decisions made for me or find myself another way to cope.

Colors, Changes and Connections

Posted on by Astrid

Today, I am joining Denyse’s #WWandPics link-up. Denyse apparently has been sharing posts following an alphabetical theme. Today, she talks about the letter C. I could do this alphabet thing too, but then I’d have to start at A. Instead, I’m taking inspiration from her “C” words to write my post.

Denyse’s first “C” word is “change”. Of course, things are changing in my world too, though I’m not yet sure when. I got informed last Saturday that my new care home will keep my current day schedule for now. That’s in spite of the fact that it apparently indeed does cover two hours more care a day than I get funding for. I still don’t fully understand the technicalities, but I don’t really care, as the number of support hours I get according to my day schedule was never the problem. It was how cut up into at most 60-minute activity blocks it is. It’s okay though. Better than the alternative my staff have been suggesting, saying I need to find a way to cut back on those two hours and go down to 30-minute activity blocks.

I asked my support coordinator about having a care plan review. We haven’t had one in nearly two years due to my moving to my current home right when my last review was due. My support coordinator is going to get the new one to schedule a review once I’m settled there and he will attend too.

He also finally sent my mother-in-law an activation code to access the daily reports on me and my care plan. As far as my mother-in-law is concerned, they mostly report really superficially. For those who are wondering, back several years ago it was agreed upon that I wouldn’t get access because it might cause distress, but I did want someone in my family to have access especially now that I’m struggling significantly. Most daily reports apparently go something along the lines of “mostly had a good day, slightly stressed over ___”. I don’t know whether it’s deliberate, but that’s certainly downplaying my distress.

The support coordinator for the new home did ask my current support coordinator to confirm what color paint I want on my wall, despite the fact that I’m pretty sure I already told him through my mother-in-law. It will be pink, since lilac wasn’t available. Truthfully, all other colors except maybe blue sounded awfully ugly to me. And yes, despite being blind, I do have some concept of color from when I could still see a little.

Through all this change, I am happy about my online connections. I have multiple disabilities, so am in Facebook groups for various conditions. I am also in a few Facebook groups for former preemies or NICU babies in general. The Dutch one is organizing a get-together in September. I sent the organizer an E-mail to sign up, then decided to ask some further questions in the Facebook group. As far as I’m aware, the get-together will be held in a café-style meeting room, so I’ll most likely be able to get the ParaTransit taxi driver to get me right to where I need to be. On the one hand, I’m reminding myself that I used to attend the DID charity meetups independently each month from 2011 till 2013 and even rode the train there by myself. On the other hand, it’s 2023, not 2013 and I’ve probably declined cognitively at least a little. Then again, if I don’t try, I’ll never know if I can do this. I would really love to connect to other NICU survivors, as honestly I’m beginning to realize I might not be alone in experiencing significant attachment issues and they might in fact have started this early on.

July 2023 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s the last day of the month and this means it’s time for my monthly reflections. As usual, I’m joining in with What’s Been on Your Calendar? (or #WBOYC for short).

This month was a toughie once again. All I had to keep me going was an E-mail from the behavior specialist at the end of June saying that they were still investigating a possible new home for me, so I hadn’t been forgotten. This didn’t do much to perk me up, honestly. At the beginning of the second week of the month, my mother-in-law E-mailed her to request extra supports. We had been discussing her asking the behavior specialist to come round to talk to me every once in a while to keep me from spiraling further into crisis before, and in fact my mother-in-law had requested it before, but that message had not been responded to. This time around, it turned out the behavior specialist was on vacation till the end of the month. I’m pretty sure given her work schedule, she should be back tomorrow, but even though our E-mail was sent pretty early in her leave, I’m skeptical that she’ll respond then.

Of course, I did find out on the 23rd that a new home has been found for me. Like I mentioned last week, the way I found out about it was rather weird and I don’t know anything about the home other than what my care agency has on its website about it. A moving date hasn’t been set either as far as I’m aware and I won’t be informed till about two weeks in advance. My assigned staff asked me today whether I keep wondering when I’ll be moving. Yep, of course.

In other news, my support coordinator did leave the agency a few weeks ago. I can’t say I miss her, as I can talk to my new one much more easily. Still, I’m glad I’m leaving this place in the hopefully not too distant future.

I haven’t really been crafting much over this past month. The only thing I finished, in fact, is a bracelet with the glass beads I got from my mother-in-law for my birthday. Today, I did finally get round to claying once again. And got my hands all blue from handling alcohol inks without gloves.

I also didn’t walk as much as I did last month over this past month. I honestly don’t really care though.

Since iOS 16.6 resolved the Braille display bug that caused me to be unable to read books on my iPhone, I have been reading more over the past week. I also finally bought a blender, so yay for smoothies!

Here’s hoping August will be a better month than the past few months have been.

Dromaai: A Restaurant That Brings Me Nostalgia

Posted on by Astrid

One of today’s prompts for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop is to share about a restaurant that makes you nostalgic. I immediately thought of the restaurant in Nijmegen my spouse and I nicknamed the “dromedary”.

Its real name is Dromaai, which is wordplay on the Dutch word for turnaround. On the menu are various dishes where letters have been switched up. For example, fish stew would be called “stish few”.

I discovered the restaurant while in the psych hospital in the spring of 2008 and ate there with my family a few times. Then, in December of that year, I invited my now spouse there.

My spouse and I would see each other several times a week while I was in the hospital, often around dinnertime, and there wasn’t any food for my spouse in the hospital, of course. As a result, we had to eat out. Dromaai became a regularly-visited restaurant. My favorite dish was marinaded turkey on a skewer. I usually chose pepper sauce with it rather than the recommended BBQ. You could choose between a side dish of rice, baked potatoes or fries. I usually chose fries, but I did like the potatoes too.

In 2011, my spouse convinced me to try to become a vegetarian, so my favorite dish became a vegetable wrap. I gave up the vegetarian lifestyle after only about nine months and came back to my turkey skewer.

We stopped going to Dromaai when I moved to the psych hospital in Wolfheze in 2013. That is, we still went there occasionally. One time, I remember one of the workers – I think he actually was the manager or something, but he also did waiter jobs – asking us whether we’d moved and if so, where. I vaguely replied that we’d moved to the Arnhem area. “Arnhem, blegh,” he replied with a laugh, because as those from the Netherlands will know Arnhem and Nijmegen are rivals.

The last time I went to Dromaai, I went with my sister after our day at Sanadome, a wellness resort in Nijmegen, in 2018. I looked all over the menu, but to my annoyance, they’d done away with the turkey skewer. I ordered mixed grill instead, but didn’t like it nearly as much.

As a side note, don’t ask me how my spouse and I got to nickname Dromaai, “Dromedary”. My spouse has a habit of taking wordplay to the extreme though. I think it’s funny, but I realize it isn’t as I type this down now.

Mama’s Losin’ It

June 2023 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s the end of the first half of 2023. Wow, can you imagine? I’m joining What’s Been On Your Calendar? (#WBOYC). Here goes.

Honestly, I can’t remember much of the first few weeks of June, other than the fact that I was extremely motivated to get moving. I had signed up for two Apple Watch challenges. Suffice it to say that motivation quickly diminished and I finally broke my 300-odd day streak of reaching my movement goal yesterday. That is, I broke it last Saturday too but cheated by lowering my movement goal for that day.

In other respects, the month has been meh too. I only wrote twelve blog posts, including this one, and hardly have been crafting. I mostly spent my days playing dice and the odd card game. I think I might be depressed, but more likely it’s the shitty circumstances of living in my current care home.

However, I’m pretty sure my staff think I’m doing well, as I’ve been in the communal room more. The reason is mostly to connect to somewhat familiar people, because I’ve mostly been assigned completely new temp workers. When I try to communicate my discomfort with this, I’m usually met with rather curt remarks that the staff have no obligation to explain their decisions to me and then, when I spiral further into meltdown, I’m met with harsher and harsher actions from the staff.

The month of June is, of course, also my birthday month. I had my sister and her family over in Lobith last Saturday, which was okay, though a bit stressful. I spent Tuesday, which was my actual birthday, in Apeldoorn with my parents and spouse. I really loved the Thai food we ate.

In the health department, I have been doing okay. My cardio fitness level has been declining again, unfortunately and is now just barely in the below-average range. I gained a little weight too, but truthfully my weigh-in on May 31 showed the lowest weight I’d been in forever, so I’m not worried about that. After all, I’m still at a healthy BMI.

How was your June?

Getting Older, Being Happier?

Posted on by Astrid

Today’s prompt for Friday Faithfuls is aging. I used to think aging was scary. Even at the early age of four, I didn’t want my classmates to sing in a birthday song that I was growing up.

Then, a few years ago, I heard an episode of All in the Mind, an Australian psychology radio show (I listened to it as a podcast), about aging. In it, people were discussing the positive aspects of getting older and mentioned that, for people who got to age ninety or beyond, the happiest age they’d ever been in their entire life was 82. How they got to such an exact number, I don’t know, but I’ve since clung to that number. It helped that my assigned day activities staff at my old care home always said she was going to live to age 93. Since she is eleven years older than me, we had this inside joke about the two of us meeting up near the end of our lives when she was 93 and I was at my happiest ever, ie. 82.

There actually is, or so the people on the show said, some logic behind older people being happier than younger people. The reason is the fact that the amygdala, one of the parts of the brain responsible for registering fear, shrinks as we age.

Also, many people become more resilient as they experience more of life. Whether this is a biological, social or psychological thing or more likely a combination of all three, it does mean older people may be generally happier than those in their twenties and thirties, for example. Borderline personality disorder, also known as emotionally unstable personality disorder or emotion regulation disorder, of which I have some traits, tends to lessen as people get older as well. This lessening of symptoms usually starts in a sufferer’s early thirties. Indeed, though I cannot say I’m necessarily happier now that I’m nearly 37 than I was ten or twenty years ago, I am generally more emotionally stable.

Trust and Trustworthiness

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all. Today’s topic for Tranquil Thursday is trust. This topic is relevant to my life in so many ways.

Maggie starts her post with a quote which says that, for there to be betrayal, there has to have been trust first. This hits home quite hard. As someone who was at least partly rejected by my parents from infancy on, I am not sure I even remember what it is like to have had that basic sense of trust babies need. It may be for this reason that I never felt particularly affected when family members passed away. Even with my maternal grandmother, with whom I was quite close, I never even felt a sense of grief.

Then again, I did feel this sense of grief when my former assigned staff back at my old care home left her job at the care agency in July of 2022. She was the first person I’d ever fully trusted in my entire life. There were others at that care home whom I trusted almost as much.

I am pretty sure I’ll never trust a professional ever again. Not because of this staff, mind you, but because of the way the staff here at my current care home handle the relationship they have with us residents. Several staff have left their jobs here without ever saying a word and then I didn’t find out until after they’d left. Yesterday a staff I’d repeatedly talked about this to, left as well and I only found out, from his colleague, at the beginning of his last shift.

You may be wondering where my spouse is in all this. Well, I do trust my spouse not to betray me – in the sense of leaving me, mistreating me, or the like -, but it’s only been over the past few months that I’ve been able to truly be myself around my partner.

I am, generally speaking, a very distrustful person. When someone enters my life, their first impression has to be really good for me to have a positive idea about them and, when they mess up, I feel very easily betrayed.

With respect to being trustworthy myself, I’m not sure. I don’t think I am very trustworthy, but it isn’t intentionally. I mean, often I struggle with distinguishing between safe and unsafe people and in this sense end up putting myself at risk as well as potentially betraying my spouse. I remember one time a fellow patient at the psych hospital offering to hold my hand when guiding me and he commented about our spouses not liking this if they saw it. I up till that point was cool with this man as a peer and I initially didn’t see the signs that I was firstly betraying my spouse and secondly also possibly being groomed.

In addition, I can be quite impulsive and dysregulated. I’ve told my spouse that I’m leaving too many times to count. I understand my spouse sees this as significant betrayal too. I know – and my spouse knows this too – that we are meant for each other, but still it probably comes across quite harsh.