Alcoholics and delinquent offspring

Sunday 28th March 2004.

My diary seems to have dropped to a once a week write up. I don't mind
though. This is the longest I've ever managed to maintain a diary. It's
been almost three years now. I don't have enough time to involve myself
with the writing sites and newsgroups anymore. That's a shame. It's not
just that I miss the writing side of it but I feel that I'm losing
touch with all my friends. I keep trying to find more time. People who
say, "I wanted to do that but I just don't have the time," really annoy
me. Steve Kane often says that to me. "I want to get back into it, but
I just haven't got the time." If something is important to you,
whatever it is, if it's something you want to do, then you find the
time. You buy the ingredients and you make the time if you have to. I
have had several attempts at keep up with all the other UKA and ABC
diaries. I gave up on reading and reviewing the stories ages ago when
it came to prioritising. I do well for a few days and I really enjoy
reading them. I make sure I comment on everything I read. There is
nothing more fascinating than someone else's life. Then I go one
morning and find there's another fifteen entries listed, one of them
will be a, War &;amp; Peace, saga like my entries and that's it.
They've run away with me again. Today, I pledge to read at least five
diary entries.

I've had a good weekend. Rick came here on Friday night. We had a
brilliant night. He decided early on in the week that he didn't want to
go out. So we arranged a quiet night in with a DVD. He arrived about
three, I made coffee. That's a must as soon as he walks through the
door. The man is fuelled by coffee. We had a kiss and cuddle and things
got pretty steamy. Marty was due in at three fifty and although we
could probably have squeezed in a, 'quicky' I didn't want to do that.
The sexual tension was pretty high and I suggested we go to Aunty Mo's
for a brew.

I'm worried about her. She's aged a lot in the four months since Iain
died. She's lost her bubbles, she's still lively and fun, but it's as
though she's playing at it now. The family want her to sell the family
home so that they can have their inheritance before she dies. The Hall
has been in the family for decades. It's a beautiful old building that
looks out over the hills. I remember when it was whole, one huge
building, one enormous garden. Now it's been split into flats as family
members have lopped off bits off it. JJ and Glen have made a lovely
home from part of it. My cousin's first wife has part of the ground
floor. Aunty Dilly has another big section and Aunty Mo has some of the
top floor. It's sad to see the old place broken into so many disjointed
pieces. Even the gardens have become divided. If Mo sells up and
leaves, it won't be the Hall anymore, it will just be a collection of
houses. With the revenue from the sale she's going to build a granny
flat onto our Petra's house. That will greatly increase the value of
their property and serve as her share of the inheritance. Leah and Dan
will get money to an equal value and aunty Mo will have whatever's
left. She asked me what I thought of the idea. I'm glad she brought the
subject up. Leah had already told me about it. I told her to go with
whatever feels right to her, but that I think the idea stinks. If the
flat's too big or remote for her, why can't she buy a smaller place
near to Petra if that's what she wants to do? It's only a few months
ago that our Leah was wanting her to sign her money over to them in
case she has to go into a home. It seems to me, that with her sudden
decline, they are terrified that they aren't going to get her money.
She seems to have aged about fifteen years in four months, but she is
still a very young old lady. They think she's developing Alzheimer's,
but she's always been nuts. She's no more batty than she has been for
the last twenty years. She wore odd boots into town and dyed her pubic
hair red, earning her the nickname, Rusty. That's not Alzheimer's,
that's just her. She's radge. They've always been a mercenary lot and
I've never known anyone more money minded than Leah. Most people wait
for their loved one's to actually die before fretting over their share
of the money. A few years ago Mo was a bit strapped after she left her
second husband. She owed me the final thousand pounds payment from some
property I sold her. She needed money, I didn't, so I told her to
forget about it. It's a grand that I didn't need at the time. It made
me feel good and helped her. I love my aunty Mo, so do her kids, but
they seem very money obsessed. Mo has spent most of her life looking
after our Jack, she could spend the next few years spending some money
and having some fun travelling. Mo needs someone to look after, that's
her nature. Instead of moving in with Petra I think she should take on
a lodger. She could keep her home. She'd have someone to cook and wash
for, and if it was a young professional bloke, he wouldn't be reliant
on her. She says she doesn't want to do that. I suppose she'd be
apprehensive about who she'd end up with.

Monday 5th April 2004

The last entry was cut off in its prime though some crisis or other
that I can't even remember. Life is full of ups and downs recently. So
what's new eh? Should we do some summarising? It would take reams to
write up my recent life.

Rick: fantastic.

Sex: good and getting better all the time.

Weight: going well.

Faber and Faber: rejected the new book. The story was fantastic the
writer was crap.

Marty: acting up. He's knocking about with David again. That says it
all.

Rick came over with two of his friends last weekend, Lesley and Bob. We
went out and did my favourite night out in Barrow. I intended to take
them all over the place but we hit one divey pub, they liked it and we
stayed there all night. Rick and Bob were pathologically wary of the
karaoke. After much coaxing, towards the end of the night, we got them
on it. It's just a pity it was the end of the night, they, and Bob in
particular, would have been on the karaoke all night if they could. On
Saturday when Rick was leaving he asked me to go back with him for the
night. It was lovely.

Today has been a nightmare. Marty played up while I was at Rick's
'rearranging' the childcare arrangements I had made for him to suit
himself. Because he made alternate arrangements, it meant that the
animals weren't seen to and were locked in the house unattended from
lunchtime Saturday to early evening Sunday. You can imagine what I
walked back into. I was furious with him.

Today, Mary arrived in a taxi. She only lives a few doors down on the
other side of the street. She has been ill for some weeks with an awful
chest infection. This has meant that she's been off work. This has
meant that she's started on the first Special Brew at six am. This has
meant that she's been pissed by ten am and has never been sober for
almost a month. This means that today she came down in an awful state.
I've had to throw my precious ABC Tales mug away. She vomited in it.
Can you believe that? She sat in front of me and puked into my
mug!

Now, for anyone who has never suffered a proper phobia they will not
understand how devastating this was for me. Bugger her, she pukes all
the time and is used to it. I was stunned. I asked her in horror if she
was going to be sick again. Not, "Oh, Mary, are you alright love?" She
nodded that she was and I screamed at her to get out of the house. She
just sat there and started to be sick again making absolutely no
attempt to move off the setee whatsoever. I ran out and took refuge in
my car. I could not go back in the house. I sat for two hours shaking
like a maraca, balking (though I wasn't actually sick) and panicking. I
wanted to go to Martha's shop for a brew and to calm down. But I could
neither drive nor walk. Marty said I was as white as a sheet and,
during that time, even Mary looked healthier than me. I had an
appointment with my dietician at one. By twelve, I was feeling a bit
better and told myself to go and get a bath ready to go to the
hospital. I started to tremble again and couldn't go in the house. It
took me another half an hour to psyche myself up enough to walk through
the door. She had been sick in my washing up bowl (also thrown out) and
my sink. I know this sounds stupid to anyone reading, but I seriously
considered ripping the sink out and buying a new unit. That's how
strong my fear of vomit is. Rick said that things can be washed. Not
when they've been puked in they can't.

That was just the start of my bad day.

My appointment with M went well. As usual, she sat and laughed at me as
she told me off. The weight loss is excellent and I was three pounds
above my self imposed target, eleven pounds above hers ( or below
target if that's the way you want to look at it), so that made me very
happy. I do have a problem though. I've been having some quite serious
hair loss. I wasn't too worried and knew it was down to poor diet. My
hair is so thick that I can stand to lose plenty. I haven't taken my
vitamins for weeks. They make me feel so sick.

M read me the riot act. She told me that if I don't do something now
about my nutrition I'm going to go bald and lose my hair and teeth.
Well, if she puts it like that ?

I came home and took my vitamin. It's like a flipping torpedo and I've
always felt terrible five minutes after taking it. After feeling iffy
from earlier anyway, I was very wary. I made a sort of vitamin
sandwich. I had half a packet of mini cheddars, then took my vitamin
and then had the other half a pack of cheddars. I'd just taken the
tablet when Rick rang. I explained that I could talk for a couple of
minutes but I was expecting to feel ill very quickly. Twenty minutes
later, I realised that I didn't feel sick at all. After hanging up the
phone I had the rest of the cheddars to absorb the vitamin capsule and
felt brilliant ? sussed it. Now, I want a twelve month supply of mini
cheddars adding to my prescription. I wonder if Rick would love me
bald, gummy and nail less?

I took Mary to the doctors at four o clock. She hadn't had a drink all
day and by this time was in serious de-tox. The doctor told her she was
about to die. She only wanted a sick note but came out on 192 mg's of
Chlomethiazole six times a day. The doctor wouldn't entrust her with
the medication so asked me if I'd keep them at my house and take
responsibility for them. It put me right on the spot and I felt I had
no choice but to say yes. I came home, took Mary to her house and got
her settled on the sofa. When I got home I started to worry. Mary can't
be trusted not to sneak drink. If she has as little as two pints on
this medication (heavy duty shit) she will have seizures and die. Both
the doctor and I explained this to her several times.

I felt completely responsible or her well being and decided that the
only option I had was to move her in here for the duration of her
convalescence.

But I have Marty to consider. No child should have to witness someone
going through the trauma and agony of withdrawal. I felt flummoxed.
Both Rick and Matha said that I should hand her over to the Social
Services and let them deal with her. The thing is care is not laid on
for alcoholics. I have many alcoholic clients but they always have
other conditions that have granted them their care. If every alcoholic
was given a hospital bed to dry out the country would come to a
standstill. Even if there was something that SS could do for her, I
couldn't do that to Martha. She is highly strung and can't cope with
people. She has severe panic attacks and wouldn't adapt well to outside
intervention.

She is going to vomit a lot.

She's probably going to mess herself

She already wets the bed sometimes when she's bad.

She can't manage my stairs in her current state, so would have to pee
in a bucket.

I couldn't give her either of the lad's rooms, which left two options,
either my room or my sofa's. I'd have to buy a new bed afterwards. I
didn't want to do either. I even considered, for a moment, bringing
Cli's bed downstairs for her.

It wouldn't be fair on Marty.

It's going to be hell until she's dry.

Once she's moved in, it might become a permanent arrangement.

I wouldn't be able to write a word. Even her presence is a
distraction.

She's light fingered sometimes.

I'd hate for Marty to see her die here.

And I plain don't want her moving in.

But ? if I don't bring her here she might have a seizure and there will
be nobody there to help her. I felt a tremendous burden of
responsibility. And a lot of guilt.

I didn't know what to do for the best.

Finally I rang her doctor back and told him that I felt very pressured
into an unfair position. He was lovely. He told me that I had
misunderstood what he'd said completely. As I'm a qualified nurse he
asked me to take responsibility for doling out her medication to her.
No more than that. He said that anything I took on after that was
entirely up to me. He said that he couldn't tell me what to do but that
he strongly advised against me bringing her to live in my home with a
child there.

It was just like going to confession. I felt absolved.

He told me exactly what Rick and Martha had told me, but hearing it
from her doctor made me feel a lot better about things. I didn't feel
that I had to be responsible for her. I've made a decision that no
matter how bad she gets I'm not bringing her to stay here. I'll take
her medication up to her house with her meals and she can come down for
a few hours if she's up to it (and not vomiting) after lunch. I'll help
her to keep clean, if she needs it, and do a bit of housework for her.
I'll do what I can to help her, but anything more than that is up to
her. If she chooses to have a drink then that's her choosing. If she
dies anyway, then it is her time and the damage had been done a long
time ago.

No sooner had that been sorted out than I had a phone call. It was our
Sian. She said that she didn't want to get Marty into trouble but if
the tables were turned she'd want to know about it. Over the last few
weeks, any time that I've been out of ear shot and Marty could get to
the phone (landline) he's been ringing David on his mobile. Sometimes,
if I've been upstairs writing or very early in the morning, he's been
on the phone for over an hour. I am terrified of my next phone bill.
Marty has deteriorated dramatically behaviour wise since he's been
knocking about with our David. It happens every time he sees him. He's
become manipulative, sneaky and sly. He's lying and being dishonest. I
don't know what to do for the lad.

I took Mary some supper and her medication at nine o clock. I'd made
her a small bowl of chicken soup and a slice of toast. She has a small
appetite and eats very little. "Ooh, I can't eat that," she said
screwing her nose up. I told that she either ate it herself or I was
going to feed it to her, her choice. She took the first mouthful and
then wolfed it down. Those tablets are amazing. She looked a hundred
and fifty percent better. She still had a tremor but it was nothing
compared with earlier in the day. She said she felt a lot better and
she certainly looked it.

Of course she's not better at all. The drugs are just blanket masking
the symptoms but she feels better and that's fantastic. She has just
done her first full day without drink. It's been hell for her but she's
come through it. She's a weak woman, she has little resilience or
fortitude but she's come through her first day. I feel really proud of
her. I'm just dreading tomorrow.

Today, because I'm going to try and eat a bit more, I had a rasher of
bacon, an egg and half a sausage. I did good.

Rick suggested that we go out for a meal this weekend. I think he was
joking but I've decided that I want to. I think I can do it. I know
he's worried about me not eating. And I admit I've been very bad lately
and have been eating next to nothing. The truth is though that I still
have a lot of reserves that I'm using up and I feel absolutely
brilliant.

Until this weekend, I hadn't seen Bob, Rick's son, for a few weeks.
When he saw me, he said that I'd lost so much weight that he thought I
was a different woman. Smooth talking devil. He's a love.

I'm going to have a long talk with Marty tomorrow to see if we can get
to the bottom of what's bothering him. I don't know what to do with him
or how best to punish and help him. I just want him to be happy.