Facebook? Bah!

Doesn't do much for my Grumpy Old Man mode when a Facebook "friend" who hasn't called in more than a year invites me right out of the blue to join her on Farmville. You know who you are. Apparently it makes no difference whatsoever that in my profile I say quite explicitly that I never join stuff, add applications etc.
I am of course being a total hypocrite because if I hate it so much I could just delete my account, couldn't I...
Oh, and what about the fact that unlike IM platforms you cannot open your Facebook page in the Invisible mode. If you're in you're on. So that odious person you accepted as friend but really wouldn't cross the road to piss on him if he was on fire can immediately hit you up, because he is quicker on his keyboard than you on yours.
Facebook? Bah!!!

What shall We Do With Rude Tube Workers?

You who know my style, and let's face it, there are only a handful of you out there, will have noticed by now that I simply never, or rarely write about my work, or its politics thereof. Those who know me in the context of work (London Underground) know that I am a bit of a disciplinarian, to put it mildly. I am capable of having a laugh with anybody, but be late for your duty and you'll find that I take no prisoners. So you'll be forgiven if you're taken aback by what I'm about to say.
Lay off the "Rudest Tube Worker".


http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8325406.stm



I watched that short clip time and time again, trying to hear just what is said there. Here is my opinion, for what it's worth.

That guy's conduct is unreasonable, obsessive and slightly deranged. He is a man in a state of high agitation, frustrated and hostile. Why?
I could never accept his conduct as shown in the clip. But before we jump down his throat, like notably the Evening Standard's front page "Sack Him" headlines, I beg you to take some points into consideration.

The clip clearly starts well after the conflict has been triggered. The Customer Service Assistant is surrounded with what seems like a sea of people who have just been delayed (according to other eyewitnesses, the clip recorder included) by the person with whom the CSA had that ugly (and avoidable) argument. We all know what it means when a person's arm is trapped in the door of the train. It can only happen when someone shoves his arm into the closing doors, in the knowledge that comes with experience. The train will not be able to move, and the train operator will have to open the doors again sooner rather than later. It causes more congestion, delays and misery to others, but it increases your chances to get on board the train you couldn't take in the first place, so who cares about the rest of those suckers who chose to wait patiently for the next train?

All the while the CSA whose job is to stand on the platform throughout the peak period, and who is there to stop exactly this type of anti-social behaviour from occurring, has an incredibly stressful time. The CSAs on platform duties are as ordinary and extraordinary as the public they serve. But put anybody on a tinderbox of this kind, and you're never too far away from a flashpoint. Our CSAs get plenty of training, part of which is how to deal with what we coyly call "challenging behaviour". The man at the centre of the now infamous incident clearly didn't apply his training on this occasion. But what exactly preceded the bit we get to see? Has he been provoked, swore at? I must stress that no matter what mitigating circumstances there may be, the CSA could have handled the situation better. Specially if he was to dissect it at his computer in the comfort of his living room, like I am. The man he was shouting at - where is he? What has he got to say for himself? Is he, like the CSA who was rude to him, traumatised by the incident? I can't help wondering whether anybody bothered to put their arm around him and ask him how he were.

So there. You'd probably have thought I'd say: "you're finished mate". If you had, you'd be wrong. We, and London Underground have a duty of care to our colleagues we are so proud of. Now is as good a time as ever to put it to good use.

Family Fault lines

The Shiva took its toll on us, i.e. me. I never got along with my big brother Benny. From childhood we've been chalk and cheese. So now that tragedy and tradition threw us together for (nearly) seven days, it very rapidly turned into our own reality show type thing, with me finding fault in everything he does, and he getting fed-up with my disdain and disapproval .Just for the record, he's 57, I'm nearly 56 year old. As it happens my sister Lea, who lent her home and garden for the week-long event works for the Ramat Hasharon City Council. Therefore seemingly the entire workforce turned up, a liberal handful of people every day, throughout the day. Nobody stayed away: from the cleaners and tea-ladies right through to the Mayor. Benny begrudged that. "If I still worked for El Al there would be thousands of people here". I confess I kind of chuckled at that bizarre comment. He also tends to hog the conversation and his voice gets louder and more shrill as he whips himself up into a frenzy of extacy. He rants (my mum is really scared of him, and he is capable of smelling fear or vulnerability, particularly in women) endlessly, tends to repeat words for emphasis and he listens and talks with his mouth. Take that for seven days, from 9:30 AM (Lea soon told him not to show up a second before 10:00) till 22:00 at the earliest. We were soon at each other throats, almost to the point of fistycuffs, to my mum's horror. Several callers were old chums of dad's from when he was an officer in the air force. Although he was ground crew, in admin, some old buddies were airmen. One such visitor was for many years our next-door neighbour in Ramat Hasharon. Let's call him Ron. Ron was one of the founding fathers of the Israeli Air Force, the first Israeli to fly faster than the speed of sound, and later, at over mach 2. He was the top test pilot, unmatched by anyone in almost any air force under the sun, with unparalleled experience in all French jet fighters during the 50s and 60s, with American and Israeli aircraft added to his resume thereafter. What that man didn't know about flying wasn't worth knowing. Even now, at about 80 years, he still is a handsome man, as cocky and charismatic as he's ever been. But even he crumbled before my brother onslaught of opinions about the ins and outs of a recent news item regarding the crash of an F-16 that cost the life of a brilliant young airman, an incident that touched a nerve in Israel as the pilot was the son of the first Israeli astronaut who died along with the entire crew of the the space shuttle Discovery upon re-entering the atmosphere few years earlier. Ron wanted to opine on it, having been asked to do so by Benny. I was in the living room, they were on the patio, and all I could hear was Benny prattling on and on while Ron merely managed to sneak a word in here and there, only to be thwarted by Benny agreeing or otherwise, loudly, with him before resuming this monologue of his opinion, how he felt about the whole thing, and who he held responsible for the incident. He then proceeded to deliver the all but defeated Ron the coup de grâce: the sales pitch. Benny works for a place that fits people with special insoles etc., and he identified Ron as a perfect target audience. I thought: yeah, mention what you do. Hand out a card, sure, why not. But to use your father's demise as a business opportunity really grated on me. The torture went on all morning that day, till Ron decided he's had enough and left, having had scant chance to actually talk to my mother. Other irritating things about Benny: his phone would ring (need I tell you he has nothing but the loudest, most annoying "joke" ringtones and message alerts), he would calmly stick the bluetooth earpiece in and carry on talking loudly (the only way he knows) wherever he may be: among people around one of the tables, in the garden, on the recliner. Not once would he get up and walk away a couple of steps. I'd look on with disbelief as people would look at one another, at him, and he would remain blissfully oblivious to all around him. I kept thinking: this is totally wrong, but if we weren't siblings I doubt if we would even be acquaintances socially. I can't fucking stand him, and I'd be stupefied if the feeling weren't mutual. How sad.

Shiva at Lea's

Dad's funeral took place last Friday. In accordance with Jewish law the closest male relation/s have to come in and identify the deceased before the burial can take place (in our case an exception was made to allow my sister Lea to see dad after she missed seeing him at the hospital, having returned from NYC moments too late before he was taken from the ward to the mortuary). My brother, as is his wont acted as though he was hosting a cocktail party, talking loudly and incessantly, gesticulating wildly, calling out to his common law wife when we were called to identify the deceased: "Mammy (the nickname he bestowed upon her), you wanna come in too?"
The service, first under a shaded area where prayers were made in front of the shrouded body (dad wanted a coffin but the rabbis vetoed it as unbecoming). I then read the eulogy. Then the short procession to the grave site, so short in fact that we had to kind of take a bit of a detour to give it some substance. My mum was supported by my sister Lea, who was crying and (I suspect) guilt ridden for having gone to the US while my dad was still ill in hospital. To give her her due, she was assured by the doctors that dad was stable and there was no urgency in his condition, serious as it was. Plus, she has practically been running both my parents lives for them in the last few years quite unselfishly, seeing to absolutely every aspect from major health issues to bringing home-cooked food to them, you get the picture.
The service was very well-attended, with the Mayor of Ramat Hasharon, my home town, and other dignitaries from my dad's military career, not to mention family and friends spanning several generations. Mum was pleased with that. She did mutter right after I gave the eulogy: "it went on a bit, didn't it?". Lea, in floods of tears, and I, emotional and choked as we were, almost had a fit of giggles! She later told me she loved my speech...
Afterward we repaired to Lea's house in Herzliya and the Shiva, the seven days of mourning commenced. We are a secular family, although both my parents come from a religious background. Their way of life was shattered during World War II, and by the time they emerged from the horror they were a greatly changed persons. We kept some of the traditions, but in a largely modern Israeli society we were brought up in a Jewish-Lite fashion. Therefore, we don't really follow every rule to the letter. I don't shave, and I wear the customary "torn" clothing: some old T-shirt with a small tear in the neck, the same T-shirt I wore for the funeral. Lea washes it every night, and I have it clean and fresh in the morning (against the rules, as I was told!). We decided to do the Shiva at Lea's as hers is the largest and the most accessible place. Also, she works at Ramat Hasharon City Council, and gets by far the largest number of visitors. Throughout the day every day the entire workforce seem to call, from the cleaners to the Mayor. This grates on my brother Benny no end, and gives me the kind of glee I know is so wrong, yet so pleasant.
More on the ins and outs of the Shiva in my next blog.

Bidding Dad Goodbye

Only few days before his demise my father asked me to read before you the last passage from a short piece by one of his favourite authors titled "Shalom Aleichem's Will"

"My last request of those who come, after me and my plea of my children: to guard and protect well the mother, to honour her dotage, to sweeten her bitter life, to heal the crush of her broken heart, not to cry over me, but the opposite - to recall my name out of joy, and above all - to live in peace one and his brother, not to bear hatred to each other, to help your brother at lean time, to remember sometimes the family members, to pity the poor, and in days of favour, to pay my debts, should there be such after me. My children! Let there be honour among you of my Jewish name, for which I worked so much, and the Lord in Heaven may aid you, Amen." By Shalom Aleichem, 1923.

My father, Eli, looked death in the eye many times during his 83 years of life. Merely 13 year old he, along with all of Europe's Jewry was plunged into the darkest chapter of our history as a people, and that of humanity itself: the second world war, and the holocaust of the Jewish people at the hands of the Third Reich and its collaborators. My father was resourceful, and undoubtedly fortunate to survive the Nazi massacre machine, through Lodz Ghetto, concentration camps, among them Auschwitz-Birkenau, the Death Marches and physical and mental torture. He alone remained alive out of a clan of some 120 souls. Not one other survived. Not yet 20 year old he found himself in a Displaced Persons camp in Italy, where he met, befriended and fell in love with the woman who eventually married him, our mother Bluma. Against all odds they challenged death together by trying to sail to Israel against the will of the the British Mandate, in a rust bucket of a ship, in raging seas. After several months in a detention camp in Cyprus father was permitted to go to Israel legally, and mother followed suit soon after. Father enlisted to the Hagana on the very day his feet touched the soil of this land, and as soon as the IDF was established he became a regular soldier. Again he risked his life in several arenas during the War of Independence, and was proud of the scars that decorated his body from wounds he received in battle.
At the latter part of his life dad again found himself struggling to survive. With two open heart operations and other medical problems that time's relentless forward march makes harder and harder to overcome. Throughout this journey dad bore the struggle bravely. It was not in his nature to complain. He joked in the toughest situations and through pain. Even in the last few weeks of his life, when he already realised clearly what his condition was and what the future held for him, he found the mental strength to joke with us and with the medical team at the Meir Hospital, Kefar Saba.
A little like Shalom Aleichem, but I must stress that I saw the passage I have just read after I already knew basically what I wanted to say today, I will remember father not with sadness but with joy. I wish and hope that we as a family, even as a nation will celebrate his life, his triumph over hate and intolerance, the values he and his contemporaries passed on to us individually and collectively as a people. I will remember an honest, modest man, full of love and loved by all who knew him. A man who has passed seven gates of hell and emerged with a smile on his face. Today I say: Goodbye daddy, my hero.

פרידה מאבא

ימים ספורים לפני מותו ביקש אבא שאקרא לפניכם בלוויתו את הפסקה האחרונה מסיפור קצר מאת אחד הסופרים האהובים עליו, צוואת שלום עליכם.
"שאלתי האחרונה מהבאים, אחרי ובקשתי מבני (ובתי): לשמור מכל משמר את האם, לפאר את ימי זקנתה, להמתיק את חייה המרים, לרפא את מחץ לבה השבור, לא לבכות אחרי, אך להפך – להזכיר את שמי מתוך שמחה, והעיקר – לחיות בשלום איש עם אחיו, לא לנטור שנאה זה לזה, לעזור איש את אחיו בשעת הדחק, לזכור לפעמים את בני המשפחה, לרחם את העני, ובימי טובה לשלם את חובותי, אם יהיו כאלה אחרי. בני (ובתי)! יכבד ביניכם שמי היהודי, אשר רבות עמלתי בו, ואלהי השמים יהי בעזרכם. אמן."

אבי, אלי, הסתכל למוות בעיניים פעמים רבות במשך 83 שנות חייו. כבר בגיל 13 הוא, יחד עם כל יהדות אירופה הושלך לתוך הפרק האפל ביותר בהיסטוריה שלנו כעם, ושל המין האנושי כולו: מלחמת העולם השניה, ושואת העם היהודי בידי הרייך השלישי ותומכיו. אבי היה בר תושייה, וללא ספק בר מזל לשרוד את מכונת הטבח הנאצית, דרך גטו לודז', מחנות ריכוז ובתוכם אושוויץ בירקנאו, צעדות מוות, עינויים פיזיים ופסיכולוגיים. הוא לבד נותר בחיים מתוך משפחה מורחבת של כ-120 נפשות. אף אחד אחר לא שרד. עוד לא בן 20 הוא מצא עצמו במחנה עקורים באיטליה, שם פגש, הכיר והתאהב באמי בלומה. כנגד כל הסיכויים הם קראו תגר על המות וניסו להעפיל לארץ ללא רשות הממשל הבריטי, בספינה רעועה, בים סוער. אחרי מספר חדשים במחנה הסגר בקפריסין אבא קיבל אישור להגר לישראל, ואמא הצטרפה אליו אחרי זמן קצר. אבא התגייס להגנה ביום בו דרכו רגליו על אדמת ארץ זאת, ומיד עם ייסודו של צה"ל הוא הפך לחייל מן השורה. הוא חירף נפשו במספר זירות במשך מלחמת העצמאות, והתגאה בצלקות שעטרו את גופו מפציעות שסבל.
לקראת שלהי חייו אבא שוב מצא את עצמו נאבק כדי להשאר בחיים. עם שני ניתוחי לב פתוח ועוד בעיות רפואיות שהזמן הצועד קדימה ללא הרף עושה ליותר ויותר קשות לפתרון. לכל אורך הדרך אבא נשא במאבק זה בעוז וגבורה. זה נגד את טבעו להתלונן. הוא התלוצץ במצבים הקשים ביותר. אפילו בשבועות האחרונים לחייו, כשהוא ידע בעליל מה מצבו ומה צופן העתיד הוא עוד מצא את הכוח הרוחני להתחכם איתנו ועם הסגל הרפואי בבית החולים מאיר כפר סבא.
קצת כמו שלום עליכם, אבל אני חייב להדגיש שאת הפסקה שקראתי זה עתה ראיתי רק אחרי שכבר ידעתי פחות או יותר מה אני רוצה לומר היום, אני אזכור את אבא לא בצער, אלא בשמחה. אני רוצה ומקווה שאנחנו כמשפחה ואפילו כעם נחגוג את חייו, את נצחונו כנגד שנאה ורשע, את הערכים שהוא ובני דורו הורישו לנו כאינדיבידואלים וכעם. אזכור איש ישר, צנוע, מלא באהבה ואהוד על כל זולתו. איש שעבר שבעה מדורי גהינום ויצא מהם עם חיוך של הפנים. אני אומר היום: שלום אבא. גיבור שלי.

Wednesday Sep. 9th

Picked K up at 7:00 and drove her to "Meir". This time drove right back, performed some domestic chores like hanging up the washing to dry and planning shopping list fir mum. I then went shopping, and from the supermarket went over to deliver the groceries as well as keep mum company and cook (actually re-heat everything but the pasta) some lunch. At 14:00 we both set off to Meir, I went to see the doctors while mum went to dad's bedside. K reports that he ate some breakfast, but I never got to hear about lunch (now prescribed "blender meal"). When I ask mum later she mutters: "I don't understand a word she says". Her resentment of K is now nakedly apparent. While we are already contemplating mum's need for a carer once dad's gone, it's clear that it's unlikely to be K. Frankly I doubt K would even jump at the prospect of caring for an impossibly difficult woman. Indeed I don't know the woman cut out for the job even exists.
Dad was given a sponge bath in bed today. So far he's been asleep or too weak to signal anything to us. They really want to discharge him tomorrow after a skin specialist saw him. I basically was given the same explanation Adi related to me last night. It's a "rare type" of skin cancer, diagnosed by a "reputable" oncologist. It's at a very advanced stage and beyond help. I am only waiting for an interim report to fax to the residence for the house doctor's attention. We have already alerted them to the possible arrival tomorrow, pending successful hospital discharge.
Now back at Lea Towers, my niece Adi has ordered some sushi and dim sum (Yeah, I know). I've dropped mum off at the residence, after a silent car trip from the hospital. I can only imagine what goes through her mind at the moment.
Other bit of news: Lea and Nir have brought forward their return from New York to Thursday 17:00. The flip side of it is I am ejected from their en-suite bedroom, as I expect they will selfishly want to sleep there. As it will be a full house, and the formerly available computer basement now has the biggest treadmill that ever graced a home (really useful as an additional clothes hanging device), I am exiled to the living room sofa. It's me and you babe (by which I mean Nala, the ugliest mongrel you ever saw). Sababa, as they say in Israel.

Later, Same Tuesday

Drove mum to hospital. She's already getting on my nerves with her relentless negativity. Her glass is forever half empty, and she won't stop rabbiting. I try to be patient with her, to consider the fragile state of her mind, let alone the current situation. But it ain't easy...
In the hospital Adi, who's been keeping a watch since about 15:00 tries to shield mum from some more bad news. I don't see the point of this. Dad's cancer has apparently nothing to do with the kidneys, the lymphatic glands, or as they suspected after the first two possibilities were eliminated, the bladder. It's a "rare form of cancer". I am deeply suspicious of this term. To me it spells "we fucked up the lab tests". According to Adi an oncologist who was called to check dad's results told her it's inoperable, and chemotherapy would kill him within 48 hours. Now they are keen to get dad out ASAP regardless of his state. I will have to see the doctors tomorrow, also to talk to the residence people to coordinate the ambulance that will ferry him home.
Mum and I are left by dad's bed and Adi goes home. We struggle to feed him: I hold his head up straight and mum, with her 83 year old tiny frame leans forward and presents spoon after spoon of food supplement drink. He tries to help, I can feel he does. Later we just sit there. He can barely utter something neither of us understand, but I hold his hand and he "talks" to me by squeezing my hand from time to time. Mum is aware of the situation but only after we are asked to leave she tells me she has no wish to go on living after dad's gone. On the way home I am an extra sensitive, but frank with her. At Lea's place Adi is a bit irked with me when I accidentally blurt out the brutal facts (as I talk to Lea on the phone to NY: Lea asks me whether she should bring her flight back from NYC forward. I tell her, not for the first time that I can't really make a decision for her. I don't know whether dad has days or weeks left) and Dor who's 16 and already troop leader in the Scouts, hears the news Adi wanted to shield him from. Before taking mum home to her flat in the residence I hug Dor and tell him: "I seem to shock you every time I open my mouth". A couple of years ago I blurted out "yes" to his demand: "what, you're gay or something?"

Tuesday Lunch

I thought today would be a good opportunity to give mum some quality time. She has been all but neglected recently, and I thought it would be a treat for her to be fussed around. So I dashed to the supermarket and got all the basics for chicken paprika, a good home made stock and a tub of Cherry Garcia. I decided not to put the kitchen scene on cam as there was a storm of splashes and spillages and I wasn't gonna risk my brand new Macbook Pro. I then dashed out (a lot of dashing was going on today) to my mum's place and drove her back. Adi was my glamorous assistant, and I sweated by the bucket as I spun my magic. Non-vegetarian vegetable soup was a triumph, as was the chicken (which was served with basmati rice. I forgot the dessert but we were quite full anyway.
Now showered, I'm planning a power nap, then to the hospital with my mum.

Tuesday Sep. 8th

Dropped K off at hospital gate, and by the time I'd parked the car and got to dad's bedside, which took about 5 mins or so she had already secured a mobility chair, a disposable apron and the personal assistance of one of the stronger male assistant (orderly? I'm not sure) to give dad his shower and general spruce up. All that is left for me to do is sit it out, literally, as my services are not required.
Dad's still very weak, his head slumped to the right shoulder as he is wheeled out of the shower. Some hard lifting work ensues, with the skillful assistance of Danny, one of my favourite guys there. Dad is now in the chair (I hope this is wise), and to cut a long story short, it looks like I am only in the way of providing him some good ole' care... I kiss him and leave. I think I'll make some delicious lunch for my mother instead, and visit dad properly later in the day.

Monday Sep. 7th Day Watch

Got here at 7:00, and realised I forgot to shave. Benny arrived a bit later on his way to work. Dad seems a bit better actually. That's not saying much, still only few words faintly uttered, but eyes open more frequently, and he's more aware of his surroundings, I think. I fetched him his breakfast, added some sugar to his semolina porridge, and spoon-fed him slowly. He managed some 3/4 of the bowl. Mum would have persisted to the last spoonful. I then chopped finely his hard-boiled egg and mixed it with some light cream cheese (the famous 5% fromage frais like Israeli delicacy) to the consistency of egg mayonnaise. He had half of that and couldn't eat any more. I then flirted with nurse (oops, done it again. Head Nurse) Tova and at my request she and two other nurses got dad out of bed, into a treatment chair, and off he rolled to have his shower. His backside now has several skin sores, and those were treated and dressed before a fresh nappy was applied. He is to lie on his side as much as possible for the foreseeable future. As for nu.. Head Nurse Tova, I have now decided that her eyebrows, as I suspected are tattooed on, but there's more. Her lip-liner is also a tattoo, and I will surreptitiously scrutinise her eyeliner next time. Benny made the error of telling her she was "just like our cousin Dahlia" to which she retorted "There's only one of me. I'm unique, like nobody else". That shut him up. At least I compared her to a Hollywood legend Joan Crawford. And Benny is supposed to be the ladies man between us. Puh-leez!
Doctors visit: "House" type is rather short with me. I keep chipping away at the stone. Dad's biopsy (from last Sunday week) still inconclusive, but they believe he has a tumor, not on the lymphatics but the bladder. Still no idea when the urologist (if I got the term right) will grace us with his/her presence. House resolves to give dad some happy pills, modest dosage.
Lunch is not a success. Now he's on his side it's even harder to feed him. I juggle a bowl of soup, a spoon, and apparently a third hand to prop his head up or soup just dribble down the corner of his mouth.
It's a full room again. Next to dad we now have Boris Yeltsin. Or his dead ringer. He demands to only see Russian speaking staff, and is bemused to find that many of the Arab nurses have a fair command of basic bedside Russian!
Mr. Haj gets a visit, at last, from his son, daughter in-law and little grandson. A brief one, I felt.
Adi brought K along, and stays a while. We talk to the doctors again (no news), and finally I leave, blowing a kiss (what's up with that?) to the phenomena that is Tova!

Sunday

People keep moving on in dad's room. "The Arab" (I'll call him Mr. Haj) tells me he's been told he is to have a procedure to unclog heart vessels, his second time. Soon after he has prayed and carefully folded away his prayer rug, a male nurse brings along a wheelchair to take him away. It occurs to me I haven't yet seen any visitors, yet from our conversations I've learned he has 3 daughters, all married off. The other two roommates well, one has died this morning, the other has been sent home. Dad stays. I spoke to the doctors, and they are pleasant but vague. An urologist will come to see him. When? Oh, in a day or two. Meanwhile dad is wasting away. His arms have shriveled to twigs. His breathing is heavy, like following a physical exertion. From time to time he shudders a little. And he barely opens his eyes. No chat either. I hoped the food he had yesterday would perk him up but he seems weaker still. Adi will be bringing mum over very soon, and my brother Benny (who has had a tempestuous relationship with mum and now won't speak to her at all) will be visiting too. Isn't it just dandy.
We ended up being seven visitors around dad's bed. He is too weak to acknowledge us. He can't even suck his drink through a straw! When visiting hours end the nurses crush his tablets and administer them to him with all of us expelled from the room. Before we leave I go over to Mr. Haj to bid him goodnight. Is it my Jewish guilt at play? Be that as it may, he strikes me as a sweet old guy. Why do I see no visitors to his bedside? Where is everybody he toiled all his working life for?

Sat PM 2

A nurse came along and I helped her turn dad to his side to check his bottom for bed-sores. The skin is sallow and not too healthy looking but nothing too worrying. She applies the nappy rash lotion K brought earlier. Job done.
When dinner is called I fetch a tray. I mix some mash into his soup, mum spoon feeds him relentlessly. He eats the lot. She then mixes some yoghurt with soft cheese to form a creamy substance, and again manages to get it all down his gullet. Well done.
Dad is barely communicative, he won't (can't) put his dentures in. In the bed next him is an attention seeking old boy. I had my suspicions confirmed by Anthony: last night he managed to fall off his bed. Twice. I tell Anthony (before handing over to him for the night) in no uncertain terms that he is not to treat, help, assist or provide any service to any person other than my dad. If he sees someone in desperate need he is most welcome indeed to alert the nurses on duty, but that is absolutely it. He is not a nurse, not qualified to provide any medical service of any kind, indeed not even to dad: there is a trained staff in the ward 24/7 for that.
A large crowd of visitors around dad's bed this evening. There's mum and I, mum's friend Haya (of previous blogs infamy), my big brother Benny and his GF Noga and nephew Idan. Mum must have learned to whisper in a helicopter (to quote Jimmy Carr) as she mention to me that one of the men in dad's room is "an Arab" like that was the disease that put him in hospital. It's the other one I'm concerned about, and when he starts to chip in as I try to coax an audible response of "yes" or "no" from dad. I politely but very firmly tell him to answer if and when he is asked something. Everybody look away uncomfortably, but I know what they're all thinking.

Saturday PM

Got to hospital now (16:00) in 2 cars. I in one, to relieve K, Adi in another to ferry K to my parents home, then drive right back with mum. Dad is either asleep or too weak for any form of communication. I'd rather keep him awake by day so he sleeps at night but decided to change tack and let him be. Watching mum yesterday as she poked, prodded, nagged and badgered him to stay up and talk (or even open his eyes and look at her, the TV screen, anything, all to no avail) was as unbearable to watch as it must have been for him to endure, or indeed for her to get virtually no response from her beloved, once a tower of strength, now a helpless shadow of his former self. Watching her breaking up inside, unable to do a thing to turn it all around and kiss it better is hard too.

Friday, Short shift

it's the end of the day and already I struggle to remember what it was like. I went home once Kavidha arrived, had breakfast, a chat with Adi, then shower and bed. Got up too late to make it to Tel Aviv for lunch with Amit & Raphael at the very gay centre where a shooting took place in July. Instead I cooked (for the first time ever) at Lea's kitchen some simple veggie curry (Idan had the rice but not the sauce: can't handle stir-fried vegetables!
Later I drove mum to the hospital, drove Kavidha back home and returned to the hospital. Dad has acted up, reportedly. He made K call Benny and he asked him to come over. Also he was saying all sorts of delirious stuff like mum was dead etc. With us there with him he clammed up, refused to open his eyes, dropped off, and was not just weak, a fact not lost on any of us, but also downright petulant. When he eventually spoke to mum all he had for her was: when are you going? But when we were about to go he held her real tight and said: Already? At this point I feel sorry for my mum. He may not mean it but he is clearly taking some of his anger out on her. Ain't on no matter what.
Tomorrow I drive K to hospital in the morning, and take her off late afternoon. We're all invited to Nir's parents place for lunch.

Night Watch

00:45, dad asks for a drink. I get him some water, and present the straw to his lips. Ahh! Isn't it nice?
01:25. Here we go. Dad's wide awake and looking for attention. I am firm with him. He can have the drink he asked for, but when he tries to strike a conversation I put my foot down. No talking in the middle of the night. It disturbs others. Close your eyes and go to sleep. He doesn't like that one bit.
01:40. OMG Just spotted Head Nurse La Crawford, in the very same beehive blond thing towering over her head, same figure-hugging white dress, and those eyebrows: are they tattooed on? I do believe they are.
02:15. Night sanitary nurses doing their rounds. They ask whether they can wake dad. What for? Well, he might need his nappy changed. I ask to leave it till morning. Don't want to disrupt this sleep workshop. It's a limited success so far, and for the first time in years without the dubious aid of a sleeping pill.
02:35. Spoke too soon. Dad wants a drink. The water I offer him is "tasteless". He wants cola. I give him some Coke. He desperately needs fluids so drink is one request I don't turn down. He mistakes it for a social gesture and tries for some chit-chat. Not on my watch buddy boy. Sleep. Could it be that he takes full advantage of the hitherto hired night help? They all reported he hardly sleeps, keeps asking for things, and I have seen how sleepy he has been during the day, often right till early evening. I'm beginning to wonder whether it's that vital that he has someone with him at night, or does it have a negative effect on his well-being. Virtually nobody else has this round-the-clock attendants. The next two nights are already covered by Anthony and I can't just dismiss him. He had to give up day work for this. But from Sunday I feel the night watch should be cancelled altogether. I shall put it to Lea.
03:10. Spoke to Lea just as they were about to have dinner in a seafood restaurant in Times Square. I suggested the night watch is something we're doing for our sake not for dad's. She'll mull it over.
05:40. Been pacing the ward, even nodded off in the dining room. I watch dad every few minutes from some distance as he is a light sleeper and I only need be near him and he starts stirring.
07:30. Kavidha arrives to take over. I'm off home.

Harel & Roey's Wacky Show

Roey, my brother Benny's youngest, and his friend Harel have devised a comedy show and found a prestigious Tel Aviv club who would give them a break. The first few shows are on probational basis. If audience response and ticket sales (at 50 nis or £8.50/$12) are brisk they can secure a residency. I'm afraid I was so tired I kept falling asleep and had to be elbowed a lot by Dor (Lea's youngest) but I can unbiasedly attest that the audience seems to have laughed a lot (which was rather rude as it woke me up several times). What with Madonna doing her final Sticky and Sweet Tour show at one venue and Faith No More doing a gig at another it's a wonder Harel & Roey managed to pack'em in, albeit at a small venue. Well done boys.

Lea and Nir, Come Back. All is Forgiven.

Not really. Last night, before setting off to the comedy show (a little bit about that later) Lea, Adi and I had a Cabinet meeting. Lea outlined the way the operation will continue in the following week whilst she and Nir are in New York City for a well-earned break. Separate budgets set aside for housekeeping and logistic support, a basic roster of hospital shifts, mum transport plan, emergency fund, food in the fridge, back-up in the freezer, washing machine and dishwasher instructions, dog walking plan, you name it, she planned it. I have use of the master bedroom (en suite, if you please), and Adi is in charge of the household. If there's time I shall dazzle them with my cooking one of these days. My mum is less than thrilled, having grown accustomed to Lea and Nir doing practically everything for her, even basic shopping.
I am on dadwatch till later this afternoon, then I take the night watch. Adi is in charge of the afternoon/evening shift and transporting mum to and from hospital. Some tasks will be delegates to Idan who is home on army leave.
Dad's stoned again. They give him something at night and it fucks him up for half the next day. He's been asking after Tamara's kids (my thoughts too: who's Tamara?). Now he wants me to show him how to send SMS (through eyes wide shut). At least we've had a nice walk in the warm sunshine earlier.

Dad's legs are badly swollen. Only around midday he comes off the sleeping tablet (I asked he is NOT given). Ate all his soup, grazed tiny amount of mash and the minutest bite of his chicken meatball. His eye, followed by his hand is drawn to the tub of jelly. At least he had almost half of that.
The doctors decided since his left kidney is still producing nothing he is to have the draining line into it "repositioned". Soon after lunch an orderly and I move him from the chair to bed, he is given a shot to sedate him and we wheel him to a different building connected by an elevated corridor. Now, at 2 pm he is back in his ward, fast asleep, hopefully comfortable.
A glimmer of light: the repositioned draining line is definitely more effective now, so I'm hopeful that will also help reduce the (pretty bad) swelling of the legs and feet.

Wednesday morning shift

Took Anthony off at 7:40 (another navigational glitch on the way). Dad doesn't seem any better. He refused to eat any breakfast but at least took his pills and tablets. Now awaiting doctors' round. Spoke to head nurse, a startling Joan Crawford clone with an additional beehive of ice blond (or something very like what it might look like). I'm dying to ask her permission to take her picture. Nurse (oops, sorry, Head Nurse!) Tova is on the blunt side, though very helpful. She suggests we prepare for "various possible options" including that of dad remaining totally care-dependent.

Later on Tuesday

Had lunch with mum at her home, then drove her to hospital (taking wrong turn off to my horror and losing some 10 mins as a result). Lea's not in desperate hurry but having secured tickets to see Madonna, well, you understand. She's driving Kavidha (dad's carer) back first. It's me and mum now till the night guy (Anthony) gets here. Dad is not doing well at all: producing too little urine even through the thing stuck directly into his left kidney. So he's been fitted with a catheter earlier today. He's weak, not happy, and mum, bless her, wants to help by casting doubt on anything suggested, and chirps in with random nay-sayings. Tomorrow they will ultrasound him to see what's going on. Right now I'm not as confident as I would like to be.
So much for my promised shorter, easier posts eh?!
P.S. Now back at Lea's. Only Nir (B in-Law), Dor (little nephew, entombed in his room, chatting) and Nala the Mongrel for company: everybody else have gone to the Madonna show. Beats going to hospital, I suppose.


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Tuesday in Israel

Apart from my own little world it's a sad day for Israel. Former president Katzav stands trial for rape, two former Cabinet ministers commence jail terms, former PM Olmert formally charged with finance and trading offences, and the new school term starts with an ugly discord of racism deep in the root of Israeli society with "proper" Israeli parents staging mass protests in schools where Ethiopian newcomers are not welcome, on the lazy, ignorant assumption they would hold the proper (oh, let's face it: White) kids back. I am so ashamed for this society.

Later same day...

Midday report: after asking for it, a few minutes of physio. He can barely stand up, even with a walker. Urinating is another problem, still not enough, and still mixed with blood. Add to that the awkwardness of having strangers (nurses, male and female) assisting him in a deeply private situation. Yesterday I had the honour of doing it. One nurse told me I should get a cut of her wages. Today I managed to get a scrape on my left bicep (with skin broken). As soon as I discovered it I applied the antiseptic hand gel onto the area. No panic...

Monday Morning Note

Today I'm on morning duty, and later on night. Dad hasn't slept last night so I asked the doctors to change or stop his sleeping med. Depending on progress he could be discharged in a few days. Bad news is they still don't know whether his biopsy is sufficient or they may have to take another one. Weather continues charming.

Post Biopsy

This morning dad had a biopsy taken from the lymphatic glands. Is already clear there is a tumor there, probably cancerous, probably malignent. It will be some time before we know what's the best treatment is. As for being discharged from hospital "not for the time being". I arrived here at midday, to find dad back in his bed, high as a kite (whatever they gave him, can I have some too?). In fact by 4 pm he is still not quite himself. Lea (who's been here since 7:30) and I care for him, fed him when he was finally allowed to eat, and a young doctor administered a new drip, on the base of his left palm, having failed to find a vein in the more conventional locations. The palm area is more painful and uncomfortable. Not a great day so far.

Looking After Dad, 2009 Chapter

Been away from this blog for a long time, but now that Guy told me off for microblogging I am back. Unlike previous posts I'll try to trim them down a bit. Minibloggiong if you will.
And in that spirit let me bring you up to speed on recent events. My dad, 83 yo and getting frailer, is in hospital, with a kidney malfunction. The treatment of that part of the anatomy calls for a lot of patience, tolerance and resilience. He is due for a biopsy some time tomorrow, so no food from midnight. He is well looked after: a member of the family is with him from morning till night time, then his carer (or someone else is recruited at times). I brought my own holiday in Israel 2 weeks forward so I'm here for a month.
I was his companion this morning till about 3:30 p.m. Brought along my brand new Macbook Pro and some DVDs to divert dad a bit (that had a partial success only: the Royal Variety Performance was wiped off one, and the only other disc had Little Britain Abroad, a hard nut to crack even for many Brits). After he had a shower (administered by the nurse) we took a wheelchair and went down to take the air and the warm sun for a couple of hours. We chatted on subjects other than how poor and miserable dad was, and this is my plan of action in a nutshell. To help him feel less sorry for himself and regain his mental strength.
More riveting stuff from me later.

Back from the Cold

Hello bolggers!
Been a while, hasn't it? After the traumatic events back last September, I returned from a break in Munich to Israel. My mother was out of the clinic by then, both parents installed in their apartment, now with a carer, a young, sweet natured Philipina who proved utterly useless - she had not a clue how to run a household, and although very eager to do right by her charge, she really wasn't up to the task in hand. My mother was now taking her medication, albeit under protest, making life almost unbearable for my dad mainly, and she wouldn't speak to me, to my brother in-law, and very little to anyone else.
Only after I've returned to the UK, and very gradually, things started to improve. Both my sister and I had our reservations (still valid today) but there was no denying she was improving. Taking her medication nightly with no trouble (according to my dad at any rate), they now had a new carer, a Thai woman, Hebrew speaker, seemingly very experienced, and although she is there for my dad's benefit, effectively she runs the household for both of them. But my mom likes her and they seem to get on a lot better than I expected.
I still have the occasional nightmare, always featuring my mom, and my primary fear that she will rebel again and refuse to cooperate and take the medication. My last visit was in January 2009, for just over a week. My mom was completely back to her normal self (I know, that's not saying much...), a little more subdued, possibly because of the medication, but she was sweet and loving to me, and even told me she loved me at some point, quite out of the blue.
Right now I don't yet know when my next visit will be. I now stay at my sister's (so much better than staying with my parents, it has to be said), which still keeps me at a short distance from them - some 15 mins by car (door to door that is).
I'd like to thank my friends who gave me heaps of support at times of crisis: it's very difficult to understand or even fully empathise with mental issues in the family, a subject so taboo people would rather sweep it under the rug. I am as guilty as the next guy. But I found to my astonishment these so-called mental problems are so commonplace, and yet we largely refer to them in archaic terms, or wrong terms and generally write the sufferers off as a lost cause. I also found that once you've experienced it, and after the initial shock (helped by one's ignorance), it gets easier to understand it and to slowly steer life back to normal, or as nearly as possible.
Hopefully my future updates will incorporate some fun and humour!