Annie’s life was full of anxieties in her last years.
She had been prescribed valium—Agnes knows some of this story—by a psychologist or psychiatrist but it was causing more problems than any help (zero, IMHO) it gave her.
She joined a forum to help people coping with valium, trying to quit valium etc. A common policy was to “taper off” right down to tiny fractions of a tablet. This just lengthened the agony of withdrawals. Annie stopped taking valium, using a barbiturate to help mask the withdrawal symptoms. She relied on her brother for money but he often did not reply to her email for several days, days of increasing anxiety for Annie.
She rang me up once to tell me her mother had died. I nearly blurted out “Thank god!” because it meant, we thought, that she would have no more money worries anymore. I did tell her later what I had nearly blurted out and she agreed: her mother suffered from dementia and was no longer aware of who she was anymore (do you wonder I hope my Mum dies in her sleep, peacefully, before the bloody dementia takes away everything that makes her the person she is?)
But having a nice amount of money in her bank account (I used to joke “You sure you got enough money for the weekend?”) was not the end of her anxieties.
She suffered from Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) or emphysema due to her smoking. In a small proportion of sufferers this causes a huge, deep, grinding pain seemingly in the bones and Annie was one of those. So she was prescribed opioids for pain relief.
Problem was, the very strict laws about dispensing opioids. Annie had a pillcutter and she would try to always have a few tablets at the end of the prescription period—she could not obtain any tablets until 30 days since the last dispensation of tablets and then sometimes the pharmacy did not have them—and Annie could not just wizz around to another chemist, no energy left for that. My Dad was the same towards the end of his life “You have no reserves left” his specialist told him.
I forget the name but she was put on a very powerful opioid and obviously was addicted to them fairly soon—imagine her state of mind when she presented the script and was told she had to wait because they were out of stock, etc. I had my hip replacement and obviously was given opioids, Endones, to take home—suffice it to say I woke up one night thinking “I need and endone, they are in the fridge” but realising I did not, in fact, hurt anywhere near bad enough to need an Endone—I missed being dependent on them by not much margin at all!
And Annie felt betrayed by her Church, the US equivalent of the Church of England. She had been a lay deacon there for a couple decades but when she was too ill to attend services they just forgot about her. See the huge feeling of betrayal she had already before that swine did his cruel fricking little act? Imagine the pain the swine caused her?
So she would ring me, quite often during a panic attack and I would talk her down out of it, make her see that whatever had upset her was not real or not that serious. Not always lovvy dovvy either, she could be a bit imperious—invalid syndrome. One phone call—I hung up on her.
Aussie offered me $1,500 to fly to the US to be with Annie. All he wanted in return was a few pictures of me and Annie together. But the money wasn’t a problem, something else prevented me going there. That was a smacking generous offer by Aussie tho, eh? I have probably embarrassed him now
The last year of Annie’s life she was not in contact much—and I could, from watching Dad die slowly, understand that. Her brother rang me—she had insisted he do so—to tell me the news of her passing.
Because she was in such a dreadful situation I would take pictures of a tree in flower, a beautiful vista or copy something from the internet and show Annie so for a few seconds maybe she could forget her illness, her feeling of betrayal and just enjoy a beautiful scene. After her death I saw a tree in full flower, absolutely beautiful—and it was a kick in the guts to remember she was dead and I could not show her the photo of that tree.
On my forum I set up a board hidden to all but myself, Annie and Agnes. Private it was called and private it in fact was.
I have mentioned her feelings of betrayal, of being forgotten. I would end every phone call “I will never forget you!” and I won’t. Because all our contacts were electronic—posts in Private, phone calls, a few emails and we both knew she was dying I called her “the sweet ghost in my computer” a few times, a concept she liked
Because she was afraid she would just be forgotten some time after her death I let two people access Private—I wanted her memory shared among people besides myself.
Heh, in her earlier life she was no angel! Not that I will betray confidences. But people are not angels, thank goodness.
I am richer for Annie coming in to my life.
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