The Lady in the Back Row

It’s lovely to have my brother here. He loves my girl, and it’s heartbreaking to see her so unwell.

Will the sickness break? Or will I keep watching it attack her mind and body? That question is a constant presence.

The routine remains — work, school, animals, two houses, hospital.

I try not to think about the what ifs.

I try not to think about the kids hearing the word death, or the weight of that worry settling on them.

So I just get on with it.

I make the day as normal as possible.

I wake too early,

before the responsibility comes for the day.

The full moon is still there.

Pale. Lingering.

Not ready to leave yet.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

Before the day starts asking things of me,

before the noise,

before the weight,

I whisper a small prayer.

I trust the future heard me.

Doom scroll.

Sickness on repeat.

Sunday’s responsibilities.

Eighth hospitalisation.

The new hospital is now open, she has a room with a beautiful view of the bay that stretches out to the city on a clear day.

She is very unwell……

My brothers have been her only other family support.

I am grateful.

One comes tomorrow from interstate.

He has always been a wonderful uncle and supporter to her and the children.

It will be good for them to see we actually do have some family and that we are not totally alone.

The calmness of less urgency today.

No immediate rush of work, school, hospital.

The last time I brought my dog here to sleep, (she needs to be chained at home,) she squashed her solid ten-year-old body into the tiny, sixteen-year-olds kennel, resulting in an opera of barking and crying all night.

This time I tried to do better.

I searched for her very own waterproof bed.

$110 later, my daughter watching my return on the ring camera suggests I have wasted my money, her dog would surely chew it.

I snapped hard.

Not because she was wrong.

But because I needed this one small thing to work.

Finally, no barking symphony.

Step outside for my coffee…

FOAM EXPLOSION!

Her dog surely chewed it.

First world problems.

This will not be ruining my

Slow -paced, enjoyable, relaxing, do-less-today, recharge Saturday.

Finally, some relief.

Hospital………..

Now it’s a different struggle.

The juggle.

Holding all the balls in the air.

Work full time.

Two houses.

Three dogs.

Two cats.

Fish.

School.

Work says it supports people through crisis.

Reality is quieter.

You must be transparent to ask for flexibility.

But not too transparent.

Because honesty

can become liability.

You learn where the line is.

Motion is mercy.

Routine is survival.

And somewhere inside that noise,

hope keeps breathing.

Day nine without food.

Four calls to mental health triage. Two ambulance calls. IRT aware. Services say she is “fine.” GP told her to go to hospital. She refuses.

Kids start school today.

How do I function knowing my child is starving, alone?

If you rang a vet and said your dog hadn’t eaten in nine days, they would say:

“Bring them in.”

Electrolyte collapse is a leading cause of sudden death in starvation.

The constant minimising from services is making me feel neurotic.

This is a medical emergency.

Day eight with no food.

My girl is the kindest, most loving, and supportive person I have ever known. It is the cruelest illness to watch her turn so negative about herself and starve because of delusional thoughts. Thoughts that convince her of the complete opposite of reality.

She has a weekly appointment with the GP for blood work. Triple zero did not admit her yesterday. They told her to attend her GP instead. Today she goes back for results. Surely she will be admitted today.

Yesterday the heat reached 42 degrees.

A starving body in that heat.

It is excruciating to watch.

And still she plays with the kids. Still she tries. Still she cooks and cleans.

I don’t know how a body this weak can keep going.

I forgot I even had Pilates this morning.

My mind is tired from worry.

If hospital comes today, I will need to knock off and get the kids.

Tomorrow they start school.

Life keeps moving.

We are not.

No plans.

No certainty.

Just waiting.

Hopefully hospital today.

Seven days without food.

Third day calling triage.

Trying to get someone to understand.

Told Sunday’s case manager notes should have been enough.

Told to call an ambulance. I did.

She has a life-long, permanent mental illness.

She cannot see she could die.

Each day. A risk assessment.

I am not a doctor.

I juggle work.

I juggle children.

I juggle this crisis.

They did a face-to-face over the phone.

She presents well.

It looks fine.

It isn’t.

Every hour. A risk assessment.

Constant vigilance.

Endless calls.

Waiting.

It never stops.

Yesterday I was told to wait.

Yesterday was the case manager appointment.

Wait until she becomes dizzy.

Wait until tomorrow’s appointment.

Today triage says:

If I think she needs emergency, call 000.

She is on day six without food.

She drinks small amounts of water.

She can still walk.

She is still delusional.

From the outside, it can look stable.

From the inside, it feels like a quiet emergency.

They are talking about changing the diagnosis to PTSD.

I don’t care what it’s called.

I care what it’s doing.

Services seem to think I am a neurotic mother.

She says she will not eat until July.

I say the date will change.

Because this illness always moves the goalposts.

So I sit in between,

all while the kids and I sit in this illness together.

Watching a body without nourishment.

Watching a mind that cannot recognise danger.

Six days without food is not nothing.

Psychosis is not nothing.

I am not dramatic.

I am paying attention.

No food

Watching your child suffer through something so heinous is unbearable, particularly when she cannot understand that her life is at risk.

The struggle to convince her to go to hospital continues.

The case manager/ nurse has a scheduled visit today,

Hoping that he sees the reality of what is happening and advocates for urgent hospital care.

No food.

Still arguing thresholds, not starved enough yet for admission.

Care reduced to criteria.

Life can’t be planned.

I get angry. It’s the wrong reaction, but a predictable one.

This illness is insidious.

It removes people from reality and cannot be reasoned with.

Time sits still, waiting….

Recovery or Death ?

Suspended inside the illness.

Blessed for the strength that keeps moving me forward, alone.

I went looking for jade for wealth.

Weeks of searching led me nowhere, too small, too showy, too much gold. And then I stopped on a piece I hadn’t been looking for: white jade with apple green, described as grounding for carers. It felt less like I chose it and more like it chose me. Perhaps the universe has a broader definition of wealth: steadiness, endurance, the ability to hold when life tilts.

I washed it under running water, kissed it for luck. A quiet ritual of alignment. And then reality intervened, the bail is too small for a heavier chain. Practicality reminding me that even grounding needs adjustment.

Yesterday, I was approved to attend a RAP learning circle, an honour. One step forward. And yet at home, the personal side quietly crumbles. Surging forward at work while ten steps back play out in the background.

Caregiving is rarely visible. It demands stamina, restraint, and clarity……..and even when we are chosen for roles or meaning, the weight remains.

Perhaps this is the jade I was meant to find: not wealth as accumulation, but wealth as grounding. Not abundance as excess, but abundance as responsibility.

Interesting, to say the least.

I went to the office yesterday and was reminded how much I enjoy connecting with people, even though I often isolate myself working from home.

Meeting great staff in the office highlighted a little contradiction: I’m a team leader, yet I don’t always feel like a people person. Still, I enjoy re-engaging with the world, even in small ways.

The scent of gardenias greets me at the front door. The tomatoes have struggled this year, yet the gardenia is covered in more blooms than I have seen since moving here, August will mark three years. Some things flourish without effort, even when others do not.

School holidays are drawing to a close, work is in its second week, and life is gathering pace again

As I move through the morning with the quiet comfort of something ahead: portable long service leave, seven uninterrupted weeks. It is an office day. I am fortunate to work from home most of the week, and grateful for the one day that draws me back into the world, as work continues to shift toward something more flexible, more balanced.

Balance, like the garden, reveals itself in what quietly thrives.

Before I dive into cleaning.

Today’s plan: clear out old, unused clothes and make a bit of space.

I’m also looking for a small piece of Grade A jade to bring good energy into the year.

Funny how much of it is dyed or manufactured, made to look real when it’s not.

A good reminder for the year ahead……..clear out the old, keep what’s genuine, and go in with simple, honest intentions.

After that, the afternoon will be all about spending time with the kids.

Since I was 16, I have always had a partner. This Easter, I’ve been single for four years……

In this chapter of my life, I have found my way back to myself.

They say being alone is dangerous, it shows you how content you can be.

I used to look to partners for support, but I was always the one giving it.

I loved reading as a child, especially Enid Blyton.

Lately, I’ve returned to books again using an app that captures their essence, as my mind is still too busy for a whole book.

The return of words and ideas is exhilarating.

Today I learned that kintsugi reminds me wholeness does not require perfection, and The View from Ninety by Charles Handy led me down a wonderful rabbit hole.

The wind is wild today, chores await tomorrow, and Saturday is for doing something fun.

On with the day. 😍

Friday is my favourite workday of the week.

I move through the quiet rituals of my morning, tending to the fish, the dog and cat, pausing with the plants, breathing in the sweet scent of the garden.

Enjoying my morning coffee, I read the news.

The towering eucalyptus, magnificent, radiant…. its bark peeling to reveal a pale, white trunk beneath.

Grounded in the moment, I take in a sense of gratitude and renewal. All of this gathers into energy, carrying me forward and preparing me for the day ahead.✨

Pilates at 6 am. I am new, not strong, and surrounded by women who appear to have been born doing Pilates. Still, I survived and that feels like a win.

Also attempting to give up smoking for what must be the thousandth time. I am experienced at quitting by now. Let’s see how this round goes.

Mental health struggles affect not just the person living with them, but everyone who loves them. Misunderstanding or judgment adds weight to an already heavy load. Mental illness can change how a brain works, so what looks like defiance is often just symptoms. Patience and empathy don’t fix it, but they make the journey easier.