Imelda has been released! Now the fun begins...

Thursday 12 September 2013

Imelda has been released

(and he finally said 'Thank you')

Today I had a call at about 11am.  The caller was the sister from the ward Imelda was in.  She said, in my opinion trying to hide the relief in her voice just a teeny bit too hard, that Imelda could come home today. I am not sure what reaction she wanted from me but I am pretty sure it was not the expression of horror that she got.

The whole house is upside down.  It is very much like those little square games kids have where you have about 19 little squares in a small flat frame which you have to put in order, you have one space where you can only move one square at a time.  Clearing a hoarder's house is like that - only without the space.  You have to move one pile of stuff in order to get another pile of stuff out so that you can put a further pile of stuff there.

So the house was in  a state - that sort of state you get when you decide to tidy a cupboard at home.  Everything has to come out so you can clean, sort and then put back fewer contents and therefore make it tidier.  The boxes all had to be put in their place - although where that place actually was was anybody's guess.  Boxes which had now become temporary fixtures in the kitchen until the house was clear now had nowhere to go.  Nightmare!  Stuff everywhere.  It was definitely a 'now or never' atmosphere and Chris and I ran around the house trying to get as much obvious junk as possible out of the house in as little time as possible.  I am pretty sure we will not be able to get rid of anything once Imelda is home.  Oggy was full and then we squashed it all down and squished even more in.  We dragged a broken chair out from the pile and had to clear up the resulting avalanche, old clothes, old shoes (ssshhh don't tell), lots and lots and lots more old newspapers.

I am still convinced that if someone who had never been in the house went in today they would be shocked to the core at the mess - even though this mess is after a gigantic effort by me, Chris and my mates.  I have put in an average of six hours every day for the past three weeks.  I have come home totally and utterly knackered each day and stinking.  I have come home stinking of musty, dusty, unclean junk. I have had to streak to the shower after dumping my clothes downstairs in a sealed bag ready for the following day. I have had to wash my hair every day at least once.  I have neglected my family both by not being there during the holidays and the weekends and in that I am too knackered to talk when I come home.  I have made at least one trip to the skip every day and have got to know the skip men.  I have 'recycled' about 13 bags of newspapers every day.  I have had days when I have had lots of help from my friends and days when I have sat there on my own all day just sorting.  I have gained the most amazing sun tan from being outside in the hot sun (although the minute I leave, it rains).  I have filled my chimnea almost daily with all the receipts and bits of name and addresses papers.  I have found out that this behaviour is quite common - even though I do not understand why any sane person can want to live like that.  For the sake of throwing out things they don't need and can't use and haven't used for ten years they could have space to feel relaxed and happy.

I understand hoarding is classed as a mental illness.  I am not so sure about this though.  Perhaps it is like smoking (I have never smoked).  People know how damaging it is to their health, they know how it damages their wallet, they know they smell bad and they know they are likely to suffer a long and agonising death.... (OK OK I am getting carried away here on my high horse) but yet they still light up.  I understand addiction to some extent as I would be a mess without Galaxy Bites.  Is hoarding an illness, an addiction or merely sloppiness? 

Perhaps the happy sense of satisfaction I know I get from having a major clear up and hoover in the house is a bit extreme - possibly brought on by my experiences growing up.  I love that feeling of a clean tidy house with everything in its place.  I am not anal about it and I can live with a mess for a while - I have three kids - mess is normal.  I also know that I would never be able to live in that mess and retain my marbles.  A point to note is that my poor mother took leave of her marbles at a very early age.  I have to air my suspicions in that possibly the 'diagnosis' of premature Alzheimers, a term which was flung about by one or two people at the time, was perhaps somewhat inaccurate in light of what I have heard the past few weeks.  She was 47 when I first recall things not being quite right.  At the time I accepted what I was told.  After speaking to many many people after Imelda's accident - people who knew her before she became ill, I have to say I am not so sure.  Seeds of doubt have been creeping in over the past few weeks and are now firmly rooted.  Alzheimers Disease was never properly diagnosed.  I have to say I do not have medical facts but I do know so many people who think she may have suffered a mental breakdown that I cannot rule it out.

Did hoarding cause it?

Could you live in a house where the kitchen looked like this?

I couldn't!

Anyway, the hospital had asked me to collect Imelda at 2pm.  As I have Oggy who is a baby 4x4 Toyota Rav 4, I was able to get him.  Oggy is high off the floor and so to get in it is necessary to climb up and so ideal for an infirm person.  We rushed round to finish up and squeezed stuff in Oggy aiming to go to the skip.  I checked my 'office' - the garden where I have spent most of the past few weeks sitting on a large ground sheet sorting all manner of everything.  I spotted a black bag hidden in the trees.  I remember hiding it there - one day, a few weeks back I had friends round to help, for whose help of course I was extremely helpful.  These friends had been clearing for me and bringing stuff out.  At one point they saw I had a huge pile to sort and so decided to help me out by filling a bin bag themselves.  They told me 'don't worry we have checked these bags and really, trust us, they are all total rubbish, we have checked. - Where shall we put them?'  At the time I told them to put rubbish in the pile but then secretly hid the bag for me to check later.  I really do not want to sound ungrateful to those who have helped but really everything has to be checked and by me.  There have been twenty pound notes and books of stamps in old paper bags on the floor.  The behaviour is not normal and I only understand it because I grew up with it.  Anyway, this bag was still there - about three weeks later and I had not checked it.  I had five minutes, I untied it, everything inside was wet inside but it had to be checked.  I sorted as fast as I could but then this pile of small opened envelopes fell out of a pile onto the floor, I picked them up to put in paper recycling when I saw a red bank note.  I opened the envelope and there were two fifty pound notes in there.  I looked in the other envelopes and found two twenties and a ten - all mint and unused.  I freaked, now I am even more panicky than ever about throwing things out. I am even more convinced that I should be the one to check every single bit of paper which is thrown out.  Every single one. I now have doubts about myself - have I sorted too flippantly and too fast?  What have I missed?  

Is this really all rubbish? - look carefully and you will see the problem I have.

I put the whole bag in an IKEA bag, put it in Oggy and we headed for the hospital via the skip.  I had to park quite a way from the hospital and walk in.  The plan was go and see if he was ready, Chris could wait with him and I would get the car and drive to the hospital entrance.  I was rushing as I had to collect Imelda and take him home and then get to work by 3.30.  I still had my stinking dusty bogging vest and my sloppy jeans on.  I had planned to go home and change first but it didn't happen that way due to time restrictions.  I walked through the hospital grounds, through the hospital and down to the ward like a woman on a mission.  I had decided I would start with a no nonsense attitude from the word go.  People moved out of my way - they seemed to realise I meant business,  I got a lot of strange looks, I assume as I was wearing a vest and jeans.  I got to the ward and Imelda asked what the hell I had on my head.  It was at that point I realised I had just walked through the whole hospital with my brother in tow with my dust mask on the top of my head!  

I dropped Imelda home and left as I had to go to work.  He thanked me for the lift and I left.

At break time 6.30pm I rang the mountain for a spot of feedback. Imelda had gone to bed for a snooze - the first time he had slept in that bed without sharing it with piles of papers.  My brother told me Imelda was quite happy with the new house. My brother also said he had told Imelda that he thought I would appreciate some thanks as I had worked hard.

At 11pm, Imelda himself rang me and said he was 'impressed with the effort we had made at the mountain. 'Thank you' he said.  

He said 'Thank you'.  :)   

Breakthrough!

I recently was contacted by an editor of a hoarders programe on channel 5.  They are doing a documentary on hoarding giving a sympathetic twist from the point of view of the hoarder and not to make them look sad and pathetic.  I would be up for it because this sort of thing needs recognition.  I was not sure Imelda would be - all too often you see these TV shows aiming, for example, to show the struggles overweight people have with going on diets and they always seem to get film footage of the overweight person tucking into a pizza.  The audience then automatically think - 'look at that podgy porker eating pizza - no wonder she is fat'.  Most unfair I think.  The advantage to us is that possibly there will be specific and tailored professional help as this is one hell of a steep mountain for one person.  Also I will have contacts for the future.  I asked Imelda and it was not an outright 'no' so that is a start.  He said he wants to find out more.