Though, to be honest, if I had written a plan, it would've been quite simple.
1. Give me drugs.
2. The baby inside me is in control. Not me. Do whatever the baby wants.
3. Give me more drugs.
4. If you try to play soothing dolphin/rainforest sounds, I will hurt you. INXS is fine.
5. I apologise in advance for swearing, don't take it personally. You are probably not really a bitch/arsehole/fucking nazi sadist.
6. Seriously, just give me all of the drugs.
So I've decided to look ahead and write an Aged Care plan instead. Maybe I couldn't control the birthing hours, but surely I can have some control over my twilight years...assuming my bowels let me. Please see that my husband/children/grandchildren/carers/housekeeper/legal guardian/parole officer/cruise ship activities director/whom it may concern get these instructions.
1. Give me drugs.
2. I was nice to my children because I knew they would choose my nursing home. If I don't like it, I want to change my will and leave everything to the Asparagus & Brussels Sprouts Growers Association.
3. Do not serve me asparagus or Brussels sprouts.
4. Do not attempt to wake me up to check if I'm dead or alive before 7am. If you do, you will shortly be having people check if you are dead or alive.
5. If my body is failing me but my mind is sound, don't treat me like I'm a child. If it is the other way round, I like play-doh and colouring-in books and puppies.
6. If anyone forces me to play Bingo, I may regurgitate my dinner over their shoes. Seriously, fuck Bingo.
7. Do not sit me at the dinner table with anyone who complains their food is too hot/cold/lumpy/mashed/bland/spicy/stale, who takes their dentures out, or who has a reflux problem. I realise this substantially reduces the number of dinner companions available to me, so I'm happy to eat alone. That way I can complain, burp, fart, and take my teeth out in peace.
8. If you do sit me at the dinner table with anyone I don't like, it will probably be best if I'm only allowed plastic cutlery.
9. I will not apologise for swearing. It is probably personal. You most likely are a bitch/arsehole/fucking nazi sadist.
10. Give me more drugs.
11. If I can't swallow the pills, crush them into a vodka cocktail.
12. When I start telling crazy stories from my past which may or may not be true, don't correct me or disagree. Just smile, nod and ask relevant questions. I may just be having dementia fantasies. Or I may be drunk.
13. My bladder and bowels are just fine, thank you. Stop making me go "just in case". I can control myself.
14. Ok, I accept that, on occasion, my bladder and bowels will let me down. This is why you should've fucking well listened to number 3.
15. If it can be avoided, I don't want to wear a nappy. Pretty sure I didn't enjoy them the first three years of my life, can't imagine I'll feel any different during the last three.
16. I know all the residents tie personal things to their walking frames to recognise them and avoid the infamous Edna vs Hilda Frame Stealing Incident of 2010. Nobody wants to relive that slow-motion chase. So if I want to tie a purple dildo to mine, let me. To be honest, by then I will think it's just a foot massager anyway.
17. If I start to go deaf, do not yell at me. I'd prefer hand signals. I've always been proficient at flipping the bird and, arthritis notwithstanding, I'd like to continue.
18. I'd like whoever ends up showering me to know a few things.... they were once perky, large, and magnificent; it was once a neat, dark, well-groomed triangle; and both areas functioned brilliantly.
19. I believe in dying with dignity. So if I look like I'm about to take my last breath, put chocolate in my left hand, wine in my right hand, and make sure my pants are ON.
20. Seriously, just give me all of the drugs. At once.