It’s July 2026, and it’s been almost two years since I wrote a blog post. I doubt many people have missed my nonsense—we all get far too many emails as it is—but it still feels strange sitting down to write one again. That said, I want to tell you what’s been going on at Debtwood and the main reason I haven’t had time to write a blog.

July 2024, my youngest son, Dave, had an unexpected medical emergency which left him a quadriplegic. At the time, he was 45, and living in Texas with his wife. To say it was a devastating event is an understatement. In the space of a few minutes, Dave’s life was tragically turned upside down and inside out. After almost 2 weeks in the ICU, he was sent for rehab at Baylor Rehabilitation in downtown Dallas for 5 weeks. Consequently, I also spent most of my time in Dallas.

It is Dave’s story to tell, but I wanted to explain to those who weren’t aware of the reason I went AWOL as a writer.

Dave was sent home from rehab in September 2024. He’d had five weeks of therapy, which was supposed to ‘prepare’ him for a life he hadn’t expected. Becoming paralyzed is not just about the inability to walk or stand or perform many tasks we take for granted. It brings with it a whole host of problems most people never even think about. Because when the nervous system doesn’t communicate, it’s almost like his body has been hacked. Loads of blood pressure issues, from numbers that can induce strokes, to numbers which can rob him of the strength to even lift his head. I could write a list of the struggles he faces regularly.

In December 2024, three months after leaving rehab, Dave’s then-spouse made some choices which required us to move him from Texas to live with us in Oklahoma, the following month. And from that point onward, life, as we all knew it, looked very different.

I’m sharing this (with Dave’s permission) because when I write my blog, it is always a truthful account of my real life here at Debtwood. Sometimes funny, sometimes not. He’s a big part of my world now, it wouldn’t be right to leave him out of it! Besides, he’d get mad!

So much has changed. Now, in addition to Scout the wonder dog and my husband Gump, there is Dave and his twelve-year-old dog, Walter. A HUGE Mastiff/Boxer/Sharpee mix. All 100 pounds of him. I guess my cast of characters has grown!

Right…now you’re up to date with our living situation.

And so here we are, July 2026. The temps are soaring, and it feels like we are living directly on the equator! Gump’s tomatoes have been long in the ground (I’ve been tempted to put him there too) and somehow bear fruit every five minutes. He’s eaten so many tomatoes, I’m surprised he doesn’t look like one. They still get the five-star treatment, which they desperately need now that our climate has changed to that of Mercury’s.

The poor old yard looks neglected. I have downed tools in protest and have refused to mow. All because of a dispute over how short or long we need to cut the grass. Gump doesn’t like short grass. I do. He insists everything outside should look “natural,” which apparently means we don’t trim, cut back, or remove much of anything. Don’t get me wrong, Gump’s no slacker; he’s a hard worker, always outside doing something. But not the things I want to get done or in the way I like them! But in his opinion, as long as he keeps everything looking like Nature intended, he’s happy.

Not me. I’m pissed. You see, my philosophy is, if you want to live ‘within nature’, go get a cabin in the bloody woods. We happen to live in a neighbourhood, one with houses and people and cars and roads. Therefore, there is an expectation to keep your place looking well-tended. Grass kept short, scruffy trees trimmed, and invasive plants yanked. Gump, in addition to his fear of making things look coiffed, also fancies himself as The turtle whisperer. He won’t allow any fencing in our yard (other than what our neighbours have put in). Fences are a huge no-no as they would impede turtles and their progress from yard to yard. Look, I love animals—including turtles—but I don’t design my landscaping around them. Anyway, I called Gump a dictator. I assured him that if it was his way or the highway, he could do ALL the yard work. I’m sticking to my guns, though I cringe every time I pull into the driveway and see the state of my yard. My consolation is that he also has to keep up with the poop patrol. Scout the wonder dog leaves plenty of presents in the yard, but now we’ve got Big Walter, with a penchant to excrete missiles whilst mobile, it’s a minefield out there😊

My home life priorities have shifted like the San Andreas fault. To say it’s been a stressful, crazy two years is a HUGE understatement for all of us residing in Debtwood. Gump has weathered the change in our living situation like a champ. As loath as I am to say nice things about the man, he’s been a huge support for Dave and me. He spent days crawling through a sweltering attic, building a custom lift to get Dave safely out of bed. Dave’s 6’2” and a big bloke, so that has been vital. Gump’s also become the nurse’s aide to my alter-ego, Nurse Ratchett. Dave has been more than patient with my abilities as a carer. Honestly, we should have a YouTube Channel for all the bizarre and funny conversations we’ve had whilst performing medical duties people don’t like talking about. Dave has a great attitude and sense of humour. You have to be able to laugh in this house, that’s for sure.

Scout the wonder dog, aka Princess of canines, is still sulking that Big Walter’s moved into her hood. He outweighs her and could decapitate her with his mighty, powerful jaws, but it hasn’t stopped her from being a bitch. She thinks she’s the alpha in this house (not true; it’s really me), and she tries to keep the old dog in his place. A few years ago, Walter would’ve ripped her a new one, but Big W’s an old man who doesn’t want trouble. Just a soft bed and some scratchin’s.

Photos: Scout the wonder dog and Big Walter.

Onward and upward…….We’ve navigated all the BS one encounters when their life does a 180. On Dave’s behalf, we’ve filed everything but our nails…Social Security, Disability, Home Health, requests for basic human needs, which are ridiculously difficult to get.

I could spend a lot of time talking to you about all we’ve experienced this past 2 years. The problems, hurdles, the lack of support, the inadequacies of the health care system to help us care for a person with many needs. But you’d get tired of my complaining. It is what it is. Dave got a bad hand dealt to him, and there’s nothing we can do to make that go away.

We’ve learned some hard lessons. Dave’s was the hardest. For me, I’ve learned that a tragedy in a person’s life is a sure way to discover who your real friends are. I can tell you, my Christmas card list has shrunk significantly. Some people are literally not worth a stamp. Gump thinks I’m being hard on people. I disagree. Not sending a Christmas card is much nicer than telling them what I actually think of them…who knew Gump was nicer than me? …Everyone 😊

In other news. I’m still trying to be a writer, well, when I have enough brain space or energy. Before this happened to my son, I’d just signed a contract with Harlequin and was editing my first book for them prior to it being published in February 2026. However, I’d also been contracted for 2 more books, which I wrote in the space of about six months, barely hitting the deadline. (They don’t know about my change of circumstance)…

By the time I finished writing both books, to say I was hormonal and unbalanced is putting it mildly. I was sleep-deprived and had become the mother of all dragons. Okay, I couldn’t breathe fire, but I wanted to. . Being a full-time carer is not for sissies (as I’m sure many of you know first-hand) – I think within the first three months, my body aged ten years, and my use of cuss words rivalled that of a pirate, rapper and my mother 😊

On the Gump front….Recently, our ice maker died. It’s that time when all the appliances you bought when you first moved into your house have formed a conspiracy and decided to conk out. We shuddered at the replacement cost, but decided it was worth every cent… Until Gump decided it wasn’t. Although he won’t be working for Kitchen Aid anytime soon, Gump has turned into a wannabe appliance man. Apparently, becoming an appliance repairman requires only four qualifications:

• A penchant to order many parts to ‘fix’ an appliance. So many, we are on first-name terms with our delivery man-his name is Kenny.
• An ability to moan loudly as arthritic joints (and backs) refuse to form corkscrew manoeuvres while fixing said appliance.
• The capacity to make a huge mess.
• The ability to remain in denial when appliances getting fixed are still not working.

So, we’re on month three of no ice maker. Gump’s famous words are “Let me try just one more thing.” Ugh.

There was one event brought on by the ice-maker’s demise that made Gump very happy. I went to the store to buy some ice trays. I looked like hell. Not just ugly clothes and no make-up, but I had that look. The one that says “I have so many things to do at home, I barely have time to brush my teeth, let alone my hair.” In fact, that day, I don’t think even the teeth got tickled.

Being old and invisible is helpful. I walk out of Target and see what I think is a young panhandler approaching me. Great, that’s all I need. If she even starts telling me a sob story, I can outsob her with ours, I think. She walks up to me. Then it dawns on me that she looks too clean and corporate. And is she planning on doing parking lot Karaoke with that microphone in her hand?

“Hi,” she says. “I’m with Channel 2 – can I interview you about the new IKEA that’s coming to Tulsa?”

I’d heard they were building one at Tulsa Hills (my local shopping area). I groaned. I pointed out my dishevelled appearance, my wrinkles. Told her I didn’t have a ‘good side’ for the camera, but all to no avail.

With the sun and the camera light in my face illuminating every wrinkle, chin hair, mole, not to mention traces of my breakfast, I did the interview.  Actually, it was a bit of a laugh. We joked. I made a few comments which they chuckled at, and I could tell I was doing a good job. ….if only it had been for a radio station instead….

When I got home and told Gump what had happened, he was elated. His excitement at my being on TV was ridiculously over the top. By the time the news came on, he’d set up every airing of it to be recorded. At some point, he made me come and watch the interview, beaming as if I was making an Oscar acceptance speech. I’m surprised he hadn’t already started looking for an agent to represent me.

But oh boy…..I looked like a homeless bag lady. Yes, I was witty, but that wasn’t enough to distract the eye from the ghastly face wobbling on a turkey neck. Gump, however, didn’t seem to care. He was ecstatic because they kept referencing me, using my last name, or at least the part that’s his. Every time they said it, he was practically floating with joy.

Then, without my knowledge and to my mortification, Gump sent out the interview link to friends and family. Typical that my one minute of fame had to be when I looked like something the cat dragged in. I looked almost as bad as our yard!

Well, I think that’s enough for now. I don’t want to make this an hour read! I’ll save a few things for the next round. I mainly wanted to get this out there and let you all know I’m still kicking, not as high, and with arthritis, but kicking nevertheless.

Thanks for staying with me!

Jude

P.S. We ordered a new icemaker………:-)