The Joys of having a Bestie

Lately life has not been the best for me and the family but I like to think I face my challenges head on. However, sometimes my temper gets the better of me and these moments are not my proudest. The local City Hospice has been in touch as there is a charity called 'Care and Repair' who help elderly people with little repair jobs around the house that they cannot do. They come to the house to do an assessment, see what's needed and then send the appropriate tradesman to fix it. I think it's a lovely idea for those who need it. Last Thursday they called me at work at about ten to five asking if they could come to assess his needs the following day. They have my number as 1) He never hears his phone and 2) if he did happen to be passing when it rang, he wouldn't be able to hear anyone on the other end. I said I couldn't confirm if he would be in but as the slot was the following day I would go to his house straight from work and call the lady back. I went straight round there and he was in the garden with Ant doing a spot of gardening. Ant saw me and said 'Izzy's here dad'. After a few 'What?' and a few repeats, I heard him say 'Oh Hell is she?' Nice greeting but I let it slide. I said 'Right dad listen now and let me tell you why I'm here'. 'YOU WHAT?' he said. 'Dad, just LISTEN ok and I can tell you ... There's a charity call...' 'WHAT CHARITY?' 'Dad LISTEN! It's a charity called Ca...' 'WHAT CHARITY. I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ANY CHARITY.' 'Dad Listen please and I will tell you... There's a charity called Care and Repair and they... 'WHAT CHARITY? I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.' 'Dad please just LISTEN and I'll tell you... There's a charity... 'YES DAMMIT. YOU SAID BUT I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT A CHARITY I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT. YOU SAID THERE'S A CHARITY BUT I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT A CHARITY.' 'Dad, Just shush a minute, listen and I will tell you...' I was getting a little annoyed by now. 'The charity want to know if there's any jobs you need doing so they can take a look and see if they can fix them.' 'RIGHT WELL YOU DIDN'T SAY THAT DID YOU?' 'No Dad, you wouldn't let me. Now please listen...' 'I AM LISTENING DAMN YOU. YOU COME ROUND HERE WITH NO WARNING TELLING ME SOMETHING ABOUT SOME CHARITY AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT.' 'Dad I did try to call first but you didn't answer. So I ...' 'NO OF COURSE I DIDN'T ANSWER BECAUSE I WAS IN THE BLOODY GARDEN SO OF COURSE I DIDN'T BLOODY ANSWER. WHAT A DAMN STUPID THING TO SAY!' 'Dad, My point is I can't give you notice as they only called me 15 minutes ago and I did call but as you didn't answer I had to drive round here.' 'WELL, WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?' he said impatiently. Like he was the one doing me a favour. I won't carry on the conversation here as it went downhill from there and although typing it out here is cathartic, I can feel my blood approaching the boil again just replaying it in my mind. It didn't end well and I ended up telling him what an obnoxious ungrateful old *$"%ing *$*£^er he was - there were a LOT of naughty words in there - very naughty words but they had to come out. I shouted them as well and of course I'm not proud of this but he is probaby the only one who can take me from calm to axe murderer in about 10 seconds. Anyway, my journey home detoured through the lanes where there are lots of trees and green and it calms me down and I can scream if I need and the trees don't mind. When I got home, I called my bestie and of course she asked how I was and I told it all to her again missing nothing out - the full unedited version swearing and all. I finished telling her and there was a pause and I thought she was going to say I shouldn't have said it or be shocked, or she knows what he's like or I shouldn't speak to him like that, or it's because he's ill but there was a 2 second pause... And she ROARED with loughter down the phone lifting a ton of weight I didn't even realise I had, off my shoulders. She's met him. She knows what he's like and she doesn't judge. My bestie is AMAZING and she knows who she is. :)

When you try your very best but nothing changes at all.

I'm not altogether sure why the above gif appealed to me but it did so I put it in. I had a message via my Facebook page today asking if I was OK as I hadn't put a blog out there for a while. I am doing OK I guess, all things considered. Thank you for asking :) it's nice to be missed. So an update - Dad is clearly becomming more frail. Having been diagnosed with oesophagal cancer in June, he has lost a lot of weight and has asked me to get him a smaller belt and to take his trousers up about 3 inches - he has either shrunk as well as lost weight or the weight loss is causing his trousers to fall down. This is concerning as is the fact that Ant reports he is sleeping a lot more than usual. He has had a stent fitted to hold the tumour back and it's stent fights cancer at the moment. If the cancer grows through the stent, they simply fit a new one. Unfortunately everything is too far gone to operate and chemo is not an option as at age (almost) 95 the chemo would likely do him more harm than good. The mutual decision was to let him carry on as normal until - well until he can't. He eats very slowly due to the stent and having to have everything necessarily very wet or with sauce and cut into tiny pieces. So - he's been digging in the garden. This is his norm and will be until it can't be any more. He said the fruit harvest was tosh this year because of the hot dry spell we've had. The Hydrangeas have failed to impress as well. So he is busy making sure everything is pruned and prepared so all will be good in the garden for next year... The doctors have told him he needs to clear (or have cleared) a room in his house so that when the time comes he will be able to have a hospital bed in his house with room around it for any necessary machinery and a nurse or two. The doctor told him she was aware his house 'is a little bit busy'. Interestingly worded. Maybe. She told him if this doesn't happen then he will have to go into the hospital. He wants to be at home. This is never going to happen. That it won't happen is a good thing as it takes away the issue that poor Ant may be the one to find him should anything happen at home. We therefore don't push this point. That I am aware he may not be with us long (we have no realistic time frame so we are taking things day by day) is making things difficult. Ever aware I should be playing the loving distraught daughter at this point and then seeing the realism that although this is the clearly expected ideal, this is not the case. I'm running around like a blue arsed fly currently, taking dad to appointments and Ant to meet social workers (who would usually meet at the house but, well, you know the deal with that). Three people would never be able to fit in one room together at the same time due to the hoarding. Heck sometimes we have difficulty fitting three people in the house. If I go to visit, we all usually gravitate to the garden, where I am taken to see his rhubarb, his compast heap, his runner beans, redcurrants and the new pear tree. Yippity doo. Dad's driving licence is due to run out in early September, which he knew about and told me about in May. His car, an elderly 52 plate silver Ford Focus, which is green due to, in his words, being kept in the shade (or never being washed - take your pick), had it's own agenda and refused to go into gear sometime in late July. A neighbour managed to put it on his drive where I fear it will remain for a looong time. So this means I get to take him to get his weekly shopping. Now I am aware I should be doing daughterly duties and am OK with this. However... He asked me to take him on my day off this week. He wanted to go to Lidl and then to Farm Foods. I waited in the car and let dad and Ant go inside. After 45 minutes I went inside to see how they were getting on and why he was taking so long, to see him walking around with his farm foods vouchers,a pen and an old envelope to write things down to ensure he was getting his vouchers' worth. An hour later, I had, to my shame, fallen asleep at the wheel of my parked car in the Farm Foods car park. Dad and Ant came out with a trolley of stuff including 48 eggs, a sack of potatoes and a sack of onions. There are 2 of them living together. That was Tuesday. Dad also mentioned he needed to SORN the car (Statutory Off Road Notification for those out of the UK) and wanted to know if I could do this for him online. (He's not allowed online, firstly as I don't think it's safe and secondly because I won't let him - I refuse to drive 14 miles from my house and back at 11pm to show him how to press 'ENTER' on his laptop again). I checked and he needed the reference number from his V5 logbook to SORN the vehicle online. Of course he does. But he's lost the V5 form. Of course he has. Can I do anything? Not without the number which is on the logbook or a tax renewal form. He doesn't know where either form is. He can have a look but he has so much else to do and he can never find anything anywhere and everyone keeps asking him for stuff and he's still looking for other stuff and ... cue long and often-repeated rant. I said he could apply for another V5 but this would cost and take a week or so. Or he can fill in another form but this will only apply once the DVLA receive the form, and it has to go by post. If they get it on the 1st of a month, it says, you will not be refunded for that month so you pay for another whole month and the refund for car tax in from the following month. I said the best thing was for him to find the form. Another rant ensued and I gave up, telling him to look again. Last night he rang to say he hadn't found the log book and can I do it online. Not without the log book/V5 - he says he can't find it... you see a pattern emerging here? So I found the form online to fill in to say he wants to SORN without the log book number, printed it off, filled it in, wrote an envelope and took it to him after work. Do I get any thanks? No. I get shouted out for it being too late as it won't get to the DVLA in time and he 'has to find a bloody stamp and it's all a bloody nuisance and bloody ridiculous... and he can't find anything and everyone wants him to do everything and it'll all work him into an early grave at this rate.' All his anger directed at me. Again! I guess, at this point perhaps he expected me to fling myself on the floor in tears and say 'Oh darling father, please no, please let me do everything for you. Let me magic the document for you. Please don't worry. The stress isn't worth it'. Did I say that? Did I fuckery buggery! I will not put in writing what I said under my breath. The form was finally signed - after him scrutinising it as if looking for the wording 'I give all my worldly goods to my daughter..' (and not finding it) despite it clearly being labelled DVLA and me having filled out HIS details on it. After him yelling that it would have to be posted in a specific post box a mile away and shouting at me when I queried whether the one around the corner may suffice, the form was duly signed and posted and is hopefully winding its way to the DVLA right about now.

Bathmatgate

Since Dad's cancer diagnosis, I have been trying to be the faithful loving daughter that is the accepted norm. Not that I ever had a normal upbringing, not in that house and not with the hoard that resided there with me, (and stil takes up every inch of the house). I am sorely aware of the impending scale of the size of the task which awaits me. I write this blog, not for sympathy and not for judgement, but purely because writing it is my therapy. I don't have a therapist - maybe I should, although where to start looking I don't know. Knowing others read it, and others from a similar hoarding family history may get some assurance from it that they are not alone, helps too. So. Bathmatgate. - After his diagnosis, dad was referried to the local hospice for specialist cancer care. For whatever reason he thought it was a residence 'for the homeless' as he put it and had no idea why i was taking him there. He was surprised when he found out it was a hospice for the care of cancer patients. They assessed his needs and were able to help him with putting a rail outside his house, a stair rail, a keysafe outside the house in case he needs medical care and they said he would need a bathmat (for inside the bath) to stop him slipping in the bath (he has a shower over the bath arrangement). They were able to supply the rails etc for free but he didn't have a bathmat and told me he needs one as he is getting quite unstable in the bath. So like the loving, caring daughter I am meant to be, I drove 7 miles to the local Argos to see if I could buy him one, believing he should have one sooner rather than later. They only had a shower mat so I bought that and ordered a bathmat in case the shower one didn't fit. I took it to him. He wasn't happy as he said the hospice were supplying one. I pointed out the mats weren't expensive and I thought it best he had one sooner rather than later. The shower mat was too wide so I said not a problem - I would exchange for a bath mat. - see my last pst to see how that went. So the next day I drove 7 miles again to Argos to exchange it for a full size bathmat. I rang to see what time he was having his bath to ensure I got it there in time, however his number was coming up as not recognised despite the same enumber being saved in my phone for the last 20 years or more. So, unable to call him, I emailed Ant. Dad called back an hour later. He asked me why I had said there was an issue with the phone when clearly here I was speaking on it. Explaining was impossible as he kept talking over me. Ant was also on another phone in the house attempting to translate. After 5mins of this pointless and infuriating conversation I said I had his bathmat. after a lot of further phone issues he said 'Well if you've already got the bloody damn thing, I suppose we'll have to have it.' Perhaps that was his way of saying thank you. I don't know - I hung up before I launched my phone at the wall. The bathmat remains in my car boot. :( Friends, family, acquaintences, please stop asking me how my dad is. Just please stop, because I can't keep up this act of being a loving caring daughter any more when he speaks to me like that all the time.

The worst daughter ever - Diary of a mental breakdown which hasn't happened yet.

To bring you up to date, dad has had a diagnosis of terminal oesophagal cancer which we were told about on 5th June 2025. Since then I have been taking him to hospital appointments and calling people for him and chasing things as he can't use the phone due to his hearing loss. I have taken time off work and done as much as I can to make things easier for him and Ant, my brother to process everything. Ant has autism and is limited in the amount he can do due to this. Dad has never been one of those dads which a girl adores, in fact for much of my teenage years I would have told you I felt the absolute opposite. He wasn't a hands on dad and kept himself to himself, leaving my mum to do most of the child raising and emotional stuff. Mum was amazing, but sadly passed away in 1994 with what they said was 'early onset dementia' at the time. Although sometimes some people can be pushed further than a person should ever be pushed and mentally when you are pushed to the limit, something has to give, you begin to shut down. (please read between the lines as to what I am saying here.) Dad had a stent put in his oesophagus on June 9th (this year) the stent will hold back the cancerous tumour which has spread everywhere and which they cannot treat. At 94 the chemo would make his life hell and so all factors considered a stent to hold back the tumour for now and keep the oesophagus open was the best option. Operating on a 94 year old is also a bad idea. The hospital gave him tablets to be taken forever to stop the acid reflux as the acid will come up from his stomach and the oesophagus will not work properly due to the stent. He also had to have protein nutritional milkshakes from the doctor as he can't swallow so can't eat properly. Last week i went round with his grandaughters. the window was open as I walked past and I heard Ant say I was outside. I clearly heard him say 'Oh hell is she?'. I held my tongue on that occasion. Yesterday I went round to see how he was and to see if he could find his passport and or driving licence and a utility bill as we are getting his will done (he thought he had done one - he had - in about 1975 - so we need to sort a new one). He spent about 30m telling me how both tablets and shakes had run out 2 weeks ago and he had tried to call the chemist as they were meant to be on repeat but the chemist said call the doctor which he had tried numerous times but he couldn't get through and etc etc etc. He was ranting. I told him stop ranting I would sort it tomorrow (today). He also said he needed a bath mat because he was a bit unsteady in the bath. He continued ranting as he was looking for the documents - he went through 3 piles of envelopes on his kitchen table, not letting me help or look through them as 'you won't know where it is.' He churned through the documents all the time loudly complaining how difficult his life was when people always wanted things from him and nobody ever helped him and how things always went missing and he was trying to sort things out. He disappeared upstairs to look, meanwhile I looked in 2 envelopes and found 2 utility bills, took photos for the financial adviser/will maker and stepped outside to breathe and take a moment to avoid insanity. To get outside (3 feet away) I had to step over a huge pile of stuff and push back 3 bags of stuff from behind the door. The hoard and smell is everywhere and I could feel my nose swelling up. Fir those new to this page dad is an extreme hoarder. The milisecond I got outside, Ant was there asking me what I thought of the Eurovision entry this year and which was my favourite Eurovision song and did I know what the temeperature was going to be this week - (Ant's Autism makes him hyper focus on things - Eurovision and temperature are 2 of those things). I tried to be polite to Ant, answered and asked him to give me a moment. He replied with 'What would you do if you lived here with dad?' My answer was I would have done something rather violent with an axe a LONG time ago. I said I would come back on Wednesday to give dad time to see if he could find the documents. Today (Tuesday) I had a day off. I had wanted to do some more writing but had to sort the medication for dad. I rang the doctor who said they had no knowledge of anything from the hospital. I rang the hospital who said they had the same pc system as the gp and they HAD prescribed a repeat for the shakes and pills on 5th. I rang the doctor and told them this - they will look into it. A company rang asking if they could fit a handrail outside his house today - they can't get through to him. I say I will need to see if he is there first I will call them back. He needs to be there. I call him and can't get through - he probably is outside or can't hear the phone. I phone the grabrail people back - sorry can't do today as I can't get through to him. The doctor rang to say they had sorted it... They have a prescription for the items. I say I'll be there within the hour. I drive to the doctor 20mins away, collect prpescription and go to the chemist. They only have the tablets not the shakes. I then go to the shop to buy a bathmat (slip-proof for inside the bath) they only have a shower mat - I buy that for the time being and order a bath mat to be collected tomorrow. I go to another chemist by dad's house for the shakes, they're closed 12.30 - 1.30 (I got there at 1). I went to Dad's house with one set of pills he has been trying to get for 2 weeks and the bath mat I bought for him. I thought he'd be pleased - silly me! At his house, I said 'I managed to get your tablets dad.' and put them on the table. 'What's that?' he says 'Your tablets that you've been trying to get for 2 weeks, I sorted it for you.' 'Well I've TOLD you I've called the doctor and they've been looking into it and the chemist need the doctor to send the details over - I TOLD you I was sorting it but it takes time... why don't you ever listen to me?' 'Well Dad I've sorted it and there they are. I've also got you a bathmat you mentioned the other day.' 'Did you get it on prescription?' 'No Dad, I bought it on the way over but it's a shower mat so if it doesn't fit I'll change it.' 'Well a shower one's no good is it?' 'No dad, but it's better than nothing for the time being as I don't want you slipping.' 'Right!' he said 'Well I don't have a bath until Sunday, not like some females who have a shower every day - ridiculous.' I let that one go. He smells vile but I can't say that and he clearly has no problem with it. We went upstairs to see if it fit - it didn't as was the wrong shape. 'No worries.' I said 'I'll change it tomorrow.' 'Right'. 'I'll take the prescription for your shakes to your chemist on the way home.' I said, 'they're closed for lunch.' 'Well I could have told you that.' he said irritably. 'There's also someone supposed to be fitting a handrail but I haven't heard from them...' 'Ah.' I said, 'yes they called me this morning and I...' 'What - who called you?' 'The handrail people dad but you di...' 'You never told me!' 'I'm telling you now dad, they called me today and...' 'When did they call? I didn't know they called. I've been waiting for them to call...' 'Dad listen - I'm telling you now...' 'You haven't told me though - this is the first I've heard of it. When are they coming?...' 'Dad, please just listen, they called you first but...' 'They never called - when did they call?' 'This morning dad, I'm trying to tell you...' 'BUT YOU'RE NOT Telling me are you? You're shouting.' 'Because you're not listening dad please just let me finish. They called and...' 'BUT THEY DIDN'T CALL. I never got a call... DAMN YOU GIRL WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO BLOODY ARGUMENTATIVE. YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN BLOODY MINDED AND DAMN ARGUMENTATIVE. IT'S ALWAYS BEEN THE SAME...' He banged his fist on the table and continued yelling. Note. Not a word of thanks for spending my whole morning making phone calls and driving around, only anger, fury and frustration, taken out on me. I'd like to say I calmly walked away but - I didn't. I had enough, and snapped, told him a few things I won't repeat and left. I sat in my car howling my eyes out. His neighbour saw me, a neighbour I know really well and who has said I'm always welcome to come in for a cup of tea if I have spare few moments. I have never needed a cup of tea more in my life. I knocked on their door and they welcomed me in. I howled some more and left there about 45mins later feeling much better. I dropped the 2nd prescription in the chemist and went home and howled some more. I've written this as I find it cathartic to write. I can't keep repeating this for all my friends and rellies who I know care deeply about me as then it will keep replaying over and over. I have written it and now it's out and I can move on. The next few weeks/months are going to be total hell for me - please be patient with me and please expect me to do a lot more howling at the drop of a leaf. It's how it works. We will get through this. xx

The parking fine. Parking faries i am NOT happy with you.

Saturday 14th went to Cardiff centre to do a flash mob with the fabulous Rock Choir. Trying to take my mind off things. Got home to find a parking fine letter from parking in the Heath Hospital on the day we got his diagnosis. £70 bloody quid reduced to £40 if I pay within 14 days. Not a chance are they getting a bean from me without a fight. I'd checked as far as I could on the day but apparently the 4th floor was staff parking only. Fuming I was. Drove over to Cardiff to get as much information as I could with which to fight the damn fine. That appointment had been the worst possible news ever and now they wanted £70. I couldn't see any signs to say staff only only to not park on hatches. Replied with my appeal when I got home. Took Dad to Llandough hospital on Monday 16th to have a stent fitted. waited for the 30m procedure to check he was OK then left. Still cross about the fine so went to the heath hospital on the way home to speak to their parking office it was closed. rang the hospital the next day between 10 and 2 and got through to someone who said to call a different number. called it and got an answering machine telling me to call the parking company. 😑 Went to the other hospital the fillowing day to get dad and was very careful where I parked. Went to the hospital in person the following day and explained why I thought their fine was wrong. They said 'its all fully signposted' this sounded like an automatic response to me not an answer to my points so politely I stated their signage was at best confusing and at worst non existent. I showed them photos. They took my details and said they would look into it. 4 days later I had an email to say the fine had been cancelled. One small step at a time but a win I was very happy with.

The final diagnosis.

Around a month ago my dad, a hoarder, not just a 'Lets just keep this for now,' kind of a hoarder, more a 'Lets keep everything forever,' kind of a hoarder (those of you who have read 'Diary of a Hoarder's daughter' will know the extent of it), asked if I would accompany him on a visit to his GP. A little concerned at this request, as he's never asked me before, and suspecting maybe there may be something he needed to share with me, I went. I drove from where I live, 7 miles over Caerphilly Mountain to his house to take him a mile up the road to see his GP. He'd told me he had a few aches and pains and a few other things. I know he wanted to discuss that a dermatologist had found a patch of skin cancer on top of his head which had been removed and he was ordered to wear a hat while outside at all times. They'd removed it all but also had given him a leaflet 'about Cancer' and given him a number for a MacMillan nurse who was off for 2 weeks. He was confused - did he or didn't he have 'the big C' as he called it? After greeting the GP like a good friend, he mentioned he was tired a lot, he was drinking a lot, he had a bit of stiffness, he was finding it difficult to swallow his food, he was having breathlessness going downhill as well as the uphill problems he'd before. The GP looked at him kindly, took his vitals and said 'but you're 95 this year, you have to expect a few aches and pains.' She booked him for a blood test and said to keep an eye on things and report back if nothing got better. Just before Easter he told me he was still having difficulty swallowing and was having to drink lots of water with each meal. He also had leg ache, was tired and breathless. I was a little worried but thought surely the GP would have picked up something dreadful although he's almost 95 and as she said he has to expect to decline in health a bit. Easter Monday was a bank holiday and I was away. at 8.23pm on Easter Tuesday I had a call from the local hospital 'Did you know your father is in hospital?' I didn't. 'It's OK,' she said 'we'll look after him now he's here but what are you going to do about Ant?' (my brother). Ant, 57, has Autism and the hospital clearly expected me to fetch him and take him home. I drove over the mountain and came in to see dad on the ward. Apparently he'd travelled to see the GP, on the bus. The GP had seen him and sent him to A&E immediately. He also went there ON THE BUS and had to walk half a mile from the bus stop. On arrival he had a funny turn and they whipped him onto a trolley and the next thing he was in a bed and they called me. Neither Dad nor Ant had called me earlier as neither own a mobile phone. Two days later the hospital called me at work to arrange an appointment to meet with us the following Tuesday to discuss treatment and what we could do moving forward. They said they had put a camera down his throat and now needed to discuss the results. At this point I began to panic. The vibes weren't good. I asked what they'd found and there was an ominous silence. 'Er we don't give results over the phone'. this sounded worse and I pointed out I'd prefer to hear it by phone, whatever it was, than worry all weekend. She asked was I sure. I said I was. She said they'd put a camera down and found 'an extremely nasty malignant looking mass in his oesphophogus.' They didn't yet know what it was but in their experience it definitely wasn't good. The biopsy would confirm but we should come in on Tuesday 5th June. I had to work out how to tell Ant in a way he'd understand. Dad was allowed out of hospital after being given the same news, and some protein drinks to keep him going. I went to get him on 4th June to take him home. he needed the venthlon needle thing taken out. The nurse came to remove it and he said "can I keep this?" I cringed. she said 'NO'. he persisted 'Honestly, I need it as it would be perfect for the light switch in my bathroom otherwise I will have to go buy a whole new fitting...' She looked at him somewhat bemused and repeated 'No - it has body fluids on and has to be thrown out.' She took it and left. 'Aw that's mean.' he says ' you're a mean girl and you're not my friend any more.' She looked a tad amused, - being in her mid thirties. Dad, not having given up yet, stood up and directed his attention at a young male nurse nearby. "She's really mean... Oh. Where are you from?' I cringed but there was nowhere to hide. 'From India' says the young nurse. 'Ah yes. India. Indian' says dad. 'Yes we have people just like you in our street. yes Indians right ok. well lovely to meet you.' he held out his hand. I took him home. 5th June was the appointment in the hospital Endoscopy unit. I dropped Ant and Dad in the concourse telling them to wait while I parked and headed sharpish to the multi-storey car park. I usually avoid these dark mysterious caverns from hell at all costs. The spaces are tight, there's cars all over the place (obs), no spaces, signs which make little sense everywhere and cameras lurking in every dark hole. People are rushing about and everybody's stressed. Spaces are rarer than a live plant outside Aldi in a heatwave and I wasn't having the best day ever. Outside the car park was a height warning sign, a barrier, many other signs and lots of yellow paint. I spotted a 'VISITORS AND PATIENTS ONLY' sign at the entrance and with a sigh of relief as there were a rather impatient few drivers behind me, I entered the pits of hell. I drove round floor 1, nothing. Up to floor 2, round and round, nothing. Up to floor 3 same story. 'Dear Parking Angels, saints and Sinners, will someone PLEASE give me a space,' I screamed, like a Karen in a supermarket and thumped poor Freddie's steering wheel in frustration. 'Please!' I drove up another floor as I shook the pain from my fist. I turned the corner and there I swear, glowing in the far corner was a space being lit by the sun like a gift from above. 'Thank you parking fairies' I said, out loud and reversed Freddie into the space. Just for the sake of my sanity and because I don't trust those places after stories I've heard about being an inch over the line etc etc, I checked all 4 wheels were inside - yes. I checked for anything saying I couldn't park there, no hatches - no. No signs on the wall. I walked over to a blue sign in the corner of the car park. The sign was in Welsh and there was no English translation next to it. Another sign on the wall said 'do not park on the hatches'. I hadn't so I left the car park by the back stairs and on to meet dad and Ant and go on to the appointment. We were all ushered in after a short wait and told straight that the camera had found his oesophogus to be 90% reduced in width and surrounded but a malignant tumour, which had since been confirmed as Cancer. In short, at 94, there was little they could do. Chemotherapy would make him very sick as soon as it was started and his body may not take well to it. Operating was not an option due to the advanced stage. The final option was to insert a stent to push the tumour back so he can at least eat or get something down him. This would be fitted on June 16th 2025 in a different hospital. We all left the hospital feeling totally devastated, each of us processing things in different ways. We walked to the car as dad said he needed air to clear his head. I linked arms with him, he felt very frail. It was so hard to stay strong for him and Ant. We have never been a family to share feelings so we walked in silence, none of us knowing quite what to say. Dad spoke. 'So that's it then!'

59 years plus 2 months part 2 - a log cabin in the Forest of Dean