19)The goalpost at my wit's end has moved.

A blog about myself, the daughter of an extreme hoarder, who fell on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s still in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He's 95 with terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, asthma, diabetes and skin cancer.  Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly, trying 'make things safe' at his house as he wants to come home. The paramedics said it was their duty to report the house situation, citing safeguarding concerns. He tells me on every visit not to throw anything out and he has an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing. 

I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

A wind up clock I found in the hoard. 

 

Friday 6th Feb 2026

Went to the house after I finished work, to collect a lot of large items which needed to go to the skip - old duvet, 1970's bar fire, a load of Radio Times magazines from 2001 onwards, an old weighted blanket of Ant's, a broken chair, a whole stack of cardboard, 9 old paint pots where the paint had turned into a block of solid matter, a tin of quality street from 2018... you get the picture.

An item we had found under a pile was the clock above.  I have no idea about antiques but I think if a collector wanted this (It's a wind-up clock), it would be best not to touch it.

Freddie stank of the hoard but the tip was closed so he'd have to go on the drive for the night and I'd get rid of it in the morning.

I rang the hospital Friday to see what the result of the camera down the throat found. I was told they weren't able to fit him in Friday - it would have to be done on Monday. He had also missed his ears being syringed though as the camera was deemed more important. Neither were done.

Ant visited dad on Saturday so I gave myself the weekend off. This is the time of year I usually reward myself for surviving another year by flinging myself down a mountain all week. All my ski friends have, kindly sent me MANY photos to remind me just what I'm missing. Cheers guys!

I usually book in about September, however due to dad's diagnosis, I thought it best not to book this year until the last minute. I'm happy to go alone or with friend/s. Then when he had the fall on Christmas Day, I gave up the idea as I thought he would need care when he came out. Of course I could have gone on any of the past 6 weeks since then as he's been safe in the hospital. That's the name of the game - keep thinking he will be allowed home any day... and putting my life on hold. Also going round to tidy the house on all my spare days off, with no actual goal, no guidelines and nobody to help.

I visited him on Monday 9th Feb 2026, after work. He's finally stopped hallucinating about the local lake being poisoned by his joint of out of date ham and killing all the fish, swans, geese and ducks. He's stopped the one about the FBI chasing him. He's stopped the thing about the BBC wanting to do a documentary about him and he's stopped about the new patients being recruited by the FBI to 'earn a few bob' to spy on him.  He is almost back to 'normal'. I use the word loosely.

He is still asking me to have his earwax removal booked in as he missed it on Friday even though he wad actually in the same hospital.  I rang them this morning and they said the next appointment is in March but they couldn't book him as he was down as a no show. I explained the circumstances and finally they got me a cancellation for 24th Feb - 2weeks time and told me if he missed it again they would take him off their records.  I guess that even though he's in hospital and the ear place is in the same building, I'll have to take the day off work, drive 14 miles round trip to make sure I take him myself from the ward to the outpatients dept.

At least I had some good news for him. I'd tell  him the next time I saw him, a few days later.

Ant rang me that evening, jubilant that he'd sorted a date for the ear wax removal. He told me he'd been to visit dad that afternoon and the two of them had walked to outpatients to 'sort this damn issue out.' They'd negotiated the corridors and managed to book for Feb 24th! Right!

I went to the house yet again to try to finish the work. The problem is everything takes so much time. I am fully aware the UK NHS system is under huge pressure and conscious he's bed-blocking. I'm pulling out all the stops to get the house in order so he can come out. The housing officer said it doesn't need clearing completely - but there needs to be enough room for him to move about freely. As dad has given strict instructions that NOTHING is allowed to be thrown out (apart from the spare 27 year old mattress in my old bedroom). Everything lining the hall, stairs, kitchen and bathroom should be put in the study and my old bedroom so both rooms need to be partially emptied and stuff put back in to a higher level - so more fits in.

After he'd been in hospital 4 weeks they sent a cleaning/clearing company round to see what needed doing and give a quote. The chap was very nice and sympathetic and said he'd seen this type of thing before. 

Two weeks later nothing had been received regards a quote, the doctors were wanting to send him home but were aware the house wasn't suitable yet. I chased them and the cleaning bloke apologised - could he come round again. I met him at the house again and he said he had an official waste clearing licence but as he had a van it would cost £135 just to take a van load to the tip - however they weren't allowed to take anything which hadn't been agreed by the owner and so removal of the single mattress (which was all dad agreed to) would be £135. This was the charge from the tip. I said in that case I'd stuff the wretched thing in Freddie and take it myself - which I did, the same day. The total quote was about £2570. But had to be redone as I'd already done a lot of the work.

We were told there was a council grant available for these type of circumstances, however if the house owner could afford it they would be asked if they could pay for it or if not then pay something towards it. I went in and explained this to dad THREE times. Explaining there was a grant available if he couldn't afford it etc but he would be asked if he could pay all or some of it first.

The 2nd quote arrived and he was quite concerned about it and demanded I read the letter the minute I arrived at the ward. He said he'd agreed to pay some of it but wanted to discuss it with me.

On reading it I realised I'd now done 90% of the work already over the 7 weeks he's been in bed. I told him so.

'Right!' he said, 'So can you bring my cheque book?' I repeated I'd already done most of the work anyway. '

So I don't need my cheque book?'

'No dad, you don't.'

'Right!  Did you bring me some clean socks?'

18) Am I a doctor - Er no! Tumour or Baked Beans?

 A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent, who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He remains in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

One Freddiefull

Thursday 5th February 2026 (Six weeks in hospital).

Today I spent 5 hours at that house tidying and clearing. I came out of there stinking dirty, sneezing and with an aching back. However, before I went home, I needed to go visit the hospital.

Dad has now been in hospital 6 weeks today. Fair to say he's pretty unhappy being in there. He says he wants to come out and complains a LOT. He is able to sign himself out, should he wish. He knows this. However if he does, he'll get no help whatsoever from social services. No home help, no home nurses, no nothing.

As it's the NHS, and I appreciate they're really struggling right now, things take a looooong time. Dad doesn't help himself by complaining and moaning about anything and everything. His dinner is too hot/cold/spicy/mushy/tasteless. His tablets are not given at the right time - his water pill, he says MUST be given two hours before or 30m after (don't quote me) food, otherwise he needs to do a sprint to the bathroom. He can't sprint!

When I arrived at his bedside at about 3.30pm, he told me he had done a sit down protest at the nurses desk today because he didn't know when his ears were to be syringed and he can't hear. Of course he's frustrated, I get that. Finally the nurses took him to the ear dept and after a lot of searching, they said the appointment would be tomorrow.

I was a little concerned to see he had a kidney bowl by his bed with a watery foamy fluid in it. I asked if he was OK. He said he couldn't get anything down his throat and try as he may, everything he ate or drank came straight back up. He'd only managed to eat 9 baked beans from lunch. This alarmed me more than it did him. This is what happened back in June 2025 when he went to A & E. Then they put a camera down his throat, it wouldn't fit so they put a baby camera down and found the 'nasty mass'. He finally had a stent fitted to hold the cancer back and after a few days was sent home. As he's 95 they can't operate and they can't treat it.

So when the same scenario played out again on Thursday, I went to see the nurse and politely explained that I knew he was probably complaining too much but I thought this time it was possibly serious and I thought his stent was either blocked with baked beans or cancer.

20 minutes later, a man in a sweatshirt and navy trousers appeared at the bedside. 'Are you a doctor?' he asked, in a strong foreign accent. I'm not, and I told him so.

'So you're not a doctor' he said. I got the feeling this was a little accusatory. I repeated I wasn't. I asked who he was as his attitude was a little... unexpected.

'I'm the doctor.' he said.

Right!

He spoke to dad and asked what was happening and dad explained.

'OK. You are to have no more food and nothing to drink until tomorrow morning, when we will send you for an endoscopy. We will put you on IV fluids until then.' The nurse came and took away his uneaten dinner.  The doctor used my white board to explain to him and then he left.

My eyes started prickling, was the cancer growing through the stent? Was this bad news? I fought the tears back until I got to the car. Visiting was almost over anyway. I hugged him and said I'd call the hospital the next day for an update.

I bit my lip and held back the tears until I was in the corridor. I could do with a good cry, a release. Sometimes we all need a damn good cry... and the tears wouldn't come. Nothing! I can't figure this out - when someone says the wrong word to me the tears pour out. Now when I need them to come, they refuse.

I rang the hospital at 3pm the following day. They said he was still waiting to be called down.

I rang at 4pm and they told me he wouldn't go down until Monday now as the unit had been busy. He has to be on iv fluids for 3 days as it's now a weekend. He apparently didn't go to his appointment to have his ears syringed - they didn't know why.

Now I'm numb. Tears won't come, emotions are everywhere.

I took another box of paperwork into my house to sort. In his house there are MANY 300+ boxes stacked high with stuff - each time he goes to Lidl, he takes a stackable fruit box to carry his shopping in - they're free and he can use them in the fire when he has finished with them (only he doesn't - he stacks them full of stuff - all over the house).

Some things I found in this box; 17 rawl-plugs and a drill bit, a receipt from 2014 for a toaster from Morrisons, a photograph of me from 1972, an old sock, 8 wine bottle corks, various letters and bank statements from 2014, 8 letters to him as executor for my mum (who passed in 1994). 2 letters addressed to my mum dated 2017, an ASDA magazine, a Lidl brochure, 2 Christmas cards from myself and my kids I don't remember sending - at a guess 10 years ago, an unopened marketing CD dated 2017, an original share certificate, 2 tax vouchers and a lot of ripped out pages from magazines about nothing in particular, a single flat moccasin slipper, an empty and cracked cotton reel and some hairy string.

There are about another 299 or so of these boxes.

A call from the hospital from the Adult Services team told me he would be allocated a social worker on Monday.

17) Still in hospital six weeks later.

 After a few visits over the past few days, I have not updated as my mojo has buggered off - skiing probably - which is where I belong this time of year. That I haven't been and have nothing booked is nigh on killing me in itself.

After dad had the diagnosis in June 2025, I was under the impression he had months not years left and so I didn't book my regular jolly to the mountains. He has now been in hospital 6 weeks, with no sign of him coming home any time soon, I'm slightly waffled - knowing I could have gone. However the hospital give the impression he should be home really soon. Here lies the problem - his 3 broken ribs were healed enough for him to come home after 2-3 weeks, however, as the paramedics had to report the house due to safeguarding issues, there are now about 37 people involved in the discharge process - and none of them know what the others are doing.

Four times he has been told he can go home by staff who don't know the full picture. He has been told many different things by many different people and he's still there asking me what's happening. And I don't know.

I do know that an assessor came to the house and she said there was no way he can go home safely to that house. 'There will need to be a path wide enough for a Zimmer frame at the very least.' she said. 'Perhaps we can take out his double bed and replace it with a single bed.' She also suggested the 3 piece suite sofa and armchair could be chucked out leaving just his chair. The space would then be able to be filled with other stuff currently lining the hallway, stairs etc etc.

I'm surprised she knew the other sofa and chair were there - you can't see them - they're buried under mountains of stuff.  I was quite happy for them to get rid of the sofa and armchair - they're flattened and a nasty pale blue velour. However, it's not the getting rid that's the problem, it's the digging them out which would take days. Many man hours. She had brought a man with a van round with her. He said he was used to doing this kind of work. He was only there to assess so he could prepare a quote.

The assessor put her findings to dad in hospital. He refused to have anyone in there he didn't know. He also told her he wouldn't be using one of those damn frame things to walk. She persuaded him they weren't allowed to throw anything out he had not specifically signed for and even without the frame she would have to make it safe.

He finally agreed they could throw out the mattress in the spare room and they could move things into 2 spare rooms if they had to.

Now they need to provide a quote, if he can't pay, they will need to apply for a grant. This is likely, I assume, to take weeks.

When I went to visit him last night he asked me to look at Ant's bed as he said the leg had fallen off and it was probably just a screw that had come out. I asked Ant - he said it wasn't a screw - the leg had snapped. On further inspection, Ant has two mattresses on his bed and has had these since 1986. We think it was when my grandad died and the 2 mattresses came from his flat. No wonder Ant has had a bad back - there's no support and the leg is in two halves. I asked if we should ask them to get rid of the oldest mattress while they were getting rid of the other one. He said 'NO! they aren't concerned about this one it's the other one they want to throw out. We can put that one in the attic...'

'No way!' I said. 'Absolutely no way! Why can't we throw it out - why would we need a spare mattress which is 40 years old? A mattress only has about 7 years shelf life. No we're not keeping it.'

'In case we need a single bed for someone to look after me! a mattress lasts as long as it's comfortable. Seven years! That's poppycock! Ludicrous! No way - that's just a rumour from bed manufacturers wanting to sell more beds! That's a RIDICULOUS thing to say.'

I reminded him of the horsehair mattress I had in my room. 

'Yes, but during the war we didn't have much choice you see. We had to take what was available.'

I reminded him I was born over 20 years after the war ended.

'So?' he said - clueless.

'I'm highly allergic to horses.' I reminded him.

'Yes.'

'So this is the reason I was so sick when I was young. Twenty years sleeping on a horsehair mattress full of dust and house dust mites, and it was at least twenty years old when I was born!'

He fell silent for all for a few seconds, then 'Maybe. It's possible of course... Anyway let's not discuss that now.'

16) Belligerent and Obnoxious - and new things to collect.

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent, who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot. 

Can I tidy the house? Can you eat an iceberg? 

 

 1 of 14 kitchen cupboards

I went to the house on Thursday 22nd January and spent 5 hours there sorting and clearing. I took a car load to the tip and then went home for a shower. I came back to Cardiff to see him. Dad was sitting in bed complaining about the food he'd just been served.

He didn't ask how I was.

He didn't say 'Lovely to see you.'

He didn't smile when I walked in.

He never does.

He demanded I tell him what was happening. I said I didn't know - surely they'd told him already. Apparently not. I said I'd called them many times and everyone said the decision had to be made by someone else or a team of people. 

He told me again he wanted to go home. I said 'Your house has to be tidy before you can come home.' After him looking at me like I'd just crawled out of a sewer, he demanded 'What? What? WHAT? as he couldn't hear, I was forced to say it a 4th time, very loudly. I saw the other eight men on the ward were listening along with 4 staff and 5 visitors.

He refuses to have anyone he doesn't know in his house. I am the only one who can, or is willing to throw things out. Ant is terrified of throwing anything out which may be missed. I have promised Ant I won't throw anything out that he isn't comfortable with. 

As we sat there he said he could hear people talking about him through his hearing aid. He said they were saying his name over and over. I believe this to be odd - if you're going to talk about someone you don't use their full first and last name over and over. You use 'he'. There's no need to repeat the name over and over. Weird and one of the reasons I don't buy it.  He fiddled with his hearing aid in an attempt to change the battery. I found the card with new batteries in it and passed him a new one.  As it was small and fiddly, I helped, peeling off the sticker and fitting it for him.  I passed it back to him. 'Damn' he said, 'it's dead'. I pointed out it was a new one. He said it may be an old one as he had a few of them at home (so he has been hoarding the batteries and so they're now out of date and therefore dead.)  He finally handed me the hearing aid, with a lump of earwax on it. I held it near my ear but not touching it. I couldn't hear anything other than very loud feedback.

I opened the hearing aid case to replace the card of remaining batteries and inside were bits of paper. I worked out these were the plastic film used on top of  his hospital meals. I asked why he was keeping them. He said it was in case anyone wanted to know what he'd been eating. That made me think - what kind of person saves labels from hospital food? It's just plain weird if you ask me - especially for someone in his position. Just WHY?

He asked would I be taking him home over the weekend. I reminded him I was having a weekend away in London this weekend with 7 friends for a big birthday treat for one of us. It had been booked since October and we were going to see a West End show one night and then the Abba Voyage show on the afternoon of the 2nd day and then home. It was to be my 3rd visit to Abba Voyage and I was incredibly excited and determined not to talk about home at all for the whole weekend.

'Ah,' he said and reminded me he needed clean pyjamas when I next came in, along with more hearing aid batteries and some underwear.

The tea trolley arrived and I said I wanted a chat with his nurse while he drank his tea. His nurse is lovely and she said she wasn't sure what was happening as there is a palliative care team and a doctor and a team and she wasn't sure what was going on either. She said I should take a break - she could see I was stressed. she said she thought I could use a hug and she hugged me and I cried. Again. She suggested I talk to my GP. I told her I was going away for a well needed girly weekend this weekend and we had a lovely chat. She said she hoped I enjoyed my weekend.

I went back in to see dad and say I was going now. I went to give him a hug - always aware this may be the last time and just in case it is I hug him. He grabbed me for a hug and said 'I do love you you know but we really must stop arguing.'  This always upsets me because saying something and following it with a 'but' negates everything just been said.

I had my weekend away and it was EPIC.

26th January 2026

I was back in work and I had a call from dad's consultant. He had a foreign accent so there may have been something lost in translation. He said 'Your father he have a major problem!' Well that was true, i said, he has cancer, broken ribs, diabetes and asthma...

'No, no,' he said, 'he has far more bigger problem...'

Was this they way I found out the inevitable, I wondered... what was I about to find out. 'Um, how'd you mean?' I asked.

'He have far bigger problem with his house...'

'Ah! Yes. He does.'

'He don't need to be in hospital and he has finished his care. I don't need to keep him here any more!'

So...

The doctor wants him out. He wants him out. I'm sure the nurses want him out. It would make sense for him to be out.

But he can't come out, because now social services are involved and they say it isn't safe. It probably isn't safe - but it's what he's used to and it wasn't the clutter which caused his fall. Furthermore the longer he stays in a hospital bed, the more likely he won't be strong enough when he finally does come home. 

'Can you tidy the house?' the consultant asked me.

'Can you eat an iceberg?' I asked him.  My unintended sarcasm was lost in translation. We decide I will speak to the nurses on the ward and he hangs up.

I went to the ward that night.

Dad was asleep. I woke him gently. 

'Ah!' he said, 'Is Ant with you?' I confirmed he wasn't. There was a long silence as he got out of bed and sat in the chair. 'Is it raining?' he asked.

'Yes. It's been raining all day.' I said.

'Ah. Right!'

Silence. With his hearing issues it's really difficult to have a normal conversation. Even if he could hear, conversation isn't his thing - at least not with me. I sat, silent, wondering whether to bother telling him about my weekend away. I decided against it - I knew he wasn't interested. He couldn't even fake interest. He never has.

His nurse came over. 'Hi Izabelle - hey how did the weekend with the girls go?' I was thrilled she asked and that she remembered. I told her all about it and she told me about a similar experience she'd had. Fabulous. She had to go then and I sat there with a smile on my face.

The silence continued. 'Could you pass my coffee over?' dad said. I passed him the cup. More silence.

Freddie car trips to the tip 1

What is making me mad?   Everything

What is making me happy?  My Abba weekend memories

What is making me cry - Everything

What have I done to relax? had a weekend away with my friends

Interesting finds

15) The social worker visits. He can't come home - but he wants to come home...

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital wanting to come home asap... However, he has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he comes home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and will be furious. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

 

 The electric cooker from the 1960s

 

Today I was at the mountain for 10am. The lady from the social worker team was coming at 3 and I wanted to get as much sorted as possible.  Ant and I did as much as we could and filled all the recycling bags of glass, paper and plastic. I filled Freddie, my car and  attacked the bottom of the stairs and the kitchen plus some of the pile at the top of the stairs. I wore a mask the whole day as the weather was wet. However, there's SO much left to do.

The lady turned up with a chap from a cleaning company and as soon as they got to the front door they put on shoe protectors... I queried it and she said she did it with everyone.  Whatever, if those were the rules. She took a load of photos while Ant told her all about his Autism and all about himself. She went in the living room and asked - can this go? Can that go? I said the whole flipping lot could go if it was down to me... however, it wasn't and the person who it was down to was in hospital busting a gut to come home.

'Well he can't come home while it's like this.' she said. 'We need to have enough space for a Zimmer frame so - approximately half the contents have to go.  But he won't give permission for that and he wants to come home yesterday.

They suggested perhaps the 3 piece suite should lose the sofa and one chair. This is a brilliant idea although I doubt he'll agree. They found a lovely corner wooden 4 legged chair, which will be re-homed into my home when it can be dug out and steam cleaned. They want to switch his double bed for a single bed. I know he won't agree to that one. He's already said if they make him put a single bed in then I am to put the double in another room (where?). He will then throw out (yeah haha) the new single and put the double back in...

'All this will have to be moved,' she said, gesturing to a huge pile of boxes (about 9 hours labour by me) I can reduce them but I can't throw them out. She said the same about the kitchen, half the lounge, half the bedroom, all the stairs and all the hallway including the porch where a set of five bedroom drawers sits, full of paper. I estimate about 2000 hours by me. Which will have to be fit around my job, my family and my life. I am away with the girls this weekend on a big birthday adventure. I'm not giving it up for anyone least f all someone who won't even say thank you.

I will not receive any thanks for it, only accusations of throwing stuff out. I will likely kill myself if I try to rush the process as there's only so much a girl can do, especially one with chronic eosinophilic asthma and dust allergies. I have to look after my own mental health - this is of vital importance to me. There is no room to sort anything unless we use the groundsheet on the garden. There is only me to do it.

I couldn't face visiting him today. I will go tomorrow, maybe.

Freddie car trips to the tip - 1 - two old kettles, another small microwave sized oven, a pile of junk and a load of cardboard (the recycling bin was full of paper).
What is making me mad? The amount of stuff the lack of time, the red tape and the fear he will come home.
What is making me happy? the thought of the weekend coming up seeing Abba Voyage in London.
What is making me cry anything and everything and nothing. - and the pet-plan ad on TV
What have I done to relax? - I managed two hours sleep last night and a Rock Choir session yesterday.
Interesting finds A wedding invitation from 1964. 

14) Looks like they may send him home. I've only cried twice today - I'm doing really well

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

Above is the antenna which he thinks is a radio transmitter

Today I went to the hospital with my daughter to visit dad. She came for the sole reason of supporting me. At 9am I took a zoom call with Ant's bank for power of attorney for him which took an hour. I took my partner to town to go to the bank as he wanted to get cash out to buy a used car, came home, sorted out my son's car insurance as he'd been having issues with his direct debit and couldn't contact the company as it was online only. I went to the house to get some of Ant's stuff to take to the skip, took it in the car to see a counsellor, then took it to the tip. I came home, took my daughter out for a carvery and then went to the hospital for 6.30pm to visit dad.

'Ah', he said. I haven't been this down since Ruth died. Had he forgotten Ruth had been my mother?! Weird, but I let it slide. 'I was just about to go and call you.' he said, (He probably wasn't). 'I've had enough of being here - the food is awful and someone a quarter of my age has told me I can't go home until they put a bed in the living room. I absolutely refuse to have a bed put in there. They said you've said they can sort it. You haven't told them that have you?.' I hadn't and I told him so. 

He didn't appear to listen as he said 'Because I will not look upon that kindly. nobody has the right to tell them they can do that and I categorically state right now.' (he banged his fist on the bed over-table) 'I will NOT have ANYONE in my house who I have not personally authorised to be there. I KNOW you have the power thing but I will have to overturn that if I find you have let anyone...'

'DAD.' I said 'I've just told you I haven't let ANYONE in the house apart from us two, Ant and Julie. You've said you trust us.'

'Well if I find you have, then the Dogs Home may do very well from this.' meaning he'll leave everything to the dogs home. I'm not doing this all for the house or the money or for me. I'm doing it solely for him as I have some crazy insane sense of duty as he's my dad and Ant and I are all he has. Him thinking I'm helping for the money didn't sit well with me. I said nothing - speaking up is totally and utterly pointless. I'm mainly numb when I see him. I can't look at him when I speak to him  I don't want to look him in they eye. I can't, as I see everything which makes me angry. I see his attitude, his narcissism, his total lack of respect and of love for me. I see it all missing in his eyes - all he sees when he talks to me is someone he can trust who he expects to run about like a headless chicken. 

Today he asked me again to chase his ear appointment for them to remove wax from his ears - they won't do this until he is out. Also his eye injection and cataract operation date and something about paying his income tax bill for self assessment by January 31st so he won't get fined. It's overwhelming the list he has for me without so much as a would you mind or would it be OK if. I sat there feeling nothing but despair. I squeezed my daughter's hand, He hadn't said a word to her yet.  He'd asked me all this and more before and I was doing my best to call these departments, but most of the time there was only an answer machine. It was pointless trying to explain. He started to go into details of what to do again. I'd heard it all before and remembered the medals in my bag, I thought I'd perhaps show them to him and see if he could actually tell us something interesting, something we wanted to hear rather than just the list of things about him and that he wanted us to do for him which is all he had talked about so far. I couldn't find them in my bag so started panicking.

'Well I don't know whether I should bother talking to you when you're not even listening...' he said.

'I am listening dad.'

'Well how do I know that if you're not even looking at me. It doesn't look like you're listening to me...' then turning to my daughter, he said the first thing he'd said to her since we'd walked in 'does it?'

He didn't give her time to answer, instead he answered on her behalf 'NO GRANDAD'. he said with a stupid expectant and snide smirk. She squeezed my hand, hard. I was with her not wanting to speak at all. There was a short silence.

'You see those two things sticking up from the wall over there?' he said (see photo above) 'It's the antenna they're using to talk amongst themselves.' They are still at it, mentioning my name over and over and over. I hear it you see in my hearing aid. I have feedback and there's definitely a female voice saying money money please give me all your money.'  He passed me his hearing aid which I put near my ear - all I could hear was a dual pitched high tone feedback. I told him so. I also said the two pointy bits were a medical device not an antenna. He said it most definitely WAS an antenna and it was just disguised as a hospital device. He said this was the way they recruited all the new people to spy on him and they asked each new arrival whether they wanted to make a few bob and then gave them instructions via the antenna. He was talking about transmission circuits and explaining again how they worked and saying they didn't have a licence to do this... Apparently when new people accept the offer to earn a few bob, they play the tape to let them know what they have to do.

He is still certain a policeman came onto the ward to talk to everyone except him.  He can't tell the nurses about this as they are also in on the plan to get him seen to. He says all the visitors he trusts and  has spoken to about this think it's 'quite feasible'. He said this kind of system is often used in advertising. He thinks the consultants are plain clothes police.

Thankfully 8pm came and we had to leave. 'Give me a big kiss' he said. The thought made me want to heave. I went to hug him - in case this is the last time etc etc. I leant in for a hug and he said 'I do love you you know but you really must stop turning everything into an argument.' It's the BUT which annoys/hurts. Saying but, after a positive thing, always turns it into a negative thing.

I came out and found the medals on the floor of my car. where they had slipped out of my bag.

He said he thinks he's been in the hospital 5 months then backtracked and realised it was 4 weeks today. 

• Freddie car trips to the tip 1 (3rd)
• What is making me mad? the usual
• What is making me happy? not a lot
• What is making me cry - eveything
• What have I done to relax? Eaten chocolate - far too much chocolate!
• Interesting finds an old clock which I am going to upcycle

13) One big snotty mess.

A blog about myself, daughter of an extreme hoarder parent who fell over on Christmas Day 2025 and broke 3 ribs. He’s currently in hospital thinking he can come home soon... He has terminal oesophageal cancer, kidney function issues, a bladder and a chest infection, asthma, diabetes, skin cancer and he’s 95. Meanwhile I’m running around like a blue-arsed fly trying to possibly make things safe at his house in case he gets sent home, yet being acutely aware he will have an uncanny ability to know if anything’s missing and he won’t be pleased. I have a job and family of my own. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the plot.

Sitting on the promenade at Barry Island watching the sun go down

Having worked all day and then driven from Cardiff to Caerphilly to collect my daughter, then to Swansea to collect my other daughter on the Friday, I was knackered so had an early night.  Woke up at 4am as a result and couldn't get back off to sleep. I got up and did a bit of sorting. I refuse to go to that house every day, but I bring boxes and boxes of stuff home to sort. My own house now smells of that house and so candles are the way to go.

A friend asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Of course, I did - I always do. Any excuse for a walk outside and a chat and I'm there. I'm missing the mountains like crazy this year, as this is the week I usually go skiing. The group have been updating social media with beautiful snowy pictures just so I can see what I'm missing. 😒 Ideally I'd love nothing more than a good blast down a few snowy mountains right now, but as things go I don't feel I can, in case things take a downturn.

  A walk on the beach at Barry Island

After the beach and some chips which were vile I'd promised to take Ant to see dad in hospital. Ant hasn't been for a week as he doesn't drive, so relies on somebody collecting him and dropping him back. He could take a bus but, he doesn't.

Ant proudly showed me a whole pile of junk he'd been able to sort from his room and which he wanted me to take to the tip for him. After so many years having dad's junk invade his bedroom, he's finally been able to use dad's bed as a sorting space and he's got busy digging out his own stuff and there's a pile of it at the bottom of the stairs waiting to go.

I have to continually reassure Ant that they won't let dad out of hospital without notice as he's terrified his clearing secret will be discovered and he will get yelled at. Ant repeats things to me many, many times. 

On arrival at the ward, dad was sat in bed scowling, 'Ah! There you are.' dad said, like he'd been waiting for us all day. We grabbed the cheap plastic visitor chairs and sat down. The tea trolley arrived and he ordered white coffee. After a sip or two he screwed up his face 'Eeuugghh, this is disgusting.' He looked at me. 'Do you drink coffee?' (I do - with whitener as I can't drink milk)You'd have thought he'd have known, after 50 years.

'Yes I do, but with whitener, not..'

'Yes or no?' he barked.

'Yes', I said, losing the will to live already.

'Try this then.' he said, nudging the cup towards me with his long bony finger.

'No thanks.' I said.

He raised his voice 'I haven't got the bloody plague.' he glared at me, furious.

We all sat there in silence. I just wanted to be somewhere else.

'Have you been clearing the house while ive not been there?' He asked me

'Yes we have,' I said. 'Just the kitchen like you said we could. '

'Oh God!' He sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. 'I dont want all sorts of people in there throwing out all my stuff!'

I told him it was only myself, Ant and Julie, a family friend  He chose not to hear that and repeated he didnt want every Tom Dick and Harry in there. He clearly doesn't trust us at all.

In truth, Ant's been hard clearing only his own room as he's petrified of dad's anger should he throw anything of his away. I've spent about 16 hours sorting stuff and more time driving to the tip with old broken junk. I've driven from Caerphilly to Cardiff and back 14 times. I've taken 6 days off work as well as weekends and almost put my back out while clearing. I've had to wear a mask every time I'm in the house. I've visited probably every 2 or 3 days. I've burst into a mess of snot and tears at the most random and inappropriate moments and I have a permanent headache and knot in my stomach. My appetite has gone and I'm afraid my mad axe murderer tendency may surface with very little warning.

Even so. Did dad ask how Ant or I was? No, did he heck as like. Did he ask how we're coping? No. Did he ask me how the family was? No. Did he say 'Lovely to see you' or 'thank you for coming? ' No. Did he heck.

'The police were in here earlier,' he said, lowering his voice again. They were in here at least three hours.

'What did they say?' I asked.

'Well I don't know do I - they didn't speak to me!' He snapped back.

'Why didn't they speak to you?'

'Because it's about me. I've told you! Why won't you listen?'

This hallucinating business is driving me mad. It's another layer which makes no sense. He's been talking about some plot to kill him and take all his money and something about him having a tin of ham which was out of date and somehow got into the local water system and killed all the birds and fish in the local lake. Half of it he realises can't be true and the rest he can't make sense of so I'm the one who's clearly stupid for not 'getting it'.

Trying to make some sense of it all I asked. 'Tell me again as I don't think you've given me the full picture.'

'Oh god, I've told you so many times. I can't tell you all at once because you don't listen and you won't remember all of it. I know you don't believe me but it's 100% true. I know it is. They're all talking about me and I can hear my name all the time on my hearing aid feedback.' So it's my own fault for forgetting what he's told me.

I pointed out all the people he said were talking about him and plotting to kill him were NHS patients who had probably never met each other before. It was highly unlikely that all these clearly very sick or elderly people were all somehow placed there at the same time in the same place, with a view to finishing him off.

He looked at me as if I were stupid. 'I know the facts.' he said, 'and if you won't believe me then I don't know what I'm going to do. Why won't you believe me.'

'Because you've been hallucinating.' I said, I repeated the word as he couldn't hear me. He's in a 9 bed ward with 8 other people there. The whole ward became quiet. I repeated it again.

'You have a bicycle..' he said, clearly not understanding. I grabbed his white board and wrote YOU HAVE BEEN HALLUCINATING. He grabbed it and studied it.

'Yes, well I know some of it may have been a dream but I know most of it is true. He offered me his wax covered hearing aid and tole me to try it so I would know what he was hearing. Again I declined.

'Damn you!' he said. 'If I can't get my own daughter to believe me...' They have to have a licence to broadcast, and I'm sure they haven't got one.' He was back to where he thinks the tv/radio companies are trying to do a broadcast about him.

At this point I saw his knife sitting on his finished dinner plate and I realised I probably shouldn't be within reach of a sharp object (it was a hospital dinner knife so it wasn't really sharp at all, as I was highly likely to stick it somewhere it wasn't meant to go.

I went to find a nurse, leaving Ant to talk to him. I asked the nurse whether the police had been in that day. She said no, definitely not. I explained what dad had told me. She said it could have been one of the consultants who wears a business suit. He did spend time talking with all of the other patients but not with my dad because he was under a different consultant.

He won't tell the nurses or anything about these conspiracy theories as he believes they are in on it and he can't trust them. He wanted me to book him an appointment with 'the woman we've been seeing at City Hospice'. He means the cancer doctor. He believes we can trust her. He also wants me to book an appointment with the dermatologist, the ear people to sort out the wax and the eye people to sort his cataracts.

I went back to the bed and told him there was no policeman there today. His answer was he knows what he saw.

Ant was ready to leave after 15 minutes. I was ready to leave after 15 seconds but I felt we should stay a little longer. I'm just losing the fight to stay sane. I sit at the side of his bed and just have to bite my lip to stop myself from either melting into a sobbing snotty mess or grabbing some sharp or heavy blunt object and ending it once and for all. 

I made my excuses and left. I dropped Ant home and the moment he got out of the car I dissolved into another sobbing snotty mess. 

My dilemma - dad is in the hospital he wants to come home. He's a hoarder I struggle going into the house it's oppressive and it's nasty and dusty and I hate it. Social services haven't assessed it yet. They are highly likely to say it needs cleaning before he can come home. I can't clean it it's too much and he won't allow us to throw ANYTHING out. 

............................................

My cousin came round to the house - we were meeting there, then going for a cup of coffee. I asked her if she would be interested in a tour. I'd spoken about it a lot in the past and she had seen photos. I think it's fair to say even she wasn't expecting what she saw. There's no preparation you can do for it. She said it was so much more that you could ever imagine. Actually being in there is oppressive almost, like a cave with no air and stuff all around and the smell. I think she was relieved for us to get out and go have a much needed coffee and a chat.

What is making me mad? Three guesses, and people keep asking 'How's your dad?' I don't know what to say.

What is making me happy? Domino's pepperoni pizza with hot honey amd bbq sauce base.

What is making me cry.  Random stuff from unexpected kindness to a robin in my garden

What have I done to relax? Went for a walk down at Barry Island Beach. No Gavin and Stacey just horses and a gorgeous sunset. 😊