33) Back in the room - Oh there i go making problems everywhere I go. Again!

                                    I went for a walk in the woods recently to calm my nerves.
 

Thursday 4th June 2026.  Went to visit dad in hospital - the choking incident had persuaded me he may not be here long so I guilt tripped myself into visiting him.

I took my daughter for moral support. My daughter is 20 and after she turned 18 I told her it was her choice whether she wanted to have her grandad in her life. She decided she absolutely 100 percent did not ever want to see him ever again, neither did her twin sister or her older brother, which is upsetting for me as I have to keep lying to dad as to why they never come to see him with me. However, I do understand their reasons. He's never been there for them and virtually ignored them all their lives.  When he did speak to them it was about how fantastic their brother was. He doesn't ever want to see his grandad again either..

He said about a month ago, when we were on the subject of seeing grandparents,  that he remembered when Ant and I were small, his mother used to walk a mile and a half every day to come and see us and help feed us and help my mother out (doubtless while he was in the garden...).'Every day, she came,' he said, 'yet my own grandchildren hardly ever come to see me...' He realised, mid-rant that he was actually digging himself a hole.

I was on it. 'Yet you didn't come to see your own grandchildren much at all, did you dad even though you drove, had a car, and lived a lot closer.'

'Well you always seemed to want me out. I never felt welcome...' he said. As if he would ever recognise when he wasn't welcome.

Probably because I had three children under two and a half, dad. I was rushed off my feet and that was just never going to happen was it?'

'Oh don't start arguing now,' he said, must you always argue about everything.'

At the hospital visit my daughter came for the visit with me, as support for me and no other reason. She had a jaw operation only ten days before and we thought it'd be good for her to get out of the house.

When we arrived he was awake in bed and said 'Ah, there you are. I wondered when  you'd get here. Sit down, he said to me, gesturing to the bedside chair, which had an incontinence sheet on it. 

'It's OK I'll stand.' I said. Ignoring this he again said for me to sit down and fo rmy daughter to sit on the chair that wasn't there. We said we'd stand.

Silence,

Then he piped up 'Well, what is it you've come to tell me?'

'Er - what - nothing, what d'you mean?' I said, confused.

'So you haven't come to tell me anything.' he said with an air of finality.'

'No'

'Right.'

More silence.

'So, how have you been?' I managed

'What?' he snapped.

'How have you been?' I said, not knowing what else to say.

'Have you had those windows done yet?' he asked, referring to the double glazed windows needing replacement in his house as they are all misted inside.

'Not yet, we were going to get this stent done first weren't we dad?'

'What?'

'Your stent. We wanted to get that out of the way first.'

'What about the stent?' he snapped.

It's more than difficult to have a conversation with an irritable almost deaf person, especially when you are in a 4 bed ward when the other patients don't have visitors and can clearly hear every word. It sounds piffling, like a conversation one may have with a distracted three year old. You become very conscious of every word. Also as the others are behind a curtain they have no idea of body language or of facial expression and no idea of the history of the people talking.

'Dad. Listen. We wanted to have your stent fitted before we went worrying about the windows didn't we?'

'Well of course we did. Have you got a date for the fitting yet?'

'No, dad, because the stent isn't done yet is it?'

'Well I KNOW THAT don't I!' he snapped back.

I sighed. 'Dad you also said you wanted to see a sample of the windows they were fitting didn't you? and they can't do that while you're here, can they?' He had let the fitters measure up and, once they'd left, he moaned to me that they hadn't shown him a sample of the windows - he thought the man would bring a sample round in a padded shoulder bag, like they did in the 80's. This, despite me explaining they were all regulated now, and the one I had carefully chosen were recommended by WHICH magazine. 

In truth I had done so much for him over the previous eight months, boiler service, door fixing, drain repair, tap switching, rail fitted outside, key safe, rail inside, steps fixed, taken him to appointments almost every week at the GP or the hospital. I needed a break. It was yet another thing I had to do for him on my to do list.

He paused and looked at me, there was a short silence. 'There's always a problem where you're concerned isn't there?'

He looked at my daughter, 'Your mum always brings problems wherever she goes doesn't she?' he asked her.  It was the first thing he'd said to her since we'd got there. He didn't ask how her operation had gone, how she felt, how was Uni, nice to see her - nothing. The only thing he said to her was to get her to agree with him for a comment against me. She turned to look out the window.

'Hide the axes,' I said to her, half joking. 'The cheeky sod.' I clenched and unclenched my fists.

I checked my watch. 8pm. End of visiting time. 'Ok, we have to go it's 8 o'clock.' I said.

'No! Eight, already. Surely not. No it isn't that late is it? No it can't be.'

'It's eight dad. I have a watch.'

'Oh hello,' he said, flagging down the nurse, angellic as a fairy. 'Do you know the time?'

'Visiting time's over.' she said, and carried on her way.

'When will I see you now? he asked. 'So if it's Friday today, Will I see you on the weekend?'

'It's Thursday dad. I've been in work all day. Trust me, it's Thursday, I've been writing it down all day.'

He lay there with his fingers counting the days, arguing with me what day it was.

I'd had enough. 'I'll see you when I can dad, OK. I've got to go.' I turned and left him there. As I did so, I caught the eye of the man in the bed opposite. He was laughing his head off and giving me a thumbs up with a wink/ He'd heard everything and I got the feeling he was rooting for me.

32) It's not looking good - the chicken and mushroom pie.

Here is a photo of a shoe I found in dad's bedroom. The shoe has clearly never been worn as it still has its sale label inside. However, the sole just fell off when I picked it up. It's one of about 80 shoes visible in his house. None of which appear to have a partner.

 Tuesday 2nd June 2026.

09.34am another call from the hospital, a nurse dialled and passed him the phone. He said is was SO difficult to get through to me (good). This time, apparently, it was quite urgent and he wanted me to call a lady at the church who'd been visiting him yesterday when he had his delusional episode. Realising he'd been confused, he wanted to ensure she wasn't going to put an article in the church magazine saying he only had days left to live. 

About an hour later the nurse rang back - said they were probably going to get dad's stent done tomorrow as an urgency as he couldn't eat at all and so she'd cancel the cataract op. She wanted to know if she could sign the consent form on my behalf.  Dad had mentioned a week or so ago that the stent was his only chance and he had to take it, even if it was the end. He hoped we understood what he was saying. We did.

I said I'd call her. He said it had kept him awake all night but he hadn't been able to get anyone to call me. He clarified it didn't have to be done straight away but in the next 2 -3 minutes would be ok. I agreed to call her. 

'Love you'. He said and hung up (he never says that). 

I rang the church lady, who laughed - she'd been a little concerned as he'd seemed confused, she said she'd never had any intention of putting such a thing in the church newsletter.

10.49am, the hospital rang again, a doctor on the ward, who wanted to know some more background from me. She confirmed he was still somewhat confused and wanted to discuss the DNR and whether it was still our wishes. I said we'd discussed it with dad previously and he agreed it was right. Once your heart stops, it's time to go. It was discussed when we were doing his PoA about 2 years ago. 

I reminded the doctor dad had his cataract appointment the next day and even if I had to take him myself then I would, as it was so important to him. I mentioned the appointment was 3 hours and if it wasn't going ahead then we needed to let the clinic know so as not to waste the appointment. The doc said she'd sort it.

At 15:58 I spoke to his church friend, who said when she went in he was on oxygen. Apparently he'd eaten some chicken and mushroom pie (which he shouldn't have been given, but he's an adult etc etc), he'd choked on it and they'd given him oxygen at a high level to begin with and had now reduced it. He was still coughing quite heavily and shivering. She was worried. He was also confused although he appeared to vaguely understand what was happening. 

At 22:35 I had another call - from the consultant on duty. Dad had remained confused and still coughing - they feared the chicken had gone into his lungs, which could cause infection, so they'd already started him on antibiotics for that. However, they were concerned he'd become confused again and now wasn't responding to them at all.

I understood he had choked and was now unresponsive, and believing they were explaining the end was near, I was in tears. I asked them to tell me if anything worsened, even if it was middle of the night. Doc said he would.

I rang Ant, explained about the choking, but didn't tell him any more as I needed to deal with it myself first. As Ant is by himself, I didn't want him worrying. I said if I heard anything I'd call him in the morning, He was ok with that.

8.00am the next day I hadn't heard anything so I dubiously called the hospital. 'Ah,' said the nurse. 'yes he's sitting up in bed drinking his coffee and asking when they'll be fitting his stent'.

Great!

He didn't have the stent done as when HD lay down his blood levels dropped 

 

31) Total panic stations. Two hours to live... or not.

 3.05pm Monday 1st June, I had a phone-call from the hospital, a nurse had called me for dad and passed the phone to him. He sounded extremely distressed and worried. He asked was I on my way in. I said no, I was in work. He said 'Oh hell!'

I asked what was the matter and he said he had been given some extremely bad news but couldn't tell me over the phone. He said it was very, very bad news and he wanted to tell me in person. He said I'd need to come to the hospital as soon as I could, straight from work and he wanted me to bring Ant but I needed to come soon. He said he needed to tell both of us together.

I panicked and called Ant, however he doesn't have a mobile phone as he doesn't understand how to use one. I rang every five minutes until he answered at 3.30. I thought he was having a panic attack when I called him but he said he'd just walked up the hill and was out of breath.

I asked if he wanted a coffee first but he said no.  They let me leave work and go early. I drove to get Ant and explained we should prepare for the worst. My head was in a turmoil and I didn't know what to say to Ant, although he was talking ten to the dozen about fifty different things so I didn't have much time to think. We got to the hospital ward about 4:30. I expected to be ushered into a side room, but dad was in the corridor on his way to the bathroom and said 'Ah - I didn't expect to see you for a few hours.' 

The nurse came over and told us we weren't supposed to be there as it wasn't visiting hours until 6. Strange! I said I knew about visiting hours but he'd called me and said he'd been given very very bad news and it was urgent we came in very soon... The nurse looked at me confused and asked what news. I didn't know. When dad came back he told the nurse he wanted to tell us the bad news before he went.

Confused looks all around. The nurse asked him what bad news, went where?

He said he'd been told that afternoon by a nurse that he was to be put in a small, dark two bed flat by himself and he would never see his family or house again and he would be dead in two days and that he was going to be taken there in a minute by the nurse. He was very distressed and looked distraught. I felt so sorry for him.

The lovely young nurse with an Irish accent told him kindly he may have misunderstood and he wasn't going anywhere and that he was maybe confused. He didn't think so.

She explained again loudly and firmly, he was staying with them for a while and they weren't sending him anywhere.  He seemed to accept this and apologised for misleading me and Ant to coming in. He was really emotional and asked us to have a family hug - which he's NEVER done in his life. He wanted each of us to sit by his side - Ant on his left and me on his right and he held his arms out for us. At first me and Ant kind of went - Er no - it's Ok - er we don't do that. I said 'I'm OK here.'  Then sensing it may just be something we needed to do. We both sat each side of him and had a family hug on the hospital bed.

We said we'd have to go as it wasn't visiting hours and he was more relaxed now he realised he'd got it wrong. I think his confusion had something to do with the occupational health nurse mentioning that he couldn't go home until he was better and perhaps he would spend a small amount of time in a local care home until he improved. She may have asked him if he could walk with her to test his mobility. I think possibly he interpreted that as she was taking him away.

Anyway, we both gave him a big hug and told him we loved him. I gave him a kiss on the top of his head and a hug and said I'd see him soon.

I was a little concerned the nurse who dialled the call out to me, heard what he was saying yet did nothing to reassure him. Also the occupational health nurse for not making sure he understood properly.

Although nobody seemed to know anything.

My head is fried.

30) Back in hospital again. The coat the soap and the small black dog that wasn't.

 30).  29.5.26

Here's a lovely photo of Barry Island. It has nothing to do with the blog but calms me 😵‍💫.

Friday 29th May 2026 - The man (I will not refer to him as dad), has been in hospital since he fell off the bed on Wednesday (see previous post). I thought it may be nice, for him, if I went to visit.

I went straight from work to fetch Ant and we headed for the hospital. 

We finally found him. 

'Hello,' I said, moving all his stuff so I could sit on the bedside chair. 'How're you feeling?'

'Wat! Oh it's you. Where's Ant? Is Ant with you? Where is he?'

Ant pulled up a chair. 

'Ant - is that you? Oh don't sit there I can't see you. Come closer.' The man became irritated. 'You have no idea how exhausting it is having all these visitors all day. It wears me out, it really does.' He sighed deeply. 'Whatsisname from church has been in. Oh what's his name?' he flapped his hand in the air attempting to waft the name to him.

'Arthur' I said.

'The man from the church...'

'ARTHUR.' I said

He carried on flapping his hand, faster now. 'What's the damn chap's name? Ant! What's his name from the church?'

'Arthur' said me and Ant simultaneously.

'Arthur!' said the man, as if he'd figured it by himself. 'Yes, Arthur. That's the one. He came in to see me. Lovely man, practically runs the church. Anyway I've given him a list of three things I need. He said he'd call you later Izabelle, I said ten o'clock was a good time. Anyway, I need, a shaving adapter and... Have you got a pen?'

'I don't need a pen. I can remember...'

'Wat?  Have-you-got-a-pen?' he used his monosyllabic voice.

'I don't need a pen.'

'You don't need a pen... right! I need a shaving adapter...' he clocked the look of total numbness on my face. 'Izabelle, are you listening? I don't know if you're listening. Look why don't you write it down? Go and ask the nurses for a pen and a scrap of paper.'

'If Arthur's going to call me then I don't need a pen, do I? Just tell me, dad. I'll remember OK.'

'A shaving adapter and ... a shoehorn... There. Three things - have you got that?'

'That was only two.'

'Wat? Have you written them down - the three things I need.'

At this point my mobile rang, - my daughter asking when I'd be home.

The man looked at me as I hung up. 'Was that a man about a lovely black doggy?' he said.

I looked at him, confused. 'What doggy? What man? what are you talking about?'

He became frustrated, his face turned puce and contorted. He glared at me, slammed his fist on the table and spat. 'DAMMIT! Was that about the little black poodle type dog we're getting from the dogs home? For Ant - he's going to need a dog when I'm gone dammit.' He bashed his fist on the table again and demanded, 'Well? Was it them?'

'No!' I said, and because I wasn't going to take him giving me that attitude, I asked why he thought they'd phone me anyway.

His face turned purple, his fist formed again and I'm sure he'd have hit me had I been close enough. 'BECAUSE YOU'RE MY BLOODY POWER OF ATTORNEY. THAT'S WHY!' His fist hit the bed this time and he pushed the table, tipping his water. He screamed the words with total venom at me. As he did so, he got a twinge of pain somewhere and grabbed his sides. 'You really have no idea how much it hurts when you make me shout.' 

I refuse to be spoken to like that. I told him so and got up and walked out, tears of fury running down my face. I got as far as the nurses station and stopped to wait for Ant. The nurse asked if I was ok. I wasn't and it all came tumbling out and, once again, I turned into a blubbery mess. She said she was about to take him his medication. I enquired whether she could perhaps give him extra medication... was she perhaps open to bribery? Turns out she wasn't.

Ant came running after me like a little puppy, as if I was going to leave without him. I sent him back in but said I needed time to calm down.

After a lovely chat with the nurse I decided I'd have to go back in just in case it was the last time I saw him. As I appeared, the man acted like nothing had happened. 'Ah Izabelle,' he said. I wanted to tell you my yellow coat needs fixing, it's ripped by the pocket you see, and things fall out: so when you have a minute could you take a look at it?'

'We've got to go.' I told him numbly. He reached out for a hug. He didn't get one.

*    He knows I can't go in a house where there's a dog. Due to my years living in his disgusting mess as a child, I can't tolerate dust or animals. Highly allergic, not just a sneeze or two. How he thinks I'm going to manage to deal with all the crap in the house when he's gone, with a dog living there I don't know, but then my health was never on his list of priorites.

29) Here we go again... 26/5/26 1 year since he was first hospitalised and diagnosed.

 Here we go again... (some ducks/goslings for cuteness - at Caerphilly Castle). It has nothing whatsoever to do with the blog other than getting me out in nature for the sake of my sanity which is rapidly doing a runner right now.

A note; I will refer to him as 'the man,' I do not mean as in Yeah! He's The Man. I just don't like referring to him as my father neither do I want to call him my dad as, in my opinion, he has been neither of these roles to me ever. Biologically, yes; otherwise, no. If you think this is mean, you haven't read enough of my posts, so please reserve your judgement for when you have. Thank you.

Today is a whole year since he was first hospitalised after being unable to swallow and having a subsequent diagnosis of oesophageal cancer which they couldn't treat or operate on due to his age (95). 

It was also my day off and the man's monthly City Hospice appointment.  I'd reminded him the time and asked him to be ready.

I arrived with a full twenty minutes to spare until we needed to leave. The man was sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands. It was the warmest day ever recorded in May. The man was dressed in a thick woolly jumper and a woolly hat. I asked wasn't he too hot? He said asked were we going or not.'  I was talking to Ant and suddenly we heard the front door go. The man had left the building and was headed to the car. I told Ant to lock up and went to help the man down the steps. He was extremely slow because he can't see the steps properly. He said 'Where's Ant? Is he in the car already? Where is he?' I said he was still in the house. 

'Has he got my bag and my hospital stuff?' He apparently had taken it upon himself to pack a hospital bag in case they kept him in. Hmmm.

Arriving at the hospice I parked in the disabled bay, I usually park in the normal car park, but today he was finding it a lot more difficult to walk. Ant and I got him out of the car and into the hospice and in the waiting room he twice tried to impale himself on the arm of a very small wooden chair he apparently couldn't see. The doc came out and as he walked in we chatted behind him, I said he appeared much worse and I thought perhaps his time was limited. 

The hospice doctor noted he was a lot more frail and checked him over. He was very dehydrated and needed to drink a lot more water, she said, and if he didn't he may well not be able to have his 2nd stent fitted on Friday. She said she would get the community nurse team to assess whether he was able to live at home. If they decided the house was too 'cluttered (disgusting) for them to see to his needs then he would have to go into an assisted care facility 'whether he likes it or not'. She said he was to take off his jumper and hat and instead get a baseball cap. 

Ant happened to have such a cap with him which he handed over. It was green with 'HAPPY DAYS' on the front. The man took it 'Is this a cap?' he asked.

'No,' said Ant, 'it's a fucking banana.'

Ant comes out with things sometimes and the doc and I creased up laughing which in my case was a well needed stress relief.

The doc and I walked the man to my car. The doc summarising she'd get onto it straight away - she didn't book another appointment as we'd 'see what happened and keep in touch.'

The following day (Wednesday 27th May) Ant rang me in work. 'Hello Izzy, sorry to call you at work. There's nothing to worry about but...'

Ant's sense of priority and urgency is entirely out of synch with the universe. I know this.

I'll be there now.' I said, dropping my pen and scrabbling for my driving shoes under my desk, my heart playing the bass drum on a roll. 'What's happened?'

'Well, he's fallen out of bed and he's sort of half out and I can't move him. And he's cut his head and his elbow and there's blood everywhere.

Fuckitty fuck!

Fifteen minutes later I was trying to help Ant lift him up the bed. He'd fallen and somehow was now resting with his top half on the bed and his bum and legs off the bed. He was still in this position. There was blood smeared everywhere but not a lot of blood volume. Ant and I managed to yank him far up enough that only his knees to his feet were off the bed and the rest of him on it. He didn't have enough strength to put his legs on the bed. This wasn't right. The huge gash on his elbow was seeping but not bleeding - I thought perhaps a sign of dehydration - no fluid, no blood to bleed with. I bandaged the elbow.

A lot of shouting later he says he needs to sleep for a few hours and then he'd have the strength to push himself up the bed.

Not right. I called 111. (In the UK 111 is a NHS helpline for non-emergency medical advise and queries. They can triage, book an appointment for an out of hours doctor or call an ambulance if they deem it necessary.) They ask a LOT of questions - is the patient breathing? - yes! Is there a dent in his head? I can't see one but he's lying down. Is he becoming agitated?' - yes but that's very normal for him... finally the adviser said her manager would call us back but she couldn't say when, hopefully within the hour. It was now 15.35. Realising the GP and Hospice close their phone lines at 5pm, options for help were declining fast.

Meanwhile upstairs the man is demanding to know what's happening and is anyone coming and why don't we get someone and how long is this going to take.

Eventually he fell asleep while I ran around trying to find someone who could help. I rang City Hospice. The doctor was in with a patient for an  hour but they would ask her to call us. Time was ticking slowly by.

At 15.55 the hospice doctor called, I explained and she said she was going to send her own paramedics out from the City Hospice. They (Tina and Mike) arrived at 16.30, assessed him and called an ambulance. I suggested they tell the man he was dehydrated and they were taking him to get this sorted so he'd be fit and well for his stent on Friday - otherwise he'd refuse to go. Good plan. I suggested Mike may be better speaking to him as the man had difficulty in hearing/acknowledging women. 

Mike said 'We're taking you in for a few days until you're...'

'Wat?'

He tried again. 'We'll take you into...'

'Wat?' said the man, scowling up his face in irritation.

Mike tried a third time. 'As you are dehydrated we're going to...'

'YOU'RE GOING TO HOSPITAL.' said Tina, loudly, with her face inches from his. No messing - Sorted! High fives all round.

Tina and Mike left at 5 and said they had no idea when the ambulance may arrive. We all know the NHS are struggling. We'd just have to be patient.

Being patient for hours on end with the man asking 'what's happening' every five minutes was challenging. I had a text from the 999 service saying we were on their list but they prioritised all calls so please be patient and don't ring them to chase.

Also, of course, being in that house makes me ill with all the dust. I also hadn't eaten since lunch time and  had come to the house straight from work.

Ant was happy to call me if anything happened and as the man had by then gone back to sleep, I went home at 20:30.

The ambulance arrived at 23.29 and took the man to hospital.

I slept for a full 8 hours that night. The pressure was off.

Ten ways you know you grew up with a hoarder parent

                                    Ten ways you know you grew up with a hoarder parent
 

1. You never wanted your friends to visit but never really could explain why.

2. Nobody ever made a thing of putting out the bins, because nobody knew when bin day was, because nothing was ever thrown out.

3. You never got to slam a door when you were angry or wanted to make a point, because there was too much stuff for the doors to even move.

4. You thought all your friends were poor because they didn't have a fraction of the stuff in their houses you did.

5. You smelled of musty, dusty, neglect most of the time, except as this was normal you didn't realise until.years later when you left and revisited.

6. You wondered why other people had a single beige carpet and not an interesting patterned one. You didn't realise normal people are able to change their carpets every few years and the one in your living room dated back 25 years to a time when swirly patterns were normal.  

7. You realised losing a shoe for normal families was usually only temporary for a few minutes at most and not 20 years or so after yours were buried under piles of stuff.

8. You realised most people had a 'just.in case' drawer in the kitchen, not a 'just in case' house full.

9. You finally understood when people said they didn't eat out of date food, they were looking at the day on the label, not the year.

10. Once you move out you never, ever want to go back.

28) Further Woman-on-the-edge behaviour - 20.5.26 - The mouldy Ford Focus

 Today was a kind of nothing day. Nothing singularly spectacular happened, although also everything happened. I'm really feeling the pressure today and have a HUGE headache. I skupped my Rock Choir session and went to bed at 8pm. It's now 3am. I'm writing this to help me process things, to refer back to when (hopefully) life improves. Writing helps. 

On the surface, I'm coping well, trying to smile and wave (penguins - Madagascar). I worry if I stop, everything will implode. For tea I had a large bag of Doritos (chilli), a box of Maltesers and a slice of toast with Bovril. I don't care any more!

Dad's becoming more and more frail, more and more deaf, more and more unable to see, due to cataracts and more and more bloody obnoxious. He rang a few nights ago saying he needed eggs. In an attempt to avoid him asking me to take him shopping, because that in itself is mind-blowingly traumatic, I got the eggs and took them over after work. It was my intention to take them in and leave. If I don't get home for 5.30, my tea, cooked by my partner, is a dried congealed mess with the culinary appeal of a lukewarm cowpat. My partner cooks for 5.30 as he's home all day and is diabetic so has to eat at specific times. He's in bed by 8.30 as he's up at 3am.

Every time the hospital, doctor, social worker, district nurse, bank, chemist or ANYONE wants my dad, they call me. No matter whether I'm at work or driving, shopping or sat on the loo, I get a call saying they've tried to call him but got no reply and expecting me to jump to it. He can no longer hear the phone and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to hear the person on the other end anyway. I get MANY calls for him. 

He's currently waiting to have his cataracts done, an endoscopy and possibly, depending on what they find there, a second bigger and longer stent fitted. He had to go to have a blood test today and Ant said he'd go too. They both went ON THE BUS about 2 miles and when they got off the bus it was pouring with rain and they had to walk a good 10-15 minutes up a hill to their house. They were both soaked through and so dad went to bed for the rest of the evening.  I felt bad about them going on the bus but I was working. I have a job 9-5 three days a week, but of course hospital appointments and doctors appointments aren't flexible. Sod's law says they will usually be on a day I work. Yes, they could get a taxi, but they don't know how to book one, as neither has a mobile phone and dad's too tight to pay for one anyway. They both have a free bus pass.

So yesterday I took the eggs round after work and wanted to leave, however Ant became very panicky that he'd get shouted at because he hadn't woken dad when I was there, so I went up to see him in bed.  The first three times I tried, dad said 'go away and wake me at 6.30.' Finally he realised it was me and woke up. Ant had already told me they'd tried to cut the grass because it's now a foot high and has never been allowed to get this long before. They couldn't cut the grass because they couldn't open the garage doors to get the lawnmower out. They couldn't open the doors because the car was in the way. The car is in the way because it's been there since September when dad allowed the tax then insurance and finally the MOT to run out. The silver Ford Focus now has a lovely green furry coat of moss. Anyway, they couldn't move the car (which is on a backwards slope) because the battery was dead.

Dad also had to tell me all this as he feels the need to micro-manage everything, me and Ant included. He still sees us as 4 year olds. He yabbered on about all the above and that he'd run a cable to the car to try to charge the battery. The cable was still outside and the rain was hammering down.

'Why didn't you just let the handbrake off,' I asked, 'and let it roll backwards?'

Dad looked at me like I'd grown another head and shouted over me in monosyllables 'Be-cause the key is not a man-u-al key - it's mech-an-i-cal and won't work with-out the batt-er-y!' Now, I'm no mechanic but every car I've ever had allows you to use the key to open the door, even if the battery's flat. I had no energy left to argue any more. He asked if I could get my partner and son to take a look.  

I changed the subject. 'Dad your new stent appointment is a week Friday at 1.30. I'll take you there...'

he interrupted 'What? When? Why wasn't I told? Nobody told me that! What's going on? I haven't been told about that. What's happening?'

'They phoned me today. That's what I'm here to tell you!'

He looked at me in a moment's silence while he caught up. 'But why didn't you tell me? Nobody's told me about this. How am I meant to know if nobody tells me? I haven't had a letter. Anyway, I thought it was Friday.'

'No dad, Friday is for your cataract pre-op!'

'But you just said it was the stent. Make up your mind.'

'Dad. The stent is a week Friday, the cataract pre-op is this Friday.'

'But that's the same thing!'

After twenty minutes or so. I hoped he'd understood. He was silent again, then his long bony arms appeared from under the duvet. He was wearing his old gardening jumper. His arms did a kind of Tommy Cooper thing to each syllable, determined to be in control 'Right! if the appointment is 1.30 then you need to be here to pick me up at about 12.15...' 

Sick of his trying to micro-manage my time off needlessly, I turned to Ant and said we'd talk the day before to organise it all.

'Are you listening?' he snapped.

I told him I'd have to go, we'd sort it out nearer the time and told him to go back to sleep. I turned to leave and he muttered something about me never staying long enough for him to get any sense out of me. I'd been there an hour already, during which time, he'd told me to leave him sleep, snapped and shouted at me, told what to do, treated me as if I was an imbecile, tried to micro manage me picking him up for the next hospital appointment and generally been an obnoxious pig.

As I got into my car, shaking with frustration, a neighbour came up and asked how he was. I know she was being kind and clearly she didn't know him very well as she said how.lobely he was. I can't remember what I said to her because then she asked how I was and I lost it (again). One big snotty mess (again).

Knowing I'd have missed my tea (yet again), I drove to the local shops on my way home and parallel parked Freddie next to a huge Range Rover type thing. As I grabbed my bag to get out, I saw the passenger of the Range Rover, trying to squeeze between my car and hers to get in. The spaces were narrow, and her car was wide, so she was having a bit of bother. Her husband started moving the Range Rover forward so she'd have more space. As she passed my door, I heard her sneer 'Crappy parking by the way.' Wrong time, wrong place, wrong person lady.

Before I knew it the words 'Fuck off, Bitch.' had escaped from my mouth, loudly and clearly. Furthermore, I was more than ready to get out and give her more words of advice, physically even, should the need arise.

She, sensibly, took one look at me, and sensing that staying there wouldn't be her best option, gave me a half hearted look somewhere between shock, anger, fear and sympathy, got in the car and left.

For my part, I wasn't proud of myself. This isn't my usual form of greeting when encountering strangers in the street. Previously I'd have done virtually anything to avoid confrontation. Probably in a similar situation I'd have bent down to pick an invisible something from the car floor and locked the door. However, that was before and this was now. Good job she left. I got out of my car and realised my parking was a little out of line, although that wasn't the point. Instead of being ashamed, I was proud of myself for being assertive. I think though, that this is an example of me being a woman on the edge. I only hope my mad axe murderer tendencies don't surface and get me into serious trouble. Hide the axes please.

At this point, as I relayed this to my counsillor, he decided he should book me for another five sessions

During the past 2 weeks I have;

1) Taken dad to have his flu/covid jab.

2) Taken dad shopping (3 hours of hell) Lidl, Farm Foods and Morrisons

3) Received 23 e-mails from Ant saying how unhappy he is and how upset he is at being bullied constantly by dad.

4) Taken a plastic petrol can full of petrol for dad's lawn mower over. £13.11

5) Bought and taken 2 lots of 15 eggs to him.

6) Arranged for his drains to be repaired.

7) Arranged for a rail to be fitted at the top of his stairs

8) sorted out his repeat prescriptions and driven to his GP to sort them

9) had a quote for replacement windows as his are misted and letting in ants.

10) Bought him some tablet sorting pill containers he's asked for, for daily use and taken them round (still in the packet 3 weeks later).

11) Cut his hedge after work

12) Arranged for rails to be put outside his house

13) met with his social worker at his house and listened while he told her he didn't need any help.

14) Met with Ant's social worker ... ditto

15) Met with Ant's support worker.

16) Taken dad to have his ears de waxed.

17) Taken Dad to his hospice appointments

18) Organised his boiler service

19) Paid all his bills (using POA) - I have to call his bank and go through MANY layers of security each time while listening to the bank answer machine on repeat, lying to me by telling me I can do it all online (I can't).

20) Spent MANY mind-blowingly frustrating evenings taking phone calls from dad who calls to tell me things I've already sorted and trying to micro-manage me and my time. He can't hear me and a kind of verbal tennis starts. Ant shouts at him from anothet phone in the same room 3 feet away, and thus also straight into my own ear to translate (in some fashion) what I need him to know.

Meanwhile my daughter has been in hospital having a major jaw re-alignment operation and is currently at home recovering but needing me. I have a job and a family of my own.

I spoke to another neighbour of dad's last week who I've known since I lived there in 1992, lovely man. Salt of the earth type etc. He said he thought I may as well live there as it appeared I was there more than I must have been at my own house. I said not effing likely and he agreed. I said I wouldn't mind if it had been an ordinary house where I could sit and have a nice relaxing cup of tea and chat with the lovely father I wished I'd had and perhaps moved in for a while and looked after him while reminiscing about the good old days... Neighbour brought me down to earth... 'But your dad's a TOSSER.' he said.

Fair point!  Glad that one's been clarified.

Despite that, this Friday, I have to collect dad from his house at 8.30 to take him to the hospital for 9.15, then drive to work where I'm supposed to start at 9.  Then collect him again when the hospital call to tell me he's ready, thereby losing my lunch break.

Tuesday I have to take him to his hospice appointment.

The following Friday I have to take him to a different hospital a good 10 miles away, again on a work day, take him to the ward, and go back to work. He stays overnight and I go to collect him the next day. (a 30 mile round trip for me).

The following Thursday is his cataract operation, providing the pre-op went to plan. Again I have to take him and bring him back.

He rang me today to ask when his windows are to be done. I called the window chap a week or so ago and asked for a rough quote based on my own measurements. If that was OK I'd have the survey done and the proper measurements taken. After this it took six phone calls to organise it at a time when dad would be in and awake when the window people came. They came and sent the quote. I then had to go round there (yet again) to check he was happy and could see the quote and explained it to him. He wanted the opening on the top window to be lower so he could reach it - by 4 inches he said. A lot more phone calls and emails and he says he wants to see a sample of the window (like the double glazing salesmen used to carry around in the 80s). He wants to see this because despite me telling him they are recommended by Which magazine and have all the trade stamps and a friend of mine works there, he still wants to see for himself. I asked why he didn't ask the window people when they were there measuring. He said they came and went so quick he didn't have time.

My partner, our son and I went to see dad's car to see if it could be moved for the lawn mower the next day. I got the key, we opened the car door with the key, released the brake, moved the car and I went to tell dad. He stareted to tell me the whole lawnmower tale - again how it couldn't be moved with a dead battery...

'We've moved the car. The garage is open!' I said.

He made a face like I'd just thrown water in his face, making it clear he wasn't happy I had dared to speak before acknowledging his words. 'You can't open the door because the battery...'

'Dad! The car is moved and the garage is open!' I said loudly and clearly.

'Listen will you girl!' he said, 'You need to get another battery to be able to run a cable to the car in order to get...'

'DAD! THE CAR IS MOVED ALREADY!'

He rolled his eyes at my insolence at daring to talk over him.

'We moved it with the key - we didn't need to start it. I said that yesterday.'

There was a silence. He finally understood. In an attempt to save face he said 'Well I couldn't get the door open.'

My son appeared and said, in a normal voice. 'We opened the door with the key and let the handbrake off. You didn't need to start the engine.' 

As I stood there, they both had a conversation man to man. Dad heard every single bloody word. I had to walk away.

Within 10 minutes, my son had persuaded my dad to sell him his clapped out Focus for £75. My son is a mechanic and will get it to MOT standard and sell it. Otherwise the car would only be good for scrap with no MOT or Tax.

Today, when everything got too much, I asked my partner of 28 years if he would help take my dad to some appointments to take the pressure off me. 

'No' he said.

'Why?' I asked - knowing the answer of course but wanting to hear it.

'Because I hate the man and I don't want to!'

Does anyone else ever want to just walk away and go live in a mountain shack by themselves forever?

Answers/comments welcome.

I need a break - and a pint of alcohol - and a box of Galaxy chocolate and some sleep.