35) Monday 15th June 2026. Mansplaining on a whole new level and a walk in the woods.

 

I had heard from others who had been to visit that dad was improving now. The doctor had confirmed last week that the new stent had been fitted successfully, so he could eat soft food. He was now off the oxygen and was a feeling better.

According to the nurse, he was sitting up chatting in bed the morning after the stent and much improved.

I'd booked a weekend away with my 5 fabulous cousins in a cabin in the Forest of Dean. We booked it in October last year. The same 6 of us have been away twice before for one or other of our big birthday celebrations and always have a lovely time. I walked 20,572 steps through the forest on my first full day there, 11,489 on the 2nd day and 8087 on the last day. We walked for miles and when we got back to the cabin we all had a vino or two in the hot tub and a chat and a laugh under the stars. Perfect. I'd intended to take my mind off the situation at home, and to be fair, by request, we spoke very little about it, which suited me fine.

However, the day I came home, I had to go visit himself in hospital. I went to town first to get a pack of 2 men's pyjama bottoms in Primark, having ignored dad's advice to 'Just take a quick trip to M&S to get me some pyjamas.' I suspect he had not bought pjs in M&S since they were £5 a pair. 

I collected Ant and we got to the hospital at 7.30pm. We found dad on ward C7, having been moved that day from B6. On seeing us he said 'Ah. Right. Have you spoken to the doctor?' I said I'd spoken to her on the phone. He continued, 'You know I've just had to wait 37 minutes for someone to bring me one of these.' He held up a hospital disposable male urinal bottle thing (the cardboard ones). It was one of 4 on his bedside table. He went into minute detail on the time he'd asked and how many nurses he'd asked and he carried on moaning about how he shouldn't be expected to wait that long. It was ridiculous, he said. Next he went on about his washing and how the nurses wanted to change him every day and that too was ridiculous. Next he started on about when he was going to have his 'street' fitted. That, he said, was also ridiculous; that they'd sent him to the other hospital to have it fitted but they could only put a camera down and because the doctors were all training from home, there weren't enough people to fit the street, he said, as they needed seven people, and one of the doctors, working from home, had children who of course were running around and creating dust, which, of course, he said was bad for street fitting...

Eh?

I reminded him it was a STENT, and it had already been fitted. 'Yes,' he said. 'But they can't fit a street if they're not in the hospital.' 

What?

I repeated they'd told me it was already fitted. He looked at me, highly irritated by my apparent stupidity and lack of understanding and creased his face into an exaggerated eye-roll. Then, while playing the air piano, and with his eyes closed so he didn't have to keep looking at the irritation in front of him who clearly didn't understand, despite him talking to her in an agitated tone with loud simple one-syllable words, each delivered in a verbal bullet point and with a crash of the air piano keys, 'Yes, but they need more people to fit the street you see. I keep telling you that.'

When he'd said his piece, he opened his eyes and clocked me daring to look out of the window with the MOST bored expression I could muster. He'd already explained the minutai of his 'street requirements' many times since I'd arrived. Each word I dared to utter was met with an irritated scowl.

'Your STENT was fitted last Thursday.' I told him.

'My... something went where?' he said, looking at me as if I was simple.

'Dad. Your STENT is already fitted. The doctor told me and as you so clearly don't believe me or don't understand me, I'll go ask the nurse to explain.' I managed to find a lovely nurse, a petite lady with a no-nonsense yet gentle attitude and a strong African accent, who agreed to explain. She went in and told him straight. He argued with her and she gave up and left. I apologised - he didn't appear to listen to women, but thanked her for her time. 

The conversation followed its usual form, him sitting in bed acting like everybody was there to serve him and him telling us YET AGAIN, everything that was wrong with him in the tiniest detail and what needed to be done to put it right. He didn't ask how we were, how was the family, how was my weekend, or anything else about anything outside. He never does.

He truly is the very epicentre of his very own little universe.  His mansplaining is off the scale. He now mansplains everything he's already told me twice, everything I have already confirmed to him and then he mansplains a summary. Now he is mansplaining a fantasy imagined world, albeit one where he is still the epicentre. He then mansplains why I should listen to him and mansplains why he is mansplaining - because he doesn't know what I have listened to.

As end of visiting approached, he said. 'Look we all agree that it's of the utmost importance for them to get my street done, so I can eat, then I can get stronger, then they can do my cataract and I can see again and then I can come home. At least we're all on the same page as far as that's concerned!'

Are we though?

34) Monday 8th June Another attempt to fit a new stent.

 I went to visit again, with Ant, after work as I'd heard from another church person visitor that he was fading fast. I spoke briefly to the nurse on the way into his room and she said they were going to try and fit a new stent as soon as possible, hopefully the following day, but they'd need him to stabilise first with his blood pressure and blood oxygen levels. They'd need to send him to another hospital in Cardiff a few miles away for it to be fitted as they had a different machine.

He was in bed, but awake when we got there. He asked if we had spoken to the nurse and I confirmed we had. He made a huge effort to sit up, I'm not sure why as we could hear him, He's obviously in pain with his stomach. The sign above his head 'NIL BY MOUTH' reminded me he hadn't eaten proper food for a long while and as a result is looking frail and thin. When he'd sat up he started to tell us they were looking to fit a new stent as soon as possible. He said he was aware the stent fitting may be the end of him but he'd be dead in a few weeks anyway if he didn't have it fitted. He asked if we all agreed we knew the risks and it was the best thing to do. We did. 

He said 'a stupid young female' had told him he wasn't quite ready yet, because his blood levels needed to get better, but apparently, he said she didn't understand if he didn't have the stent fitted, he'd die.

There was silence for a moment, then, 'Could you sort out my pyjamas?' he asked. It's totally ridiculous - they change the sheets every single day and pyjamas as well. How damn stupid is that? I mean surely normal people wear pyjamas for at least two weeks before washing them...' I clocked the whole room was silent..

'No Dad, a week maximum - absolute maximum, and it depends if you wear anything underneath as well...'

He wasn't convinced. 'Really?'

'Yes dad. Really!'

He was wearing a hospital gown so we said we'd take his pjs home and wash them then bring them back asap.

The conversation was very stunted because he was in a four bed ward and the other three patients and their visitors were all silent and he speaks loudly due to his hearing difficulties. We all knew this was a possible last-ever conversation. If the stent fitting didn't work then he'd not be able to eat and that would be the end. If the stent fitting went wrong, that also could have been the end. It's hard to be emotional and have a private conversation with 5 other people listening.

We gave him a hug and a kiss and we went home. I looked back and he was watching us leave. I bit my lip. hard.

Tuesday morning I had a call about 12.30 - they had been intending to take him to Llandough to have the stent but they'd not been able to find any transport to take him, they were still trying and had escallated it to management. I rang them at 4 and they said he'd just left for Llandoough. At 6pm Llandough called me and said he'd had the stent done and was sitting up in hospital and would stay there overnight and will be returned to the Heath hospital tomorrow.

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.