Bathmatgate

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