The Ominous Cloud and Toxic People

 

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling good. I had a mini lie-in, did a little bit of sewing and had a nice mug of coffee and left my house at 11am to drive the 7 miles or so to my paternal parent's house. I was picking him up at 11.30 for an appointment at the local City Hospice.

He's 95, frail and has terminal cancer which can't be treated due to its advanced stage and due to his age. Even so he's relatively mobile, very stubborn, and goes out into his garden daily for a potter and is up and about a lot of the time.

I got there and he was faffing. I passed him over a small carrier bag with his 3 sweaty stained vests which he had presented to me on my previous visit the week before. 3 threadbare, blue cotton vests whose hems had come partially undone. He doesn't bother asking me any more if I would mind doing repairs for him, he just gives clothes to me in a plastic carrier bag. I sew them as soon as I can as they smell bad so I don't want them in my house or in my car. If they were mine they would have gone in the bin but he likes them so I sew them. It's easier than arguing. I’ve sewn for years after having learned from my mother as a child. Even so, he still finds it necessary to mansplain how to sew a hem... 'you need to turn it inside - like this...' he then gets irate if I tell him I know.

In his head I have always been and will always be a young and stupid child. It's mansplaining on a whole new level and digs me at my very core; more and more so as the years go by. I’m an adult with my own career, my own family, my own house. Whether or not he’s aware of this doesn't appear relevant. He took the vests from me with an 'Ah yes.' and placed them on top of a 4ft high pile of junk in the kitchen. No mention of thank you. I let it slide.

He was faffing around the kitchen putting things in a bag. I asked what he was doing as he didn't need to take anything to his appointment at the hospice. He dropped an envelope, which fell onto another letter and they both hit the floor. He swore and said 'I just can't get anything done; as soon as I do something, someone else wants me to do something else. I shouldn't have to deal with all this messing about. I'm supposed to be resting.' He said this with a loud irritation which could only have been directed at me. Nobody else was there.

I don't know whose fault he thinks his severe hoarding is but it certainly isn't mine. I know it will be my problem one day. Soon. There is nobody else. I pointed out it was time to leave and had another mouthful of abuse as he couldn't find anything. He said 'should I bring a box for the shopping?' 'What shopping?' I said

'Oh I TOLD you we needed to go shopping.' he said. I told him he certainly hadn't told me he wanted to go shopping. If he had I would have suggested we leave it until later in the week when my brother could have been there to help. I also wouldn't have planned to go Christmas shopping by myself in town that afternoon.

'I most definitely DID tell you.' he said, 'But then I suppose I can't expect you to remember everything I tell you!'  So that was that then, I was taking him shopping no matter what other plans I had.

I managed to get him into the car, put his seatbelt on him, dump his bags in the boot and drive to City Hospice about 20m drive away. We got there just after 12. The whole way there he chatted about bus timings, his garden, and some bank account he wanted me to look at for him. He never asked once if I was OK, how my family were, whether I had any news. He never asks.

He carried on loudly telling me all about what he wanted me to know once we got to the hospice reception. I asked if he’d read the sheet of paper I had typed for him last week after spending many, many hours calling his bank and posting documents and power of attorney and everything else. I'd typed a summary on a sheet of A4 to make it easier for him. He snapped at me he hadn't read it yet - he'd had far too much to do. I just sat next to him numb.

The doctor called him in. She asked him how he was, then she looked me in the eye and asked how I was... and I totally lost it. Tears started rolling and 32 hours later they haven't really stopped. That's the thing I guess when you think you're barely holding it all together and then someone feels the urge to be nice to you and ask you how you are; the whole facade collapses in a big snotty mess. Of course, I wasn't there for myself and felt bad bawling my eyes out at his monthly check up but the tears wouldn't stop. I sat in the relatives' chair next to him with my head bowed trying to blend into the background, but it had been noticed. Not by my paternal parent of course; he had no idea I was crumbling as he chatted and flirted with the doctor. The doctor told him she was going to take me in a different room so she could examine him in private. I’m SO grateful for that. She took me out and asked again if I was OK and it all came out - huge snotty sobs. No, I said I wasn't - everyone keeps asking me 'how's your dad?' I don't know what to say. I told her my relationship with him had never been a loving father daughter relationship - he was treating me like his personal slave and I didn't know how to handle it.

He's clearly very fragile and frail and has terminal cancer. Him also being my paternal parent I feel obligated bearing in mind there is NOBODY else he can rely on to get around. To be fair he does offer to go on the bus but seeing how frail he is I simply can't allow it. He’s fallen over four times in as many months and is covered in cuts and bruises - some of these from pottering about in the garden. I worry. He's my parent - it's natural. The Doctor listened. I was grateful. At the end of the appointment we both left, the doc promising to put me in touch with someone who could help and my paternal parent oblivious to my state, as always. He's getting by doing what he's always done - being him, being oblivious to everyone else and letting everyone else run themselves ragged for him.

He's stopped driving due to his eyesight, rightly so, (drivers of Cardiff can let out a huge sigh of relief). His car tax ran out, his MOT ran out and soon his insurance will also run out. While this is a HUGE relief for me and for anyone who has ever sampled his driving, it means I now have to take him to his appointments, to do shopping and wherever else he thinks he can use a personal chauffeur on my days off. He has a long-standing distrust of taxi drivers. To my knowledge he's never ever been in a taxi. He doesn't have a mobile phone so he can't book an Uber and he is very hard of hearing so he can't phone for one either. He also has selective hearing, only hearing certain people and only hearing me when he wants to. He has always told myself and my brother we don't speak clearly enough and we should 'improve your diction, stop mumbling and speak up.' again oblivious to his own, very obvious hearing difficulties.

We left the hospice and he tried to give me directions to Lidl - the same Lidl I had lived metres away from for 9 years. He then said he wanted to go to Morrisons and then to his GP to have his dressings changed. He said not to go to the GP practice car park but to park in the church opposite. I said I'd take him and drop him off at the GP then I'd go park. He shouted for me to park in the church car park instead.

I asked 'The one by the side of the church?'

He said 'NO the one by the church.'

'Yes dad, the one by the side of the Church.'

‘No. Listen - you go round the roundabout then up the road and then turn left...'

'Yes dad, I know - at the side of the Church, but I can take you to the doctors.'

'NO. Hell why won't you LISTEN GIRL?' he yelled.

I lost it then and screamed at him 'YES by the church I KNOW.'

'OH GOD.' he says. I'm trying to tell you where to park. You never listen! I do love you but these conversations we have are SO DIFFICUT when you shout.' I drove there anyway. I just had no more strength to argue. He directed me every step – left here, turn right here… - even though I'd lived in the area 55 years. We parked and walked over to the GP. He had his dressings done then got his prescription. I asked if he'd like to sit in my car while I went to the chemist by the GP for him. He said no he wanted to go to his own chemist as they knew his history as the GP usually sent his prescriptions there by computer. I couldn't be bothered to argue. He'd worn me down to nothing. I was numb. I took him to his own chemist three miles away for his prescription. I took him home, I took his shopping into his house and I left. I left fast. I couldn't handle a moment more of him.

I rang my friend from the car and halfway home I lost the ability to talk as the tears came again, hard and fast. I managed to park outside my house and 'Chiquitita' by Abba came on the radio. I listened to the words for the first time ever and cried a lot more. I lay awake last night just thinking - what is it I'm so mad about exactly?

If I was a friend speaking to me what would I say? Eventually I figured it out. I've never had the kind of father daughter relationship with him that my friends had with their dads. That, I can handle - however now he is dying and old and frail, some inner conscience within my head is telling me I should look after him (just like he never did for me). He's old, frail, 95 and has terminal cancer - anyone would look at him and feel sorry for him and any decent human would offer help - of course they would. Why am I being a decent human? I know plenty of people who have cut all contact with their toxic parents.

If any of my friends or family had ever spoken to me the way he does, I would have cut all contact with them without hesitation. Forever. I would never allow other people to treat me the way he does. What grinds is - for example, the shopping. He truly believed he had asked me to take him food shopping. I knew he hadn't. If he had I would have put him off and not arranged to go to town Christmas shopping by myself.

Do I mind taking him shopping? Not usually, as long as I have notice and I can plan a mutually convenient time. So why did I mind yesterday. BECAUSE - his version of reality appeared to take precedent over mine. Whether he had asked me to take him shopping or not wasn't the point - the point was that even after he discovered I hadn't planned on taking him shopping, because he believed he had asked he therefore felt he was entitled to go.

A normal person would maybe have said 'I thought we were going shopping, but never mind if you had other plans - could you take me tomorrow, or could we just get the essentials and then go another time?' Not him!

So why do I do it? I'd tell anyone else to get out of there, Highly Toxic person. Don't put up with it. Walk Away! So why is it different for me talking to myself? I don't know! I feel trapped, like waiting for some huge storm to hit. It's mental torture. I feel even worse knowing what happened to my mum and feeling I know exactly why. I do it for my brother. My brother is a saint. My brother lives with our paternal parent. Every single day he is shouted out and he is told how stupid he is - every day.

My brother is not stupid, My brother is Autistic. I think this is his super power in this scenario as it maybe gives him a thick skin. It means the axe stays in the shed...

So PLEASE don't ask me how my dad is as I can't guarantee you won't regret asking (sorry if you do - I know you probably mean well.) and only ask me how I am if you have a spare box of tissues and a LOT of time. x