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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.
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. 😊
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