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.