Never ending...

Yesterday was Wednesday.  The day when I drop dad off at his Day Centre in the morning and for the next 4+ hours I get some time to myself to do whatever I want to do, which by choice would most likely be a little window shop and coffee for one.  I swear to God that ever since I've taken over dad's care, everything that needs doing happens on a fricken Wednesday.  I can count on one hand all the days I've actually sat back and done hee haw just because I could...on a Wednesday.  So why should yesterday be any different.  A couple of days ago the car started to rattle.  I ventured out to the shopping centre where Dad and I did our usual thing...Post Office, coffee and cake, shopping for sparkly things (dad's favourite oh yes it is!)  On the way home, that little niggly noise coming from the back end of the car got louder and louder.  It didn't help that on the same day some idiot reversed his car into the front of mine knocking the number plate clean off.  No other damage was done to the car, but I was sorting dad's footplates on his wheelchair at the time and I can't get the worried look on his face out of my head.  He watched as the huge 4 x 4 kept rolling backwards like a giant mouth set to swallow up my little dinky toy of a car.  The man was as big as his 4 x 4 and sheepishly apologised.  What the f**k you bloody idiot.  As if I don't have enough to bother me today you absolute clown.  

"Don't worry about it," I say with a concentrated sweetness.  All thoughts of wanting to kick his arse swept aside as I repeatedly tell my dad that everything is fine.  No damage done.  No garage can fix my nerves!  I throw the number plate into the car and add it to the list of things to do...on Wednesday!  F@#% S#%* B*$@#&%!!!!

It was never in my plan to move in to my mother's house.  When she bought the little compact one bedroom abode, she moved away from West Calder where she had lived for most of her life and where I had been brought up and decided to change her surroundings completely.  I'm sure if she had waited for just a little longer that something would have become available in West Calder but as much as my mother accused me of being impulsive, it took one to know one.  There was none more impulsive (and regretful) than my mother.  I like to think that my impulsiveness has been tamed.  It has certainly been tested, so perhaps I've learned something...at last.

The little house has an enclosed front and back garden for which 'dug' is truly grateful...as am I, so when she starts playing 'chase the ankle' I simply open the door and close it behind her little fiery arse.  Let the neighbours enjoy her tantrums.

Getting used to the idea that this is now my forever home hasn't been easy.  I have yet to relax completely and act like I live here.  Not having a bedroom doesn't help as I constantly feel like I am on a sleep over.  But yesterday...Wednesday...I realised just how lucky I actually am when I had to go and get the car fixed.  I am so used to jumping in the car to do the smallest of errands.  I pass a garage every day when I'm on my way to the shops with my dad and also coming home.  It's less than 10 minutes walk to my front door.  There are now two supermarkets which are less than 5 minutes walk, set on the road leading to the Main Road which takes me to Bathgate in less than 20 minutes by car, and the motorway which takes me to Edinburgh in less than an hour.

I drove dad to his Centre which is just around the corner but too bumpy to walk with the wheelchair and with fierce weather yesterday, we rattled and rolled the car until I dropped him off then took the car to the garage.  Although I have no knowledge of cars, I let it be known that I didn't want to be having all kinds of work done on it that wasn't necessary.

"If you could just put a plaster on it and let me get from A to B I'd be very grateful!" I begged.

I left the car with them and the owner offered me a lift home.  If it hadn't been pouring with rain and blowing a gale I would have walked.  But those extra minutes at home would mean a lot.  The man said he recognised my face.  I explained my reasons for moving here and said that I was originally from West Calder.  It didn't enlighten him any, until I mentioned I used to have a cake shop on the Main Street.  Bingo!  I see more business in the future.

It took less than a few minutes to get me home, but in that time I learned that there is to be a Christmas Fayre at the Community Centre where I dropped dad earlier taking place on Saturday.  Santa Claus will visit for the kids....Santa being none other than the jolly man who gave me a lift home.  I've spent so much time couped up in the house without taking time to find out what there is around me.  I smiled as I came indoors...even at Poppy, who had protest peed on the kitchen floor!

I'd ordered my shopping online the previous day just in case I'd no car for some days.  I ordered much more than I would have bought had I gone to the shop myself.  When it arrived, I was thrilled to see the cupboards fill and the fridge with enough to keep us going for another week.  I'm thinking that this might be the way for me to go in future instead of struggling with the heavy bags on my own.  Trying to offload my dad and shopping and keeping him from trying to carry stuff and rummage around in bags as he bends down too far...it's all too much.  So yes...I'm thinking that in the long run I'll spend less on shopping if I do it this way and relieve myself of the impending heart attack that awaits me.

My car was fixed in a couple of hours.  I wrapped myself up and walked to the garage.  Yes....I WALKED!  Everything really is on the doorstep.  Am I finally starting to see this house as home?

I picked dad up as usual just after 2 p.m.  He was very quiet although he told me, "It's a good hospital to visit."  It's not a hospital dad but I'm glad you enjoyed the visit.

He was very quiet, and seemed very tired.  He started to fall asleep on the recliner but his head kept going off to the side.  I woke him up and led him to his bed to have a more comfortable snooze.

"I don't feel well," he said.

"You'll feel better after a rest," I said.  I didn't fuss, although I am aware of his lethargy.

After a couple of hours, dad came into the living room appearing to be more cheery.  I made him dinner, just a little pasta and tomato sauce.  He ate all of it and enjoyed it.  Within the hour he was rushing across the floor in an unnerving shuffle to the toilet to be sick.

This went on for another hour.  No sooner he sat down he was up again.  He was never actually sick but his feeling of nausea was overwhelming him.  All I could do was wait...and listen...to this poor wee man retching.  Every time he entered the living room he looked smaller.  I decided to lead him to his bedroom and get him into his pyjamas to settle for the night.  I left the bedside table light on low so that I could see him when I popped my head around the door later.

I didn't unfold the chair bed.  I stayed on the recliner still clothed, just in case he got up during the night and couldn't cope.  I decided that I would call the doctor if he got up more than once.

I watched Celebrity Jungle and gagged as I watched them do the eating challenge.  How revolting and stomach churning.  I'm glad my dad was already in bed.  It didn't put me off wading through a bag of chocolate caramels that dad won at Bingo today giving myself lock jaw in the process.  Having truly sickened myself and feeling guilty, I switched off the lights and lay my head back with dug making herself comfy on my legs.  

I lay awake most of the night waiting.  Of all the nights for dad to sleep right through!!  I'm not sure if my eyes closed at all but the fact that I saw Disney's Bambi jump over the recliner and stand as bold as brass in front of the kitchen door tells me otherwise.

Dad got up when I woke him this morning.  Although I checked on him regularly, the time was getting on and for him to still be asleep at 10 a.m. is unheard of. 

Still retching...pale as a ghost...the doctor is coming.  Keeping my fingers crossed that hospital isn't required but to be honest, I'm not optimistic.  Although this situation is typical for my dad at this time of year, somehow it's a bit more harrowing than usual.

"I don't know why I've got this," he says, pressing on his wee pot belly.

"It'll get sorted dad, don't worry,"  I reply...worrying.  😟