Every precious day

We had a visitor this week, although dad's still trying to figure out who it was.  😆  It didn't really matter what her name is as his wee face lit up like a thousand candles when she walked into the room.  I got a reprieve from being the 'wife' for a weekend.  I was relegated to 'niece' somehow, until I returned from a quick trip to the supermarket one day when Vicky and her grandad were sitting on the recliner watching through the window as I walked down the path to the front door.

"Who's that?" Vicky asked him.

"It's my daughter," dad said.  WHAT??

"Do you remember her name?" Vicky went on.

Of all the names to come up with dear dead to me sister, it was YOURS.  But that's all you are...just a name with no conscience.

"No," said Vicky.  "Try again."

"Lorraine," came the reply...eventually.

"I nearly forgot your name," dad announced as I walked in the door.  Vicky was relaying their conversation without going into details that didn't deserve a visit.  We just looked at each other knowingly while dad sat as proud as punch at his recollection of our relationship.  If I can be his daughter for all of 5 minutes in any one day then I'll take it.

Vicky's visit was fleeting but most welcome.  I was able to unleash my shackles and leave the building to go and catch up with Jackie (Paul's mum) and have coffee and healthy sandwiches with a little scone on the side.  No wait....we put them back on the shelf when we spotted a huge slab of carrot cake and decided that the sweetness and the extra calories would suit our purpose most that day.  Our conversation on putting the world to rights was peppered with the occasional comment 

"Oh, that's awfy gid!"  Translate:  Oh that's awfully good!

referring to the gobfulls of carrot cake which went down without touching the sides.  A rare but most welcome treat.  The carrot cake...and Jackie.  💓

Those few hours flew by.  I took a little extra time to wander around Matalan before heading home.  I picked up some cheap and cheerful tops and a pair of jeans that will cover my ever growing arse and helping me to feel a bit more comfortable in my tired body.

To touch on that note briefly, I have received so so many messages of support from people who share my life story in their own way and also those who predict their own future to be similar one day.  Those messages are as much a comfort to me as my blog gives comfort to others.

This past year has been a tough one for sure.  I feel I haven't grieved properly.  Life has gone on with business as usual, mainly due to suppressing feelings around my dad and making sure his world isn't touched by anything that could destroy his soul.

I find myself having nothing but empathy for those who seek comfort in food.  It's easy for others to sit in judgement and offer options to pass the time in a more constructive way instead of larding it up on the sofa with Netflix on a loop.  I could call a hundred people on the phone and talk things through.  I have no shortage of friends who offer that outlet for me and I am and always will be forever grateful to know that they are there.

But when it comes down to it, I have to work some things out in my head and shut the world out.  If that means over indulgence of a sweeter kind then I'll work that out one day too.  I know I can...and I know I will.  The size of my arse isn't going to determine who I am or what my purpose in life is.  I'm still the same 'me' inside with just a little more on my plate (pardon the pun) to deal with than I'd prefer.  But know that I'm dealing with it in the best way I can...right now...in this moment.

So...to the person who sent me a message on Dementia, Dad and Me Facebook page to inform me that "you've gotten so big", I say all of the above and would like to add...the day when my arse outgrows my resilience, compassion and sense of humour is the day I'll start to worry.

This is ME!

Moving on...

Although the news of my dad's health was not good last week, he isn't quite bedridden yet.  He is not eating much at all although he has bursts where he will eat all four quarters of a sandwich and not just one.  I know it's a bad day when he folds over a packet of crisps leaving half of them still uneaten and places the packet on the table beside him.  Getting him to drink is an onward struggle although he also has bursts of thirst too.  I don't make him stand in the shower every day and I have changed my set up for this too making things a little less challenging...for both of us.

Dad has gotten used to having a catheter a lot quicker than I'd expected although he still questions why I need to help him in the toilet when he needs to sit down...which isn't often.  This is also a worry to me but unless dad shows discomfort there isn't a whole lot I can do.

Every night as I get him ready, he tries to assist me which always ends up with me like a contortionist as I 'fight' with his hands to keep them out of my way.  He bends over me so much when I'm already crouched and I'm scared one day that I'm going to head butt his chin on the way up.

"Stand up tall dad!" I repeat with a concentrated calm.

In my head it plays out as GET OUT OF MY WAY FOR FK SAKE!!

I retreat to the recliner once my final (maybe) duty is done and throw myself down like an old sack of spuds.  Netflix...tick!  Maltesers...tick!  Don't give a fck...double tick!!

The newly purchased baby monitor with little screen is an absolute bonus and I'd recommend it to anyone who is living in similar conditions to myself.  However, it should be noted that it isn't just the sounds of slumber that are picked up on the monitor.  Every now and again I am treated to a version of Colonel Bogey reverberating from dad's arse!

..................................................

The days are passing and time means nothing.  It's like Groundhog Day until something out of the ordinary happens and the routine is mildly interrupted.  My dad is having good days and bad.  I'm just having days I feel.  I keep thinking of my own mortality and all of the things I still want to do in this life....and all the things I don't.

When Vicky visited, dad was having his best days.  I put that down to the company of his granddaughter more than anything else.  Vicky was here while the nurse from SALT (speech and language therapy) visited dad to check on his swallow reflex.  This all took place while I was testing mine on the carrot cake with Jackie.  Dad was asleep in his bed when the nurse arrived.  Vicky woke him gently telling him that there was a lady here to see him.

"Is she beautiful?" dad asked.  "It's been a while since I've had a woman!"

😂😂😂

  It turns out that dad's swallow is in perfect order but he has reflux which can be helped with medication.  I await this prescription so that he might not cough and splutter as much when he eats or sleeps or more often now while he simply sits.  It isn't pleasant for him and I see his struggle...except for the daily workout he gives his jaw, treating me to ear piercing crunches as he wades through his Walkers crisps.  Even if it is just half a bag.

I was running out of my own pills and ordered online thinking that they'd be delivered along with my dad's prescription last Friday.  The pharmacy called to tell me that one of the items for my dad wouldn't be available until Monday and asked if they could wait until then to deliver all.  I said this would be fine, thinking that a weekend without my own pills wouldn't make much difference.

Once I brought myself down from the ceiling on Monday, I called the pharmacy to ask if my own prescription would be delivered that day along with dad's.  I was told that I'd need to go to the pharmacy to fill in a form to see if I qualify for having medications delivered to my door.

"Can't you just pop it in the bag with my dad's?  It's being delivered here today anyway," I said.

"No, it's our policy that the person requiring the medication needs to fill in the form," she said.

"Well can you send the form out for me to fill in?"  I asked.

"No," she said.  "It's our requirement that you come in to the surgery to fill it in."

"But if I'm not able to come and collect my prescription, how can I get there to fill in a form?"  I asked.  "I am full time caring for my dad.  I've now been 3 days without my prescription"  I tried to suppress the angst in my tone.

Wait for it....

"Your're not the one who is housebound.  You need to fill in the form," she continued.

"Well it looks like I will be off my medication then.  That's no help to me at all."  With that parting shot...I hung up the phone and retreated to the bedroom to release the frustrated tears before heading back to the living room.

"Cup of tea dad?"  I asked.

"I wouldn't mind hen," dad answered.

The next day after venting to Vicky, muddling my words and trying not to sound manic and betrayed (OTT I know...but stick with me...)

she took up the reigns and phoned the pharmacy.  After having virtually the same conversation as I'd had she threw in her 'nurse card' and explained to them in a manner which I couldn't about the reason for the medication and the effects quick withdrawal can have.  Also asking for a more reasonable explanation apart from having to fill in a form in person in the surgery while I AM housebound via my dad...what other option could they offer before I took the information back to my GP who prescribed this drug which keeps my head from disappearing up my arse most days.  Well...I might have added that bit at the end on myself but you get the picture.

My medication was hand delivered within the next few hours by the pharmacist herself as "a goodwill gesture".

Seriously...go save a third world country or something.

When she arrived at the door she said, "Prescription for Ms. Duffy?"

"Yes," I replied.

"What's your address?" she asked.

Your standing at my front door love.  I'm the one INSIDE the fkn address!

I managed to answer without the sarcasm and off she went.  4 days without my own medication and let me tell you...it hurts.  For me this is a welcome quick fix which I absolutely know takes the edge off anxiety and stress.  One day I won't need it at all as I'll have all my ducks in a row.  Right now my ducks are all scattered having a party of their own.  But I know this isn't how it's always going to be.  I know.

Living my best life the only way I know how...doughnuts included!

Taking the last journey home.

It's been almost two weeks since I last updated the Blog, but it has been fairly obvious that I've had some concerns over the past weeks.  The excessive tiredness my dad has had and the daily struggle to get him to eat without turning his nose up at almost everything set down for him.

I finally snapped after he had a fall right outside our front door a week past Wednesday, just after I'd picked him up from the Day Centre.  I was making such a big noise on Facebook just the day before about how excited I was to have just a few hours to myself.  Now I was standing right behind him holding a shopping bag in each hand...never a good idea and wish now I hadn't taken the chance.  But knowing what I know now wouldn't have made any difference whether I'd have had a hand free or not.  To be honest, if it wasn't for that fall I may not have acted on his change in behaviour as quickly as I did.  

He missed his step onto the pavement and began to fall backwards.  I dropped both bags to the ground and reached out my hands to grab his jacket which was made impossible due to it's slippery material.  I tried to hold onto his arm, but somehow my dad began to turn his head around to the right which resulted in weakening his balance and down he went onto his left buttock, 

his head falling backwards onto the concrete pavement.  Luckily his cap slid down the back of his head and cushioned the blow.  There were no bumps or cuts but my dad was visibly shaken.  I got behind him and sat him up allowing his back to rest on the front of my body.  Instructing him to bend his knees and keep his feet together on the road, I managed to lever him up by grabbing onto the sides of his trousers.

"UP we go!"

Moving and Handling course tutors would be so proud of me now....NOT!  But this is real life folks.  I did the best I could in the moment.  I could have hurt myself...I didn't.  I could have hurt my dad...I didn't.  He managed to totter to the front door holding onto my arm and using his walking stick.  In my expert opinion as his daughter and Carer my assessment of the situation was that he hadn't broken his arse!  

 My dad always goes to his bed for a couple of hours when returning from the Day Centre.  I decided to allow him to do this after double checking his head, but when he woke up after a couple of hours I decided to take him to A&E just to be sure.  We sat waiting for 2 hours before a nurse took his details and wrote down the reasons why we were there.  She was very lovely towards my dad and asked him if he was very handsome in his younger days.  "A bit like Tony Curtis," I offered.

"You must have had all the ladies running after you John," she said, smiling.

With a look of disapproval, dad said, "Oh no.  There's only one woman for me."  He glanced towards me.

"Who would that be then John?" the nurse asked.

"My wife!" he said, nodding his head towards me.

"What's my name?" I asked him.

"Mrs Duffy.  Anne," he smiled.

I explained to the nurse that this is how things are 99.9% of the time.  Neither of us felt the need to correct him, so back to the waiting room dad and I went.  As we sat for a further hour, so many people came and went.  The nurses were very busy.

"Nobody's been seen since we came in," dad said.

"They have dad," I told him.  "It's just so busy that there's never an empty seat."

We sat for a few minutes.

"Nobody's been seen since we came in," dad said.

"Yes they have dad," I said...again.  "It's just very busy."

We sat a few minutes more.

"Nobody's been seen since we came in," dad said.

"I know," I said.

..............................................

We got back from the hospital four hours later.  Dad's blood pressure and heart were fine and his blood results showed no more than what we already knew about his anaemic state.  He's on iron tablets for that, so no concern was shown about him.  The only thing that couldn't be checked that night was his urine because he couldn't squeeze a drop even after sitting all of that time.  It didn't seem to matter, but it struck me that dad's toilet habits have been going through a change lately too.  He's never had a problem with his 'flow' shall we say.  He has always drank plenty and made several trips to the toilet during the night in the past, although a little miracle pill reduced those visits to two at most which allowed me to have a most welcome uninterrupted sleep.  I didn't dwell too much on the pee thing.  But as the days progressed, this would turn out to be the one thing that concerned me the most.

After the hospital, dad ate a good sized sandwich and a little snack before going off to bed for the night.

24 hours later, dad was wretching and finally being "sick" he told me, but it was all foam.  He had several bouts of diarrhea which isn't so unusual given that he has Diverticulitis and has occasional spells of discomfort.  But given that he'd had the fall the day before, I called the doctor to visit us at home.  Dad's blood pressure was a little high so another pill was prescribed to take care of that.  It was decided that dad could be suffering mild concussion.  I took the opportunity to mention that I'd noticed irregularity in dad's water works and that he'd been unable to give a sample the night before.  I also mentioned that despite the diarrhea that he still hadn't peed.  The doctor asked me to wait another 24 hours and that I should call him the following day to update him and only then would he decide if there should be anything further to be done.  He asked me to try and get a urine sample from dad the following morning and hand it in to the surgery.  I finally managed this but not without a tremendous effort from my dad.  I was still worried.  I called the doctor again.  Getting past the receptionist was another challenge.  But she finally agreed to pass my number onto the doctor who'd visited the night before and thankfully later that day he called me back.

He had already decided to send in the REACT squad who are a team of nurses who provide the same care as a hospital provides for the elderly except that it's done at home.  The following day, two nurses came to give dad a full assessment which included observations, cognitive test with regard to his Dementia, more blood samples and all the urine he could extract.

When it came to the cognitive test, the nurse turned and pointed to me.

"Who is this person who looks after you?" she asked my dad.

"Lorraine," he said.  "That's my daughter.  There she is standing right there," he said confidently pointing to me...and smiling.

WHAAAAT THE ACTUAL FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

Out of all the questions dad was asked, this was the ONLY question he got right!

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry...but laughed in the moment, ultimately weeping later.

I had already spoken to my daughter Vicky who is a nurse in Maidstone General about dad's lethargy and waterworks.  Dad's sudden weight loss was becoming more obvious and a little distended belly was clearly visible to me.  He had to be retaining water and this was worrisome.

Later that day, some of the blood results had come back.  The nurse called me to tell me that dad's kidneys were showing signs of deterioration and that some of his medication had to be stopped immediately.  She also informed me that another nurse would visit us in the morning to take a bladder scan from dad and to also let me know the rest of the blood results.

"Has your dad ever had his prostate checked?" she asked.

"Not that I'm aware," I answered.  Alarm bells!  

As well as finally getting all the medical stuff in order, she informed me that occupational health were going to call in and provide us with a raised toilet seat for my dad and also a rail for his bed so that he could pull himself up a lot easier and my arms could remain in their sockets from now on as I step away from being his personal pulley!

I was pretty excited knowing that there was a team of nurses who would be on call in the future for any further 'treatment' dad needed.  This, I thought, was going to save me from taking him back and forth to the doctor's surgery which tired dad out so much even though it's a short journey in the car and a short but slow walk into the surgery itself.

My excitement wasn't to last long.

The following morning (I've lost track of what day we're on now....things just got busy is all I remember) another nurse arrived with a bladder scan.  Before she took the scan, she spoke with me out of dad's earshot to tell me that his PSA levels were showing to be pretty high.  Although it was likely that cancer was present, the information had to be presented to another medical team who would decide the next best thing to do.  I confirmed my understanding of the situation and led her to my dad so she could scan his bladder.  Just as suspected, dad's bladder was pretty full. The nurse left and returned within a couple of hours with another nurse to assist in catheterising my dad.  It wasn't a pleasant spectacle as it took a little longer than it should have due to quite a bit of resistance of the tube being inserted.  Both nurses looked at each other before turning to me.

"This is also a telling sign that there is a blockage," one said.

  The pain for my dad was obvious as he cried out towards the end as it finally reached it's destination.   Although a catheter can bring it's own problems, I am more relieved at the fact it will stop dad from walking back and forth in his unsteady manner to and from the toilet.

As soon as the nurses left, dad kept saying over and over that he needed to go for a pee.

"You don't need to move dad," I repeated constantly.  "It all goes into a bag now."

I had to relent a couple of times and take him to sit down on the toilet and reassure him...but also to assure me too that the other end wasn't in need of relief.

I finally managed to get him to settle and was glad when he wanted to go to bed ridiculously early.  Although I explained what I was doing when I changed his daytime catheter bag to a night bag, I knew he wasn't really understanding.  I found myself constantly repeating myself as I tried to stop him from pulling at the tubing.  Even though I slept that night with one eye open, my ears failed me as I didn't hear him going into the toilet...but I heard him trying to get out!

I had remained on the couch that night.  I flew off it when I heard something hitting off the bathroom door.  Thankfully it wasn't my dad, but it was him trying to manoeuvre himself with the night bag in one hand and his pyjama trouser leg in the other.  I don't know how he managed to get as far as he did without tripping but I can't afford "what ifs" at this stage.  I don't want to be on heart medication any time soon!

The frightened look on his face and his wavering voice still haunts me.  I've no idea what he must have thought when he reached the toilet.  I was just glad to get him back into his bed and settle him down again with as much reassurance as I could.  I stayed awake for most of what was left of the night.

...................................................

The next day when the nurse returned, dad's test results were confirmed.  His kidneys aren't quite going into failure yet but they are definitely en route.  Given dad's age and stage, it has been decided not to take any further tests to confirm what they already know which is that he without a doubt has prostate cancer.  Knowing the figures and facts surrounding PSA levels means nothing to me and I don't want to be that person who throws around medical jargon not knowing WTF I'm talking about.  The only fact that matters to me is how everything should be handled around my dad.  That is one thing that I and only I can claim to have any expertise.

Although over the course of the past few days and all of the much welcome medical intervention from all concerned, I don't think the reality of the moment struck home until the REACT nurse told me to stop dad's medication with the exception of two vitamins and that the team would now be withdrawing their services and handing dad's medical care back to his GP.  As for his eating and drinking, it's now all about quality and not quantity although I encourage him all day long to drink as much fluids as possible.  But I can't hold him down and force him.  I was so proud to have brought his waistline up a couple of sizes since taking over his care 8 months ago only to now be saddened by his rapid weight loss which sees his newest trousers neatly folded and put away forever in a drawer.  He is fast making his way back to the wee trousers he was wearing before I filled him with sausage casseroles and fish fingers, chips and beans.

Today so far he has eaten a tiny sandwich over a period of an hour, a small banana chopped up in a bowl and some jelly.  By the end of the night he may have finished 400 mls of fluid...if he's lucky.

...................................................

As well as all of the above I've had lengthy conversations about my dad's continued care with the nurses.  Would I wish him to go to hospital as things progress?  Would HE wish to be in hospital if he had any notion of what was happening?  Would I consider having extra help in the shape of carers coming in to do anything that I'm already doing?  Do I understand that looking after myself is just as important?  What use would I be to anyone if I fell ill.

I GET IT....I KNOW!

Thank you.  I'm sorry.  But no thank you.  I don't want my dad to get any inclination of what's happening and luckily Dementia allows him to forget that there's been any medical visitors at all.  As far as he's concerned, the new set up is all down to me.  He has totally relaxed into the fact he has a catheter and makes no protest as I take care of it.  Anyone visiting him would never know as he looks just the same as he always has.  He just has a wee secret tucked up his trouser leg!

I don't want my dad to be unnerved by people in uniform visiting with gizmos and gadgets, prodding and pricking him and asking him questions that he can barely answer.  It's all about his comfort and quality of the remaining life he has.  There will be no intervention when things progress, but he isn't bedridden yet.  I am already looking at portable TV's with a DVD player included so that he can still enjoy his Columbo on a loop when he can no longer make it to the recliner.  

If the man can't get to Columbo then Columbo must go to the man!

As soon as dad's diagnosis was confirmed I paid a visit to Amazon and relied on it's next day delivery service which didn't let me down.  I can now keep an eye on dad day and night when he is in his bed courtesy of a fabulous baby monitor with a wee screen.  I also got a night catheter bag holder which hangs on the side of his bed which can be hidden with the duvet so any visitors don't need to see the contents of his tiny bladder.  I put an electric blanket on his bed which delights him as his feet are always cold at night.  I will be supplied with incontinence pads and catheter bags but all of the incidentals are down to me....or dad I should say.  Much of his pension this week has filled a drawer with gloves, nappy sacks for catheter disposal, bed protectors and anything else I could think of to make life easier...for both of us.

Last night as I got dad ready for bed, he watched patiently as I went about my business.  Making sure he was comfortable and pulling the duvet up around his neck I told him I'd be keeping an eye on him in the other room.

"I don't know what I'd do without you hen," he said.

"I don't know either dad," I said...taken aback and trying to prevent a tear from forming and falling out of my control.  "You'll never have to though."

"Good!" he said.

With that, I kissed him goodnight and left the room before he noticed my runny nose and that damn tear followed by a few more.

So this is it.  Already.  The last leg of our journey.  We mightn't have been able to make all of the little trips away and have the adventures I'd planned in my head after my mother died but at least I can plan his final trip with all the comfort and ease that he deserves.

Sunshine and rainbows dad.  That's what I'm giving you. 💖

"I don't think you're dad will be long after me."

That's what you said when you left Mother...and you were right.  

He thought he'd be here long enough to get a telegram from the Queen.  

I thought I'd save him from your nagging for a few more years!

JUST KIDDING!!

I'm so sorry I couldn't send you on your way with the same dignity that I can give Dad, but I hope your understanding of the situation is a lot clearer from where you are now than from where you were then.

One day you'll be together again Mother...but not yet.

Not yet.

     

When two worlds collide

For the past few days, there has been a change on Planet Dad.  I've thought that something might be wrong then dismissed it.  Repeating myself a little more than normal but not making issue of it.  But when I think that things are just as they always were, I remind myself that I'm living and breathing the world of Dementia.  Even though every day is like groundhog day, there's no room for complacency.  Dad definitely makes sure of that.

For months now he has been in a nice routine.  Medication has kept him asleep for longer during the night with very few trips to the toilet in the night.  I've been boasting at how I've had unbroken sleep for weeks.

The honeymoon period is over!

Dad is now using incontinence pads although he is still independent of using the toilet.  After finding a pad hanging over the hot towel rail one afternoon I now need to check the bathroom after his every visit.  I usually only do this when he goes in there and forgets to come out again, alerting me that something isn't quite right.  I've taken to standing at the door sometimes when I know he's only going to pee and calling from the door, "Are you alright dad?"  Which usually results in his response "Aye.  I'm just comin' oot."

"Don't forget to put your pad back on again," I say.

"Aye okay," he'll reply, satisfying me with his answer...until one night...

He's been unusually tired over a short period.  I noticed it before I went off to visit my daughter in Maidstone but since I returned home I've realised that this isn't a one-off.  He always gets up by 10.30 a.m. at the latest and returns to lay on his bed in the afternoon for a couple of hours rest, finally going down for the night between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m.

All of a sudden he has been going for two naps during the day and retiring for the night as early as 8 p.m.  These days can be very long for me.  I've come to realise that I'd much rather have his company than sit around the house with not an awful lot I can do while he sleeps.  I can't go out.  So I binge watch Netflix and depress myself with Crime Series.  Lately I've taken to watching clips of comedian Micky Flanagan on You.Tube and found myself laughing out loud.  I've decided that Micky Flanagan has been my saviour during this past week for sure.  A daily serving of laughter is welcome...and it's free.  No prescription required.

Dad emerged from the bathroom last night and announced that he wanted to go to bed.  It wasn't quite 8 p.m. but I didn't talk him out of it.  I simply led him to his bedroom and asked him to sit on the edge of the bed while I got his pyjamas ready.  When I've been helping him to remove his underpants lately, I've also grasped the top of his pad at the back and pulled downwards as he takes care of the front.  I have to stand by his side with one hand placed at the top front of his shoulder while the other hand deals with the pants.  This is to help him maintain balance as he stoops very far forward as he drops his head to try and see what he is doing.

With pants and pad in my grasp, I pulled downwards a little too far before I noticed that he'd put his pad on back to front which meant that the plastic non absorbent side was against his skin.  This had become quite sticky with the heat from his body so when I removed them the pad pulled at his bum cheeks.

"Ooyah!" dad yelped.

"You've got your pad on back to front dad," I said.

Noticing a wee furled brow appear I quickly went on, "Be grateful I noticed before I pulled it right down otherwise you'd be singing soprano!"

This made him laugh...thank god.  I tentatively removed the pad and got him ready for bed.  He slept right through until 10 a.m. this morning.  In just a few nights I've watched the entire 5 series of Scott & Bailey either curled up on the recliner with 'dug' or on my chair bed...also with 'dug'.

So now I have added 'check dad's pad' after every visit he makes to the toilet to my ever growing list.  Although I'm happy to say that all of the pads thus far have been clean, I should mention that perhaps the fact he wipes his arse on the hand towel contributes to this.  FUUUUUUUUUCK!

Should you ever visit my house....bring your own hand towel.  I no longer provide them in the bathroom.

I used to dry myself with a towel and hang it up again and use the same one the next day trying to avoid too much laundry.  Nowadays every single towel no matter the size is used once and thrown into the basket.  I have always done this with with my dad's towels anyway because I use a couple every time he showers and a lot of the time I wipe water off the floor or the sides of the shower with one or the other.  He blows his nose when he dries his face.  I can't be sure he doesn't do this when I'm not there to see.  So towels in our house are quite frankly over washed.

I'm thinking about installing a sheep dip and dragging him through it every day as a final precaution!

I've gone through a lot of feeding tantrums with dad lately.  This is another thing that seems to be happening more and more.  After feeding him with toasties on flatbreads over some days, dad has enjoyed every bite.  Noting them as a hit I've fed him these regularly to ensure that he's having something that is decent and warm at least instead of keeping Walkers in business with his copious crisp consumption.  Then all of a sudden...out of the blue.... "I don't like that!"

"Oh really?"  I say.  "You've been eating them for days dad."

"Have I?" he asks, looking confused.

I give up.

Just so you know...he ate an entire cheese and pickle toastie tonight with a mug of tea followed by a small carton of rice pudding.

Tomorrow all of the above might be off the menu...and you'll find me by the wine rack!

A couple of nights ago, I woke up with a fright as dad entered the living room at 1 a.m.  There he was in the dark making his way across the floor to the recliner.  He thought it was time to get up even though there was no light coming through the window blinds.

"It's the middle of the night dad," I said as I steered him back towards his bed.

"I haven't slept yet," he stated.

But he very much had.  I don't know what he was thinking and at that time of night I hadn't the steam left to analyse it.  He lay down and I never saw him again until 10.30 a.m.

"Did you have a good sleep?" I asked.

"Aye," he said.  "I always have a good sleep."  Please don't ask ME dad.  I hate lying!

"What about you?" he enquired.

"Aye...me too," I answered without giving him eye contact.  I think as a prevention of going to Hell this method works.  I'm getting embalmed with asbestos just as a precaution.

Earlier today I sat with dad while reruns of Classic Coronation Street played on TV.  One of the male characters asked a female character if she regretted getting a divorce to which she replied 'no'.  The episode ended there.  I commented to dad that the male character was heading home to ask his wife for a divorce.  "She'll no be happy," I said.

"What if she won't give him one?" he asked.

"I don't think she'd have much choice," I said.

Turning and looking directly at me he said, "Don't you be getting any ideas!"

I decided to laugh and forget about my comment than to remind him that I'm not Mrs. Duffy.  Not today at least.  I'm sure it will come up again...and again....

...and....again.

He went off for a second 'snooze' this afternoon at around 3.30p.m.  I always lead him to his bed and don't leave him until I see he is laying on top of it, telling him I'll see him soon and have a cup of tea waiting.  After a couple of hours he came back to the living room dressed in his pyjamas and housecoat.

The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself.  "Why have you got your pyjamas on dad?" I asked.  Nice one Lorraine!  😕

"I thought it was time to get up," he said.

He'd only just put them on so his statement made no sense at all.

Shut the f*ck up Lorraine and act normal.

His pattern of events is off kilter and he can't distinguish between night and day.  While he's expecting a plate of cereal I'm feeding him Stovies.

"It's dinner time dad," I inform him.

He thought it was  quarter to 6 in the morning.  I'm hoping he'll stay awake until 9 p.m. at least and sleep throughout the night without issue.  I'm not optimistic.

*As I write this, at 20:18 he said, "I think I'm going to bed now."  As I moved to help him he said, "No, no.  Just you stay here."  Eh...no dad.

"I need to help you dad," I said.  "I'm just coming with you to make sure you don't fall."

He states he doesn't need to go to the toilet first but I lead him there anyway.  He's still wearing his pants and pad.  He doesn't need these through the night...yet.  I struggle with HIM trying to assist ME to remove pants and pad and put his pyjama trousers back on.

"Go for a pee dad," I tell him.

"Okay," he answers...like a wee boy.

He's now deep in slumber as I conclude my blog.*

I feel my head slowly disappearing up my own arse as I contort in frustration.  From the corner of the room, a little wine bottle beckons me.

"Don't do it," says the little angel on my shoulder whispering in my ear.

'1 - Nil' to the wine!!