mostly david ephgrave

It's a measure of how stressful the past few weeks of sorting my dad's palliative care have been that I spent an hour looking at a page of figures today when I got home, unable to make head nor tail of it; it's like someone substituted my brain with Pollyfilla. The kindness everyone involved in his care has shown - from friends to medical professionals - has been exceptional. My Dad has a small army of loyal mates, all in their seventies themselves (who my mum accurately described as being, "Like the cast of 'Last of the Summer Wine'") who have gone out of their way to help him. But inevitably the pressure is on my mum and me the most as we try to navigate the difficulties presented both by my dad and his illness; it's a neverending one-step-forward, two-steps-back process that it's hard to keep a handle on, and the fact my dad can be a difficult patient at the best of times makes the whole thing rawer. In some ways, the busyness helps as it do...

My dad's been in hospital for a week now, and the latest news is he may need a operation tomorrow, though we should find out more in the morning. You reach a point with all this back and forth where you long for a time when everything wasn't built around health appointments. For someone from a generation that doesn't go to the doctor unless their face has fallen off - and even then it would be reluctantly - my dad has spent a lot of time at the hospital or the doctors' over the past few years. This is great in the sense he's being treated and getting help, but I do think it's conspired to make him more paranoid and careful than he used to be. When things are as they are, this could lead to putting too much aid in place, potentially too early. This is where my dad is at the moment, following a couple of incidents where he'd basically lost consciousness in a challenging situation - either on the floor or in bed. Consequently, he now has a pendant alarm and...