Second Helpings

Oh Happy Day

It's official. The one nerve I was surviving on before Humbug day is now deceased and unlikely to be resuscitated. How much longer I function as a semi-sane human being is under interrogation.

The doctor came out to see my Dad on Thursday, could find nothing seriously wrong with him, prescribed some blood pressure medication and asked if he'd feel safer in hospital after the latest series of falls.

'NO.' That should be my father's middle name.

'Will you come to us on Christmas Day?'

'NO.'

''Do you think you should have meals on wheels now?'

'NO.'

'Would you accept some help from Social Services to help you stop falling?'

'NO.'

So, the great day dawns. The grandmonsters are awake and causing mayhem before I'm ready to be semi-human. We get through the morning then deliver dinner to my dad. We wait while he eats, wash up and leave instructions to be very careful getting out of his chair, walking and to try and stay upright. We then go on to visit hubby's 95-year-old mother then return to cook dinner.

Just as the Yorkshire puddings are rising nicely, the stuffing is browning and the potatoes roasting to perfection, the telephone rings. An ambulance is on its way to my Dad's house where he's fallen again and cracked his head. Dinner goes to the wind while we phone sis, dad's neighbours and await news. Humbug day isn't a good one to deal with emergencies and believe me I know from experience. Is it any wonder I wear my Bah Humbug hat?

So, Dad is now back in hospital and with skeleton staff working over Humbug and New Year I suspect it will be yet another three or four week stint of visiting, keeping check on his house and no solid conclusions. The difference is this time I'm not prepared to be put on hold or be fobbed off or take any more of his 'NO's. The time has come - he either accepts some outside help or moves into sheltered accommodation. I can no longer deal with all the hassle with no assistance, thanks or consideration that I too am getting older and cannot cope with old people, dysfunctional families or small children.

The evening of Boxing Day we are finally left in peace. The house is a tip, there's bloody football on television, I have an infection of some sort but cannot sleep. We get a day off tomorrow which will be spent checking up on Dad's house and visiting the hospital, then woohoo we get the grandkids back on Monday while son and wife go to a party. We are supposedly having a party of our own on Tuesday, but I'm not sure I'll survive until then.

It's a great life if you don't weaken. I'd just rather be living someone else's life right now as I've had enough of this one. But then you know me...never one to...