While I washed my hair, HMRC rang back. Fortunately, they agreed to ring me fifteen minutes later. They have resolved the problem and offered GBP30 for my time and phone costs.
Rang my GP because the pain in my shoulder isn’t going away and now I’ve pulled a muscle in my side. Also, dandruff is back so I asked for treatment for that.
Found the number to ring for Dad’s telecare (fall button) service and asked them to take my name off the responders list. And T’s. We agreed that Dad will pay a small sum to hire a responder team rather than summon the ambulance.
Went out 2ish to buy bread (T had let us run out – he only looks after four items and we regularly run out of those) and cheese. Went to bank to withdraw money from Dad’s account and picked up my prescriptions from surgery. Popped them into hospital pharmacy, next door, sat down – and John Lewis rang to say they’d be delivering fridge within 30 minutes.
Of course, the pharmacy took 15 minutes instead of the usual 10. My surgery found the missing prescription but it was too late for me to go back to the pharmacy. Stuffed it in my pocket and went to Dad’s to remove everything from the fridge. Saw note from care assistant that there was no hot water or heating, which was not true. Turned the heating up.
Dad feeling dizzy and breathless. Forgot AGAIN that bed is hydraulic and switch is on bed – he can raise it up to help breathing. He’s had the bed for 5 years and never once used the hydraulic. When he complains of difficulty standing up, I tell him the whole bed raises at the touch of the switch and he either looks at me blankly or else is distressed to keep forgetting.
His zimmer frame was next to his chair . It’s not even meant to be in the same room. Dad, unsurprisingly, has been using it. Had to tell him not to, unless he never wants to heal. All he says in response to such things is: “I must get better!” It means I have to keep asking him whether he understands what I’m saying. Half the time he doesn’t even bother to listen to me.
I rang his surgery. John Lewis turned up nearly an hour after they rang me, to deliver fridge while I was trying to talk to the surgery. Surgery said GP would ring me.
I checked Dad. He was OKish, so I went to remove packaging from fridge and rearrange shelves. When I returned to Dad, who was opening envelopes, I noticed my phone was flashing. “Had anyone called?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” Dad said, looking at his post.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked. He looked blank. Then he moaned about the delivery men still not having delivered the fridge. He was astonished when I told him they had.
The call was the surgery. The GP left a message that didn’t seem to tell me anything. I gave up. Sod it.
I went from Dad’s place to Ashfield to give them the money for shopping that I’d withdrawn from the bank. Also asked them to ensure Dad’s zimmer frame was not left in the same room, as we’d agreed. I pointed out that we wouldn’t want Dad to fall over and perhaps hurt himself. They agreed to tell the assistants.
Too late to go to any surgery with my prescription. I’ll have to do it tomorrow.
As soon as I got home, his telecare service rang me to arrange stuff about getting a response team. They warned me the small sum only covers 8 calls a month. Beyond that, we’d have to arrange a charge to cover extra call outs. Yeah, yeah. I had no fucks left to give, by then.
I scraped together the little tiny fragment of my remaining weed and had a smoke. As I sat down, looking forward to just having a blank evening, Dad’s GP rang and suggested she would be round to see him in ten minutes and would I be there? I put coat back on and walked round.
Dad was surprised to see me. I tried to explain a couple of times that GP was coming but he wasn’t getting it. No idea whether he doesn’t hear (despite hearing aid) or there’s a cognitive impairment. I just don’t have the energy to care any more. Just sat there. He fell asleep and was astonished when the GP woke him. she had asked me whether he was coughing but he hadn’t mentioned anything like that. He happily told the GP he’d been coughing for weeks, when she asked. Apparently, he’d had a chest infection in hospital. Not that anyone had bothered to mention it to me. No wonder I’d told the GP this was all new.
She was concerned about his slow pulse. I told her I’d noticed that the hospital had removed his iron tablets from his medication and I mentioned this to the surgery pharmacist. GP said she needed to find out more and get back to me tomorrow.
Outside the living room, she looked at me with concern and asked if I was OK? I said it had been a bad day and was drained. That was all.
Went home, sat down and T rang. I told him about my day. It was just about the first day when he could have been really helpful, rather than running around in Essex supporting Gill about her sister’s funeral. I didn’t say that but said I didn’t want to talk, thanks. I wanted to crawl into a hole. He did the “oh, what a shame I’m not there!” bit and I restrained from all the comments I could have made.