Worrying news

This morning was a replica of yesterday, and it was great to have the last lie-in of my short break from work. However, my enjoyment was short-lived when I received a call from a hospital doctor to say that my Dad was very ill indeed and that he might not recover from the chest infection. He had been moved from the assessment ward to a geriatric ward, but I wasn't expecting a phone call like that.

Keith and I had been planning to go on a mooch to a couple of pubs and have a light lunch, but there was no way we could do that now. I said to Keith we'd pop to Tesco to buy Mum her birthday cards, get something for dinner tonight and then go to the hospital to see my Dad. We hoped to get there early and try to get a parking space.

We both showered, and just before 1pm, we set off for Tesco. On the way, the hospital called me again and asked when I was going in. At least this time, I was able to tell them this afternoon. In the supermarket, I bought a gift bag, cards and more chocolates for Mum. I had no idea what to do about gifts from my Dad... It's not a situation I've ever been in before, and I was at a loss about what to do.

We left Tesco and went straight to the hospital, shocked and dismayed to see that both car parks were already full, even though it was only 1.30pm and visiting generally started at 2pm. We did a couple of circuits of the multi-storey and then gave up, driving back towards the hospital and joining the long queue for the small car park near the entrance.

We queued for an hour for a space, by which time I was a bundle of nerves. I hate hospitals, and going to see my Dad, at death's door, was not a pleasant prospect. We walked in and had difficulty locating the ward he was on, in the end getting help from a passerby who told us where to go. Dad's ward was about as far as you can go in the hospital, down endless corridors and up and down stairs.

When we arrived on the ward, I went straight to the desk to speak to one of the doctors, but they looked at me as if they didn't know about the messages I'd received. I asked where my Dad was, and they pointed to a bed by a window. I was absolutely shocked when I saw my Dad, and burst into tears, as he looked like he was minutes from passing away. He didn't know I was there, didn't open his eyes, and he looked very frail and ill.

Keith and I sat with him for a while, and a doctor came over and explained that he was very ill and to prepare for the worst. She said that he was on antibiotics for the chest infection and they'd done some tests and were awaiting the results. 

We sat for a little while longer, and I couldn't stop crying. I knew I'd have to say something to my Mum, so we left and walked back to the car. The visit ranked as one of my worst experiences in life so far, and I knew that there was probably worse to come.

At the care home, we spoke to one of the senior carers, who was shocked as well. I then went to see Mum and gently explained that Dad wasn't well and that there was a chance he might not make it. She seemed to take it calmly, and I said that he was on medication and maybe this would work, but we shouldn't expect too much.

We stayed for a while and went home, where I sat in the conservatory with Moon Bums and had a cup of tea and a mince pie. While I was reading the newspaper, my mobile rang and it was the care home to say that my Mum had been upset after we'd left and was insisting she go and see my Dad. I had no choice but to call her and say I'd take her tomorrow, after work. The quote "What fresh hell is this?" sprang to mind after I'd rung off...

Our evening was spent in the usual way, but I was dreading the phone ringing, and I felt jumpy and restless. Sophie kindly prepared dinner of beefburgers (oh yes, I'd forgotten it was Bonfire Night!), and after we'd eaten, Keith and Sophie watched Newcastle play Athletic Bilbao. At least they won tonight, so that was one bit of good news!