Sunday, 27 January 2008

My Life Begins Now?

I'm 40.

I went down to London to say hello to the family and was bowled over.

The two brothers, had, between them, got me a laptop, a printer and a digital camera.

I wasn't expecting anything like this at all.

I met the Cute Niece and Nephew, had a couple of slices of pizza, helped Younger Married Brother try and wash and de-flea the geriatric pet cat and tried to help Dad with some of his paperwork.

We really are fighting a losing battle with him. Ever since Dad was beaten up, his physical health and his mental state has deteriorated scarily fast. Foul mouthed, obnoxious and refusing any and all offers of help, he is now almost completely incapable of work. He's 65 and should be retired, but he took on one last big job before he was attacked and insisted on carrying on with it after he lost his sense of balance and the sight in one eye.

The house has to be virtually rebuilt from the pavement up and Married Brother with Kids and one of Dad's mates are doing the majority of the work now. With his own business, a demanding wife and two demanding children, MwK is extremely stressed.

Dad has been "helping" and making things worse. He has had to be taken to hospital after he knocked a hole in a supporting wall to put a door in and ended up buried in rubble after he wasn't able to put the lintel in quickly enough and the decrepit wall fell in. He was released the same day with a Zimmer frame and now crutches.

Every time the doctors have given him some apparently good advice, he has argued with them and apparently they know nothing and he knows more than they do. Who would have thunk it?

His legs, already weak with sciatica are now failing him almost completely, he needs one crutch just to help him walk a relatively straight line and he is barely capable of walking to the bus stop to go shopping.

His GP, who I had a very stressful time getting to accept Dad as a patient, is routinely slagged off as an ignorant know nothing after he believed the hospital consultant's diagnosis of alcoholic cerebellar ataxia over Dad's assertion that the attack which left him blinded also left him forgetful, with a very poor short term memory, half deaf, unable to balance or walk well, with constant back and leg pain, deteriorating dexterity, easily disoriented, depressed (okay, yeah) and with worsening eye sight.

I got the full run down from Dad and MwK and tried to get Dad to promise that he'd accept medical advice but I think my efforts literally fell on deaf ears.

I got everything boxed and bagged up and was driven to Victoria Coach Station by YMB. When I got to Wolverhampton I called a taxi and waited in the freezing night air with a large box in a bin bag and a shopping bag containing a laptop, a digital camera (with a spare battery) and a cake.

When I got home I just left it all in a pile and went to bed.

It's all been too much for one week, let alone for one day.