where was I?

OK, the ambulance men came in and got dad sorted. A couple of top-notch blokes, both from up North, both (I think) Man Utd fans. They had a laugh and a joke with dad as, with graet respect and incredible efficiency, they got him from bed, into a chair, down the stairs and out to his waiting ride. I was managing to hold it together prety well, I suspect becaise things were happening and I was busy. I got a little choked but not teary. I guess that is the last time dad will be in the house. I'd not have thought I'd see his last exit from the family home being wrapped in a red blanket, on an ambulance chair being carried by a couple of strangers.

Becky and Matt, who I know I've hardly mentioned, helped me grab the few things we'd prepared for Dad to take with him and I left them at the house. Becky is Dad's estranged third wife and Matt his stepson, my step brother. Friday was his birthday; what a start to the day. Both Matt and Becky have been great for Dad as his health has galloped downhill.

St Raphael's Hospice has fourteen beds, is only ten minutes from Dad's house. In next to no time - well, maybe a total of thirty minutes - we had him in his room. The place is fantastic and so are all of the staff and I will pretty much leave it at that rather than go over the finer detail. We had a small battle to get Dad to agree to pain medication. He's confused and susepcts the nurses are trying to give him medication that will do more than simply reduce or remove the pain. He is dead-set, if you'll pardon the pun, against any medication. But, with some imploring from me, a doctor and a nurse we managed to get the cantankorous old bastard to agree that we can give him pain meds. Again very close to tears as we did that.

It's weird to see the old man in the hospice bed. He wriggles - as best he can - to try and get as comfortable as he can. He waves an arm above his head, trying to grab the headboard of the bed at home he isn't now in. The frustration is clear to see and hard to watch. His thinking is slow and although I am sure he knows what he needs or wants he often cannot express it.

I had a word with him yesterday about his new favourite phrase. He keeps saying "I think today's the day." I'm not so sure. He is frail and weak and wants it to be over but I suspect his body is not prepared to play ball just yet. Good thing bad thing? That body is now freshly washed and shaved, an infection he has in his mouth is being treated. He has dry cracked lips that bleed a little and I suspect he thinks that blood from his mouth is from the cancer in his stomach. Maybe when his mouth is better and his new drug regime is in place (slow release morphine throught the day and night) he'll start to perk up, maybe he'll even try to eat more than a little bit of ice cream.

He had a mass influx of visitors yesterday, his first full day at St Raphael's. To be expected when he keeps telling people he won't make it through the day. That was a bit of a relief for Darren, Ruth and me, and we took the oportunity to go for a walk through Nonsuch Park, also an opportunity for Darren to have an ever changing favourite dog breed. He has discovered that his favourite dog is, typically, the last one he saw. Old English Sheep sheepdog, Bearded Collie and Red Setters, amongst others, battled for his affection as we walked through the mud.

Anyway, I have a cold and feel rather shitty so I'm going to grab a bite to eat before heading off to see the old man