Right. So do you remember the last post I did about dad? Well since then, he's come on by leaps and bounds - almost literally.
He's an amazing and remarkable man. It's impossible to describe how much I love and admire him. After the major heart attack in Feb and all the ensuing trauma, he's now back to cooking and shopping etc for himself and has even returned to volunteering at the hospital. He's 91, don't forget!
But let's get real and see the whole picture. His short term memory is completely shot and though he deals with this with wonderful humour, we need to take account of the potential problems it could cause. So we've arranged for a carer to pop in twice a day, just to check he's ok and (most importantly) has taken his medication.
Each time I spoke to anyone at the agency or at social services, I told them that without doubt dad, feeling fine, would phone at some point and attempt to cancel the carers' visits. We all (the professionals,the family and of course dad himself) agreed that in the event that he did so, no decisions would be made without contacting me. I knew that dad would have forgotten our agreement but once reminded would be fine with it.
So what happened this week? You guessed it. He phoned. They cancelled. Just like that. The nightmare scenario that I had predicted and done everything I could to prevent, had come to pass.
OK. Many frustrating calls later, Social Services are following it up and trying to put a new package in place. They're pissed off with the agency too, though that doesn't help us of course. The trouble is with all the contracting out that's done and all the under-resourcing. I know that, so it means I don't even get to vent my fury on anyone as I know they're also struggling their end.
I'm just hoping this can be sorted and put in place before we head off in August, when neither myself nor my brother will be around to plug any gaps.
Meanwhile, I had to deal with missing bank and credit card statements, dad having gone inadvertantly overdrawn, triplicated appointments (!), benefit claims etc etc etc ...
And the bloody Council Tax lot had sent 3 contradictory letters. When I phoned it turns out they had him down as having moved out! (I have no idea where they got that idea from.)
I tell you, I'm articulate and efficient, but I was having serious difficulties working through all the complex ramifications of the above. Poor dad just kept saying, 'I have no idea what's going on,' and I had to tell him I felt the same.
What must it be like for elderly people who don't have loving family or friends?