My Project 365 photo albums are full up of hospital photos. Yep, Dad is still there. I think we’re at week 8, week 9? We’ve lost count.
I’m so oddly used to the ward now. I know the nurses from the sound of their footsteps, I know their shift patterns (“No no, Rachel isn’t on till Tuesday”). I know where to get the good blankets and a full oxygen tank. I know that at 6.30pm, my Dad has two white pills, an injection, and if he’s very unlucky, a bottle of Fortijuce (every flavour smells like death).
The drinkable coffee is from the cafe downstairs, but the edible sandwiches are from the restaurant upstairs. The blue wheelchairs are the best, as the red and green ones squeak like crazy. And bizarrely, Sainsburys has something that makes the exact same beepy noise as a hospital bed when someone falls out of it which really confused me when I heard it.
There has been one unexpected upside to spending every evening and weekend in the hospital – I’ve actually managed to save some money for once in my life. Money which I should use on sensible things.
But I’ve spent it all on a holiday to Miami in May. The countdown is on.