Be a post whore!

[Sundae]

Today I am Grandad-sitting.
I've come home to tend to the cats (and sneak a little screen time) because his cleaner is there now.

When I went to see him Sunday, he said that he'd had a funny turn in the morning, but it had passed. I told him that he should never be afraid to call me - I'd come round or call the doctor, whatever he needed.

This morning I got a call at 07.30 from his morning carer (who gets him up, washes and dresses him). He was feeling bad again, and could I call the doctor when the surgery opened. It wasn't a bad thing to get the call - I'd been swamped in guilt dreams since waking and then dozing from 04.00 onwards. All dreams: at one point I was lying in bed with loads of empty cans of Stella under the covers, and I'd heard Mum and Dad come back and start making breakfast downstairs. Then I discovered a full can and realised I'd passed out drunk before even finishing my stash the night before. And was trying to work out how to open a can without them hearing me. Another one was that as I went downstairs, my boots were on fire, and the flames were licking at the bottom of the coats on the coatrack. I traced it to a smashed bottle of wine which I forgot I had - and was trying to work out if it was still drinkable when I put the flames out. And then I was sifting through the piles of cans and bottles trying to find one with some drink left when I saw their shadows on the front door.

Anyway, got up, sorted the cats, showered etc and was round there by 07.50.
Called the docs and said I'd sit with him.
Quick trip down to the Spar - Mum told him in a telephone call on Monday that it was just dehydration and he needed to drink more, so I was dispatched to buy bottled water which he feels he can sip more easily. Wicked Mum also told him that Aunty Alice (his sister) died from dehydration, which she knows perfectly well was untrue - she died from a massive stroke/ myocardial infarction. She was on a drip when she died. Still, part of Mum's cruel to be kind strategy.

I've spend the morning in and out of his bungalow, offering tea, to make a sarnie, to cook something etc, alternating this by sitting in his sunny garden while he watched Sky TV.

Doctor is due any time after 13.00.
It's not a chore for me because it's not a permanent responsibility.
I've been round to clean his kitchen and toilet every other day and to get his shopping. And he is treating me like his carers and cleaner - a real gentleman, gratefu; for everything. I do know the flip side though. He takes Mum horribly for granted and complains to other people about her - which makes her cry because she does love him and she does do a lot for him (a very secondary consideration as Mum is big on duty).

I told Mum that id Grandad criticises me to her when she gets back, PLEASE don't tell me. I hope she'll remember.

Anyway, that's my day today. Just wanted to rationalise it a bt so it doesn't feel like a drama.