As is often the case, things didn't go to plan after my previous blog. I am embarrassed that you haven't seen the level of output from me you might have been accustomed to.

Then, Monday 14th January at 00:45 in the morning, my father died. I can't blame him for much, but his death just makes one more distraction for me.

After my "infusions", which make it sound like I just had a nice cup of tea, things have slowly but steadily gone downhill, although at the moment I seem to be on a fairly gentle slope. Things are getting done, very slowly, but writing isn't really among those things. It isn't that I have writer's block or anything, it is just that there are so many other things which apparently have priority. I'm getting tired, too, and I suspect the Rituximab may be the reason.

My father had a habit the last few years of just falling over (passing out) at random times and places. Normally he was fine when he came round, and disliked the attention he kept getting from the paramedics. They didn't really seem to know what was causing it - although now I have a good idea.

Wednesday 9th we had a call from a neighbour to say that an ambulance had taken him to hospital. All plans got nuked, we jumped in the car and drove 115 miles to see him. He recognised us, but was dazed and confused. He was hooked up to monitors and we could see that his heartbeat was all over the place; when his breathing slowed he just faded away and then it recovered, and he was himself again. It seemed from what the doctors said that he was unlikely to be going home for a while.

We went home, rearranged our lives, booked a hotel and drove down on Thursday 10th. He was worse. He had been complaining of a pain in his stomach, but refused any investigation. He was 87, just short of his 88th on 28th January, but since my mother died last April he just didn't see the point of staying around. His mobility was impaired because of the falling over business, so he was essentially housebound; I can't say that I objected to his decision.

After some discussion, and reference to a Do Not Resuscitate form, it was decided to put him on the end-of-life path. I'm not sure that I totally agree with the path idea, but given his circumstances the alternative would only have been dragging out the inevitable.

We went to see him at least twice a day. We sat with him, and he might have known we were there but there was little sign. A phone call came that Monday night to tell us of the end.

So, six days of travel food and some wandering around in the cold hasn't helped me physically. I think I walked enough, but it hasn't seemed to help. I have put on nine pounds and my blood pressure is way up - 150/88 this morning, where it is usually in the 115-125/75-85 range. I'm not in a comfortable place and I'm going to see my consultant on Wednesday - that should be interesting.

As a family we aren't close. All of us, of whichever generation, seem to fly apart at the earliest opportunity. We are great travellers and often end up in some very strange places. Thus, there was no animosity with my father, we visited and exchanged news but it didn't go deeper than that. It is just the way we are. I have trouble understanding families where everyone is underfoot all the time.

He had a problem with my early TG activities. Being first in the Navy and then the Merchant Navy his experiences were shaped by what he saw, mainly of a homosexual nature, although he didn't personally get involved, he remained a happily married man. However, he thought I might be heading that way and didn't know what to do about it. This would be the Swinging Sixties by then, information about matters TG were non-existant. I had to leave home before I even found out what I was.

After that we spoke about various matters but that was never brought up. I think he went by "Don't ask, don't tell", since by then I had a partner and children and everything seemed to be "normal". Perhaps it was just as well.

The paramedics left some ECG charts in the house which we found when we went there to tidy up. Of course, they had just grabbed him and gone, so there was food on the plate, pots on the stove and the heating was going full blast. It looked like his heart was very bad, and that was what was causing him to keel over. Strange, we always thought it would be his lungs that did him: he smoked non-filters in the Navy, although he gave it up in 1962; he also recounted times when the watches spent time replacing asbestos pipe lagging, and then after he left the sea he became a Master Bricklayer, a guarantee of clouds of brick dust on building sites.

So, the official cause of death is heart failure. There may also have been colorectal cancer, but nobody is going to do an autopsy so we'll never find out. Still, 87 is a decent enough lifetime for anyone.

We have a funeral to attend and then there will be a (distant) house to sort out. Fortunately I'm not an Executor of the Will so my part will be relatively minor (I hope).

It is still a distraction, though, among many others. I will of course try to write stuff but for now the posting is going to be sporadic.

Sorry.

Penny