Feels like 'slaying a dragon'.

Actually I like the thought of dragons so maybe not. What I mean is becoming embroiled in a battle and drama of someone else's making. And that person has a tenacity and determination that is so negative and demeaning towards you, it is almost impossible to deal with. Obviously I am talking about my dad. It seems such a strange thing to have to argue with him for his own safety and protection. I do not want to cause him any harm and I certainly do not want him to cause any harm to himself. I would not wish that on anybody. Does that make sense?

I have not yet had a chance to listen to my meditations today but I needed to offload to get this out of my system. His carer has just arrived and I think she wondered who this slightly unnerved, deranged smiling woman was who opened the door. I love how the carers all arrive calm, collected and cheerful. Then they walk into a house where you could cut the atmosphere with a knife but ironically find a smiley, welcoming woman and a charming old man. I wonder what they really think.

I awoke hearing my husband getting ready for work and my immediate thought was 'he needs coffee'. He concurred. So I trundled downstairs straight out of bed foregoing a visit to the toilet. Not a good idea for a woman of my age, a wee is always needed on getting up. Anyway I could wait a few minutes I thought, his coffee requirement would take precedent this time as he has a long day ahead. Then while I was in the kitchen, I decided to prepare the cup for my dad's tea and get his bowl and cereal organised so it would all be ready later. I do try to be organised. Obviously my pelvic floor muscles were doing a good job this morning.

My husband had his coffee and was just about to walk out the front door when I heard my name being called. I dread that sound. I dread the sound of dad's voice calling my name as I know I will have to get involved with him and I really do not want to do that any more. After a rushed goodbye to my husband, I steeled myself for entering dad's room. It was an hour before his carer was due. He was sitting up agitated on the edge of his bed fiddling with his catheter. My immediate thoughts: Oh heck! What is he doing now? So, I asked him. He explained the waistband of his boxer shorts is too tight. Now this is one of the long running sagas we have in this house between us. For a few years, he has moaned about his boxers being too tight so I duly buy a bigger size for him but he will refuse to wear them. He will only wear the three or four pairs that he likes on rotation of me washing them. Unfortunately he often needs clean boxers quicker than I can wash and dry them but he expects me to have them ready anyway.

So I find him another pair. They are right there in front of him on the chair but no, I have to get them for him. He feels that I do not do enough for him already. I need to be the dutiful daughter that is probably written about somewhere in his Bible. Especially now, he has a carer. He cannot let me just have a bit of a rest for an hour every day, heaven forbid I become lazy. I do not have a rest while his carer is here. There is always something that needs doing whether it be housework, cooking, etc . And when I do take the time to write my journal or meditate, why not? I definitely need it.

This is the man who escaped to a different country to get away from his parents when he was a young man. He never had to care for his parents or help his siblings care for them. He would just listen from across the world to the trials and tribulations that were happening to the family. He never felt that sense of duty but he always expects it from me.

As I write this I realise there are other members of my family who have lived far away from their parents and families but they are definitely not in the same category as my dad. Their situations are different. They had loving relationships with their parents.

I am also an only child so there is no sharing of duty of care, all the responsibility has always fallen on me. How I wish I could have said, 'I cannot deal with my parents fragility as they grow older'. I have just had to care for them. I would do it all over again for my Mum although caring for her for so long really took its toll on me. And I often felt like a caged tiger. I am still not over all that. That is why I have always said I cannot care for my dad. Never mind the other reasons that you all know about now.

Anyway, he then starts rummaging through all his catheter items that are laid out on a counter for him. He cannot find what he wants and I have no clue as I refuse to get involved with catheter issues. So he is becoming more and more irritated and this barrage of irritation is heading my way. In the midst of all this, the crux of the agitation is vomited out of his mouth. He does not need a carer. He is spitting venom now with his twisted mouth. I am standing two metres away from him but I can almost feel the waves of bitterness hit me. My body reacts with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel anxious and uneasy but I stand firm. I try not to look at his face as I know it triggers me.

I steer the 'conversation' back to the catheter. I tell him to ask his carer as they are trained and work with catheters all the time so they know what is what. He looks surprised. I remind him that this is their day job and probably the majority of their patients/clients have catheters so they have the relevant knowledge. My immediate concern is that he is getting cold walking around his room and he really needs to get back into bed and warm up and wait for the carer to come. I tell him so. These shenanigans have lasted forty minutes by now and I am hoping the carer will come soon. He says he is cold and needs to get back into bed. Déjà vu.

Then he continues his moan about carers and not needing them as he can do everything himself. And I have to breathe. I let him ramble on as I really need the toilet now and I do not wish to start each day like this. I have just woken up but feel like I need another eight hours sleep before I can reset and carry on with this new day. I tell him I really need to go to the toilet. I turn around and walk out. When I am half way up the stairs, I hear the dreaded sound. Yes, he is calling my name again. I stay on the stairs and asked him what the problem is now. He does not answer. He expects me to go to him every time he calls so he can talk to me face to face.

This is the man who is not hard of hearing but has never listened to me talking about things that are important to me. He has always ignored me when I talk about anything that is not about him. Others have noticed this, it is not all in my mind. Although I have often wondered if I am imagining it. I have to say things at least three times before he will listen to me. Just another way of making me feel small and unimportant and not of any value in this world. But now the difference is he needs my help.

I cross my legs and gingerly return to his room. He is all agitated once again and tells me he needs the toilet. FFS! I tell him to get out of bed and go to the downstairs toilet on his own. I also remind him that he has been telling all the health professionals and had just told me for the umpteenth time that he does not need any help. I ask why he had called me to tell me and why he had not just gone to the toilet himself. He knew I needed the toilet. All this happened while he stayed ensconced in his bed under his duvet, not even moving a muscle. I was fuming. I, on the other hand, was trying to summon up all the muscle power possible to not wet myself. (Apologies if too much information but I was desperate!) He started getting up and almost slid off the bed so I grabbed hold of him and got him upright. I told him to reconsider his thoughts about not needing any help.

With that, I charged out of his room in tears. I felt like I had been mentally fighting a battle with an huge heavyweight boxer for fifteen rounds. I made it upstairs to the toilet just in time. Thank goodness. As I have said many times before it always has to be about him. He has no thought for others, especially not for me.