When all seems well - Early February Observation

Dad has finished his antibiotics, but we can only see a slight improvement, in that he is eating and drinking a little bit more. Paul is still sleeping over and making sure dad takes his pills, eats and drinks. Now that mum is at the point where she often can't remember to take her pills, she has to be observed taking Paracetamol or she will forget taking them. She has been at the point for a while now where she finds it difficult to organise her pills, so Paul does them as well.

As usual I went to see my parents on Wednesday after work. When I got there, dad was out of bed and had been up the previous day, after two weeks of mostly sleeping. He was eating a bit more and seemed a little more himself. He managed to hold a conversation for a little while, which is no mean feat for both of us. We are not the most conversive of specimens, much to my mums annoyance and frustration. That night he actually ate some fish and chips, although a small portion. He would eat them every day given the opportunity when well. That was a result.

I left there feeling a bit more optimistic after the last few weeks. I rang the following day and he seemed to be the same, so I didn't bother ringing on the Friday.

When I called Saturday, I found he was back in bed and looking pale and listless. I asked him if he would get out of bed. He said he would try later; I wasn't optimistic. He wouldn't talk much, and wanted to go back to sleep. He looked depressed to me. I'm certain he could have got up if he tried, as he looked better than he had looked the previous week. I was even more convinced that it was his state of mind when he ate a small omelette without leaving anything, but just wanted to go back to sleep or look through the window and watch light fade.
Ritual de lo Habitual Same old Sunday. Rip it up and 'Do what though Will.'

I should write a song 'I don't like Sunday's' or something less turgid than that. In fact I do like Sunday's, I just don't like the robotic ritual it has become. It used to be fun, but now it oozes negativity, especially when dad is at the table. I remember the halcyon days when sunday Lunch was a merry occasion of good wine, good food and lots of messing about, especially when my nain was alive. At Christmas we would occasionally invite a friend, knowing it would be fun with my nain around. That is no more. Thinking about it, dads mental state had made it difficult to be round that table for some time; probably a few years, ever since his mum died. The joy went out of him.