Effin' ell. I'm back home, and I'm emotionally wrung out. My mum came out of hospital a mere day after her op, with a supply of liquid morphine, and was very chipper.
My dad veered between being perfectly normal, like the dad I knew, and being maudlin, or aggressive, or totally forgetful, and even at one point started to cry about how worried he'd been about mum. Then half an hour later was snapping at her again. It turns out that as well as not being able to hear much of what's going on, he's now got a bad cataract in his one remaining good eye so can't read books any more. He won't have it operated on as he's scared if it goes wrong he'll be totally blind.
Juggling this and Sam's requirements - he won't pay attention to anything for more than a nano-second - has been farking exhausting. Then, as soon as I got Sam to bed, DP wanted a bunk-up. I felt I should, but just burst into tears on him. I want to be ON MY FUCKING OWN.
And... breathe.
Mrs S - how do we view your daughters? Am I being a techno-tard?