Snotbubbles and Shouting

Hello to the sandwich I never wanted. And I am a big lover of bread.

I’m talking that midlife weigh in of the sandwich generation; the moment when the reality dawns of your parents getting on when still juggling all the things, holding the sky up and still parenting the kidults.

Although apparently the 23yo has said today she’s getting her own place because I lost my shit with her inabiity to bring her washing in. Can’t wait to see how the reality of her asos packages, her love of steaks and shopping at Sainos and having a life is going to translate when she adds in actual rent and bills. I’ll wait… (although in reality even though she gets right on my tatas, I’m going to be gutted when/if she moves out). It’s all fine and well giving them roots to grow and wings to go but that duality of emotion when they start spreading them there wings is a whole heap of Jeez Louise throwing in a few Blimey O Rileys and a sprinkling of WTAF.

And then there’s all the emotions that have been bubbling at speed through my veins today. Monday - first proper day back in the office after a lovely hols with a whole heap of shit to get done and an hospital appointment with dad. Which has mainly turned into the day into a load of snotbubbles and a shouting storm.

Dad has collected two cancers (he couldn’t just have one like a normal person)..oh and kidney disease. When the word cancer hit - twice - it sent ricochets of worry through the whole dang family. And then a huge sigh of relief - the cancers dad has got are ‘good’ cancers to have at his age (their words not mine). Turns out the big fat spanner in the works is his rapidly declining kidney function. And, frankly, the NHS is a shitshow. It’s his declining kidneys that are going to get hime before the cancers will.

The nurses have been blink stinking brilliant (apart from the partonising numpty I had the displeasure to talk to today) but they have mainly been outstanding, caring, compassionate, knowledgable. The issue is that Dad has two cancers with two different departments and kidney disease bringing it into a three line whip with three different consultants. Three departments that don’t talk to each other, across three different sites all part of the same alliance - however urology needs to talk to renal because urology looks after the plumbing and renal looks after the filtering. If the plumbing isn’t working, it’s affecting the filtering and the filtering is faltering. And no fecker talks to any other fecker - I was told today I need to take pictures of letters and results from the Advanced Kidney Care team and take them to Urology because even though the Renal Team can and do write letters, apparently the Urology team don’t get to see them - and this is even before we begin to battle with Haemotology. Thankfully the prostrate team said ‘we’re out’ as that’s the least of dad’s worries.

I’ve spent more time on the phone over these last weeks trying to get departments to talk to each other than I’ve ever spent negotiating some of my biggest contracts.

And at the heart of it is my lovely dad and my mum. My dad who is the gentlest of men, who is now having to talk about his peeing in front of me - he thought it was bad when he heard me swear. My mum who is struggling with the news and being fierce at the same way - she does not admit weakness.

And today a conversation about kidney dialysis and conservative care; while there was also some skirting around the whole getting deaded part; until we weren’t. I did what all good humans do in this situation - I broke the ice, got up and made a brew before a snot bubbled escaped.

Dad said he’s not done yet, he knows he’s getting on but he doesn’t feel ready and FML I’m not ready for it either. I know I’m lucky as can be; my mum and dad are still here and have been really blinking well - but the stark reality of knowing that we might be entering into a different life stage had me snot bubbling all the way home.

My ability to work - zero. To concentrate - zero.

Thankfully I have learnt to gift myself some grace, to just sit and think “I’ll sort it tomorrow, I’ll have a conversation about that tomorrow.”

Because just now I need to embrace this messy middle, acknowledge that things are going to get a bit shit biscuits and place my fcks where they matter.

This adulting lark is tough sometimes.