The person I visited today is certainly not my dad, even of last week. Still has incredible headaches, his speech is very slurred and he's not making much sense. The damaged eye doesn't look good, and he had fallen three times in the ward today.
Trying to get a nurse to speak to me was impossible and I had to phone back at 4.30pm to get to speak to someone. Even then, they seemed patchy about the history and I had to retell the whole story.
I think he's had a wee stroke, but at least there's talk about moving him to a hospital which is local, rather than in Paisley.
It's not a nice time, or a particularly hopeful Holy Week. The time for independent living for him has passed, I believe, and if he survives this latest episode, he'll need to be taken into care. That I dread.