The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Having dad unwell is a blasted chore. He's not easy to help, at the best of times and when he has doctor's appointments due, it's irksome to remind him again and again.
That said, he got his flu injection thankfully, after being reminded about twenty or thirty times, roughly, or so.
As I keep reminding our surgery he doesn't have dementia, but he does have a very bad memory, which does seriously irritate me at times, particularly when my back isn't too good.
That said, thankfully after three days of ibrufen and my painkillers, he had started to walk a little better and, even made his efforts to cycle and get his flu injection, which had pleased me.
Then little by little he returned to his routine, with some assistance from me.
I've been very unfortunate with my teeth, particularly since my first fall. Finally I'd visited the dentist and received the news I'd been expecting for well over a year: nothing can be done for my wobbly lower front four teeth.
So I'm finally facing the nuclear option, the removal of the four teeth, with the prospect of a plate to replace them. Now I did get used to my top plate over two weeks or so, so although I'm wary about the prospect of the removal, I'm sure I'll get used to anything that happens.
As the dentist had given me the news that the time for action had finally come I'd stressed out more than a tad, with my muscles becoming overly taut, which my dentist had noticed. He suggested Diazepam for my next visit and the extraction.
Well I'd made the much needed appoitment. Then on the day, a series of incidents led to the domino principle and I'd needed to cancel the appointment and make another for another day.
Then I'd had two nights of no sleep, after waking up one morning with a rather large lump on the right side of my neck and inside my neck. The lumps appearance had been as much a surprise as the scratch and bump on my forehead, just above my left eyebrow.
Over the weekend Dad had seemed to suffer extreme lassitude, then come Monday he looked in on me with his hat and coat on, telling me, “I'm off to the bank.”
On his return he stuck his head in my room and told me, “I'm not having any luck with the bike.” Dad had been knocked off his bike.
I made him a cup of tea, then sat to write, as he mowed the front lawn.
In the sixties or seventies, when I had more hair and teeth and my Mother was alive, she had looked to me one after with an eye-roll, dad had been bored and it had showed.
“What can you break?” She had joked.
The reason had been obvious to me, as he'd had a reputation as Mr. Fixit, someone who could make anything broken work, whether it be an antique, or something current.
Furthermore, a bored Father is definitely a Piscean to avoid. Hence my Mother's eyeroll.
“I'll see what I can do,” I'd told her, with a smile.
And then at the weekend, at ninety-four Mr Fixit came forth once again.
Dad had become frustrated with a roller-blind in the kitchen that was broken at about two in the afternoon and when I went in the kitchen he was doing as he does and continues onward as I wanted to feed him at five, when I wanted to feed him.
I'd become incredibly more and more frustrated as the evening had drawn on and then the early morning and finally I'd interrupted him, for a fourth time.
“Dad you've had nothing to eat...” I'd opined.
“I'll be finished soon,” Dad had informed me, for the third time.
Again, I'd left him to it.
Finally he had finished, to his relative satisfaction and gone to bed.
And, he still not eaten. So I had cooked: egg on toast, with tomato and Leicester and cranberry cheese, while I tried Guacomole for the first time, voluntarily.
I'd taken Dad's meal to him on a tray to his bedroom where he sat on on his bed had gotten into his pyjama's.
“I can't eat it all,” he'd informed me, twenty minutes so, or later.
Then as I'd done the dishes, I'd found a piece from the roller-blind my Father had missed.
So prior to going to bed myself, I'd shown him the piece.
The next day I'd woken at about one in the afternoon, after having got to bed about five in the morning. I'd woke, drunk some cold black coffee, then risen, realising that the sounds from the other side of my wall and kitchen illustrating that Dad had reverted to what he'd been doing the day before.
The day before I'd been going to get a lift to and from the dentist, my friend called round, to say he couldn't oblige me.
So I'd got a taxi, did my shopping, then moved onto the dentists. I had knocked, given my name in and then waited a few minutes. The door had opened and I'd been told with a smile beneath a mask, "You're a day late."
Now, that had floored me somewhat...