Mum, being the sort of person she is, did not let me know immediately.
In fact, some of this I'm still piecing together.
It seems that sometime early on the morning of Thursday 10, Albert woke up feeling very unsettled, anxious, disconcerted. He wouldn't normally disturb Grace but this time he did. They sat together on the bed and had a cup of tea. Grace promised him that they would go and see the doctor as soon as they were able.
At some point round about this time Albert said two things to Grace.
Firstly, he said "I think that I'm dead."
To which she replied, "Well, if you are, then so am I."
Later, he said "You do know that I've always loved you, don't you?"
Given that we now know that he'd had quite a major stroke and with the thought that, as I'm writing this, dad is no longer able to communicate directly, those are two remarkable things to be able to articulate in such a crisis.
They went to the doctor's. Mum somehow still felt at this stage that they be given a pat on the hand and told to soldier on. Or given an aspirin or something. She wasn't really prepared for dad being taken into hospital.
By the time she called me that evening, he was in Arrowe Park Hospital and the diagnosis was stroke. The was no guarantee what the prognosis would be but he were told that he was not in immediate danger and he was certainly in the right place.
I contacted college to let them know. I told school in the morning. I had a literacy observation in the morning. I was given the option of postponing but I explained that it was all prepared and that I'd rather get it done and dusted. Brownie points there, I feel.
Luckily, Linda had already arranged that weekend to be in Irby for dad's birthday. She followed her original plan and drove up but she said later that it was foolish and she should have come up by train and hang the expense.
It was a weekend of being in hospital and not really getting much information because none of the appropriate staff were available. Nevertheless, we could all tell that dad was diminished and clearly upset by what was happening.
The distressing part for me was not the cries of pain but the sobbing and repetition of "Please make it stop. Oh, dear God, please make it stop."
By today, Tuesday, the news is not at all hopeful.
The assessment of his condition is that he has been enormously damaged by the stroke. His behaviour is increasingly erratic and aggressive which is not the man I have known. It would appear that the only way that he is going to leave hospital now is to go straight to a care home and so it’s likely that, later in the week, that will be the journey that we shall begin.
It is likely to take some time to get the whole package in place and dad will remain in hospital for that time. I've taken a strategic decision not to apply for any jobs at the moment. I don't think that I can do the school work and be available for my family as well as do all of that form filling and acting out competencies in an interview. I'll simply have to do supply work in the autumn and pick up full time work as and when I can. It's not ideal but I don't see an alternative which keeps me sane.
Although upsetting, I think the news is realistic and, if I’m horribly selfish about it for a moment, the strategy does take some of the pressure off me in the short term as I strive to complete this PGCE as best I can.