One thing that was mentioned was that Dad has some kind of infection in his leg. He didn't know what it is (he's almost wilfully medically ignorant), but he'd been to the doctor and got some antibiotics.
So, yesterday I phoned again, hoping for better news. No. The first set of antibiotics hadn't worked; the next set hasn't worked; it's still red and tense and warm. I had to tell him that next time he goes to the doctor (this afternoon, thank goodness!) he has to ask firmly for a diabetes check (he's nearly 80) and a path lab blood sample to identify the organism and its sensitivities to antibiotics, instead of hurling random pills at it and hoping.
But one good thing yesterday: I've been discussing family stuff with Jill, my therapist, and that led me to very explicitly thanking Dad for how he stood by me and Jus during Mum's latest (and unexpected) attack of homophobia, and telling him that it meant very much to me. He did the usual Dekker embarrassed shuffle at that, but I could tell that it got through to him and did some good, I think.
I'm missing my CBT (Jill's away for two weeks). Even though it's often painful, I'm beginning to realise how much good it's doing me already.