The pain came back as I was busy making my dad’s dinner. ‘Oh, no, not again,’ I grumbled under | my breath.
Dad clocked me wincing.
‘Shouldn’t you get that checked out, love?’ he asked me, looking worried.
‘It’s just a tummy ache,’ I told him, pasting on a smile.
The last thing I wanted to do was make him worry.
My dad, Peter, 65, had kidney failure and I was his full-time carer.
Diagnosed five years earlier, only a transplant would save him.
But he’d never been well enough survive the op. He spent much of his time in bed or hooked up for dialysis.
He was so weak, there wasn’t much he could do for himself.
With my children Shannon, 21, and Thomas, 17, all grown up now,…
