A few months ago my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. After taking some chemotherapy tablets for a few weeks, his breathing got really bad and he had to spend a few weeks in hospital, where they stopped the chemo and drained his chest. This was in December. After this, he was allowed to go home (with pallative care set up, and Oxygen around the house)

Up until a week ago, he was definitely suffering a bit with breathing/coughing and tiredness but would still make his way to the toilet, get up in the morning, go and sit in the front room, watch some TV, etc. and he would always eat a big meal 3 times a day with us. Nurses would visit, and always comment on how good he seemed to be doing.

This last week however he stopped eating as much, and wouldn't drink a lot. We had to try really hard to get him to eat and drink anything. He also had some constipation and almost constant phlegm in the throat, which he didn't have the strength to cough up. This meant he wasn't really getting any sleep, so he was extremely tired, but couldn't really sleep and along with not eating, this means he was exhausted and had no energy. He would often talk about how he was a dying man, and he just wanted to die.

He would just lie/sit in bed all day, and every time he started to sleep, he would wake up shortly after panicking with trouble breathing due to the phlegm. Instead of going to the toilet he would use a urine bottle and the kamode. My sister and I would help him with this stuff, and the last few days when he was really getting no sleep at all, make sure at least one of us was always with him in the room so we could adjust the pillows, help him sit up, lie down, etc. to make him comfy

It feels selfish even thinking this, but it was pretty taxing on us as well and we did have moments of frustration. Especially since my dad was pretty reserved, so we would try and ask him how he was feeling, if he was comfy, if he wanted anything, etc. but he wouldn't say. It was so hard being there and seeing him suffer, but not being able to help.

Last night however we finally managed to get him to agree to sit in the lounge, even though he still didn't want to. When he finally got onto the couch and lied down, he seemed much more relaxed. However after about 30 minutes he woke up panicking and wanted to go back to bed and lie down. I managed to feed him a few spoons of soup and get him to have a few sips of water, but that's all he would eat/drink.

When we then took him to the toilet, and back to bed, he lied down and managed to sleep for a few hours, the longest he had managed in a long time. My sister stayed up with him and when he woke up with phlegm in the throat again, she even managed to get him to have some ice cream and some milk while waiting for him to cough it up. He seemed pretty accepting of help. Then as he fell back asleep, she went to bed and I stayed in the room with him.

He slept for a while, and woke up a few times. I helped him sit up and adjusted his pillows a few times and continued to sit with him.

Eventually he needed the toilet. I tried to help him because he was struggling with the bottle but he was panicking a bit and wouldn't accept any help. I raised the bed a bit so it would be easier  Eventually he finished with the bottle, and almost tipped it over the carpet. I told him be careful, and tried to get the bottle, but he moved it away, and put it down on the carpet where it tipped over and spilled over the carpet. Just a small spill

The frustration of him turning down help and lack of sleep over the past few days had made me feeling a bit annoyed, and I had a bit of a go at him. I told him.I said this would happen and he should have let me help. Now I would have to clean it up.

Now I can't believe I reacted like that. What is wrong with me? He's my dad and I only had a small amount of time left with him. It was so stupid to overreact like that to something so insignificant.

I went to empty what was left in the bottle in the toilet, and got some diluted vinegar and kitchen roll to put over the carpet. He was sat on the bed still. I went to get some more kitchen roll and heard a loud thud.

Already knowing what had happened, I ran back into the room and he was on the floor. Eyes and mouth wide open, but unresponsive (I think. It's a bit of a blur now). I called for my sister, and my dad's carer (who had just arrived and was in the kitchen) and the carer helped me lift him up onto the bed.

I called 999 and they sent an ambulance. The woman on the phone tried to talk us through CPR and clearing the airway as my sister thought he was choking on the phlegm, but it didn't seem to make any difference. The ambulance showed up and the paramedics confirmed the death.

The paramedics called the GP to let her know. After speaking to her, she told me that it seemed like it could have been a blood clot, but I can't help but think this is all my fault. Is it because I raised the bed? Why didn't I notice any changes in him and keep a closer eye or call 999 sooner? I should have never left him for even a second.

People told me it wasn't my fault and nobody could have done anything, but I'm sure deep down it was all my fault. And on top of that, the last thing I did was blaming him for something so stupid and insignificant that I know wasn't his fault.

I'm a terrible person and I will never forget this moment, the way his eys were wide open looking at me as I picked him up. He probably died thinking I hated him, and there is nothing I can ever do to change that.

Sorry for the long post, I've been thinking about what happened all day long now, and just had to get this off my chest.