The next 48 hours will be decisive. Dad is so very ill.
This afternoon he said the only decipherable thing of the last 24 hours – though very “dad”. He was feverish and we mopped his brow with a cool, damp flannel. He sighed and muttered something we didn’t quite catch. Then he repeated it, the word only just coming from his unmoving mouth: “I hope that isn’t the flannel I use to wash my backside” !!!!
A third visit, this evening. He was deathly – did not respond at all to touch or sound, eyes rolled into head, mouth agape and moving slighly, skin pallid. I asked him if he wanted a drink as his lips were parched.. and nearly jumped out of my skin when he said “Yes please”! It was as though he dragged himself back from the edge at that very moment, from a very deep place, and we were able to have a chat and share a laugh together. The nurse said he’d improved slightly during the afternoon and had even had a little soup, though his insistance on feeding himself meant that he was wearing most of it. But she also warned us that patients often have a short reprieve like this before the end – the same happened in some respects with mum, and the memories of that come flooding back – and it still doesn’t indicate what way things might develop. And to be honest, we don’t know which way we want things to develop.. But it was nice to share a laugh with him and know he’s in no pain.