Meanwhile, back at the hospice

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.

15 thoughts on “Meanwhile, back at the hospice

  1. oh smudgie. . . i can’t say anything other than all of us are here for you right now and i will remember you and your dad and your family in my prayers. i know that’s an easy thing to say, but i will.

  2. so sorry babe, but with you in spirit and in prayer. Virtual hugs from Oz, as always

  3. Oh Smudgie, so wish we could be there with you too…

    Totally there in thoughts, for you and the family.

  4. The thing that strikes me about your post is the streak of humour. It is strange how humour, no matter how dark, can still be a source of strength at a time like this.

    In your grief and struggles, still give yourself permission to smile – with things such as your butterfly walk of the other day.

    With much love.

  5. Prayers and thoughts are with you. I hope that there is little pain for him now. Good to see his humour comes through.

  6. Dear Smudgie, there is probably nothing more I can add at this time that has already been said here but know you are in our prayers, thoughts and hearts.

    Much love to you all

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