Categories: uncategorized
Date: 17 December 2006 14:32:08
It's a balance, really... I want Christmas and I don't feel wrong in having a good time. I sometimes feel as though people might think it's a bit of denial, but I've examined my thoughts and I know that's precisely how I feel. But it's just such an inconvenience that there are so many Christmas issues needing to be given consideration like the nativity plays and concerts the boys are involved in, like getting cards and letters posted in time, like organising food and drink and not knowing what to expect. And dealing with other people whose presence I cannot avoid - like deciding which church to attend on Christmas Day when I so want to go to church but would so prefer one where I don't actually know anybody.
I tried a good ploy today - I sent a message in advance to church to explain the situation to one person and ask them to spread the message that I did not want one person after another coming and asking me how Dad was or trying to offer me comfort... I just wanted to go to church and watch my children in the Nativity play. It worked rather too well - my warm and welcoming church felt totally alien as nobody but nobody made eye contact or spoke to me, apart from the one or two who are special friends. I understood it, and appreciated it on one level, but... !
We visited Dad this morning, though my mission was more to talk to the nurse. We wanted to know why he is not yet on a syringe driver for morphine - we now know and, while we don't totally agree, we understand. It won't be long, though. We long so much for it to happen and for him to experience no pain at all, just to sleep and be comfortable and cared for. He looks so small and drawn, and his face so racked with pain. And yet he continues to surprise everyone - his bowl of porridge was avidly eaten this morning! We had the first experience of watching him being transferred from chair to bed with a hoist yesterday - and amazing contraption and I think he quite enjoyed it, especially as it took the strain off his painful bones. He's so very weak that he cannot stand, though he walked quite a distance on Friday.
I've done the warning phone calls to his closest friends - hard and heart-wrenching yet somehow lovely to talk to people who've known him even longer than I. But my mobile is out of credit at the moment and, after our little incident of last week, I have yet to get to the bank to manoevre enough money to top it up - a major inconvenience.
The hospice nurse is, of course, unable to give us any idea when Dad might go. It probably won't be in the next few days... It's still beyond belief.