Today I dragged furniture around the living room, piling it up to make room for a hospital bed I have no idea of the dimensions of. Being careful not to disturb the newly delivered oxygen unit. This was at least more practical and achieved more than last night, which I spent crying.
Thank you for your comments throughout this - Arctic Cloudberry on the last post in particular, reduced me to tears: how lovely that someone I have never met, feels for me so fiercely.
The GP says P “won’t see the end of November”, the palliative care nurse things it will be sooner than that. I can see him deteriorate every day - it used to be weeks and before that, months, but now it hurtles downhill at a terrifying pace.
His liver is so swollen by tumours that it encroaches on his stomach - it’s been a few weeks since he last ate anything much and several days since he ate anything at all. His torso is swollen by the tumours, but the rest of him is skeletal - painfully thin and bony (literally painful as it’s uncomfortable for him to lie down). He always looked young for his age but he’s hurtled through the decades and looks like a man in his 80s.
Even sadder is that the cancer, in stopping his liver from functioning, has led to toxins which affect his brain: he is confused, gets the wrong word, slurs and hallucinates.
But mainly he just sleeps.
