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johnny9fingersVisited him in his sideroom. Was V.hopeful until found he was not eating. A particularly nice nurse got him some food supplement drink thing, and he managed about half of it.
The Docs told Mum that the radiotherapy which dealt with the sternal tumour had probably damaged both Trachea and Oesophagus - which may explain both eating and speaking difficulties.
I suspect he feels the loss of dignity very much in this situation.
He seems to micro-sleep in the middle of conversations, sometimes in the middle of sentences. And he dreams in these microsleeps, and the dreams are very vivid.
For some reason or other he assumed I was doing a parachute jump, the notion of which I had to reluctantly disabuse him. Oh well. I told him people were looking forward to seeing him on his birthday (24th November). He looked a little down and said 'but I'll still be in here'. Tried to tell him he'll be back home by Friday, albeit with a zimmer frame, but he looked inward, and didn't say anything. Spent most of visiting time in mute incomprehension, but I held his hand for most of it and tried to jolly things up. Bought him his newspaper (for the crossword, and for old times sake - in his later life he had worked in Fleet Street). He gave it a cursory glace, which was better than nothing.
Non-Einstienian deity better start changing dice soon, else the gig's up.
No time or inclination to do my practice, or argue my point, or very much at all really. Visit him this evening.
Also must try to let Glam ex exercise her guilt (or whatever) by allowing her to lend me this and that.
The Docs told Mum that the radiotherapy which dealt with the sternal tumour had probably damaged both Trachea and Oesophagus - which may explain both eating and speaking difficulties.
I suspect he feels the loss of dignity very much in this situation.
He seems to micro-sleep in the middle of conversations, sometimes in the middle of sentences. And he dreams in these microsleeps, and the dreams are very vivid.
For some reason or other he assumed I was doing a parachute jump, the notion of which I had to reluctantly disabuse him. Oh well. I told him people were looking forward to seeing him on his birthday (24th November). He looked a little down and said 'but I'll still be in here'. Tried to tell him he'll be back home by Friday, albeit with a zimmer frame, but he looked inward, and didn't say anything. Spent most of visiting time in mute incomprehension, but I held his hand for most of it and tried to jolly things up. Bought him his newspaper (for the crossword, and for old times sake - in his later life he had worked in Fleet Street). He gave it a cursory glace, which was better than nothing.
Non-Einstienian deity better start changing dice soon, else the gig's up.
No time or inclination to do my practice, or argue my point, or very much at all really. Visit him this evening.
Also must try to let Glam ex exercise her guilt (or whatever) by allowing her to lend me this and that.
