The days are now being split up into merely hours, and I am grateful for every minute.
My darling mother seems to be at a stage now where the hours matter more than the days.
I thought if you knew what to expect it would be easier somehow, but it is not; less shocking perhaps, but not easier.
When my father was dying, he had hidden the extent of his disease from me, so I only really knew at the end. Days before my father died, he was still able to talk, communicate-yet his body was giving up. With my mum, she now lies in bed unable to speak for many months, but her body has been ok-meaning her organs have been functioning-but that doesn't seem to be the case right now.
Eating, drinking and swallowing have become near impossible in the past few days. Just being able to give mum half a yoghurt takes hours. Medication has now been cut and is being administered in liquid form instead of tablets to reduce the chances of choking. The doctors have been to visit, the district nurses-they all are recommending transferring mum to a home or hospice. After consulting with my aunt-believe it or not, but, the hospice is the preferable choice. My aunt has had experiences with many homes in this area and says a hospice is a much better place-it has the specialized care she needs.
The noises from mum due to the secretions that lie on her chest, and the look when she tries to open her eyes, but her pupils just roll back,are so disarming and uncomfortable, yet these moments mean she is still here. She is still with me. The darkness has not drawn in yet.