Whizz Kid

Mum and I were up early as usual today to get everything done by 12 o'clock ready for some lunch before setting off to visit Dad in hospital. Whilst doing the shopping run, I was surprised to find such a fresh and perfect rose as this one, growing - in mid-November - beside the car park at Tesco's in Tiptree. It looked so beautiful in the morning sun that I just had to get a picture of it, and luckily had my better camera to hand.

There has been no improvement in Dad today or for the past few days. Everything seems to have come to a standstill. He is still not eating much, saying he feels full all the time, and his morale is sinking low. Every day he seems to think he might be coming home the next day, and every day his hopes fade as the hours wear on and darkness falls. A nurse turned up the suction again on doctor's orders while we were visiting today, to try and shift the air that is trapped between the lining of his lung. Until that is sorted Dad won't be able to come home, because it means there would be a danger of his lung collapsing from the pressure of the air pocket. There is still a lot of fluid coming out into his drain bottle - the nurse changed it today for a fourth empty container in nearly two weeks. Each one holds 2 litres.

I am going to ask to speak to one of the Doctors tomorrow for an update on where we are now and when we might realistically expect Dad to be discharged. Mum and I are shattered physically and emotionally, and Dad is not at all himself now. In the dull and relentless hospital regime, his world has shrunk down to fussing about his table being kept free of clutter and everything being in exactly the right place on it, which is so unlike him. He is desperate to be able to walk around but he is a virtual prisoner, attached to the wall of the ward by a suction tube. Because he isn't moving, his physical strength declines by the day. I don't know how much longer any of us can bear this. It's excruciating.

While I was out of the ward today phoning my boss to ask for yet another day off tomorrow, Dad told Mum I was his "Whizz Kid". By that he meant he was grateful for all I'm doing for him and Mum. Hard as it is, I would do it over and over again. Not out of duty, but out of pure and unconditional love.

While Mum and I were having lunch in a local café I heard this track, which achingly reminded me of better times past.