A week of planning and preparation - 28th June - 4th July 2007

I promised I would transcribe Jack's letter to his Great Big Grandad, so here it is.


Dear GBG, Heaven

I am going to miss you a lot, you were a big star to me and the rest of our family. I wish there was something I could do. Somehow I feel responsible for your death (he'd quarrelled with his mum that night and felt guilty). I wish you were still here. If you were still here I would be hugging you for weeks non-stop. Bye. I will think about you every day.



Neil's youngest - Bethany, who is 7 - had been funny when Lisa told her about Dad dying. Lisa had been explaining that when one person dies, another is born. Beth totally got the wrong idea and said "Well mum, when you have the baby, can we call it Great Big Grandad?" How cute, and how innocent.

I am now having to write this blog retrospectively, as during the week between Dad's death and his funeral, there was a lot to do, and little time to concentrate on blogging.

Actually, in terms of what had to be done, things went really smoothly - we just kind of got caught up in what other people instigated. One action would trigger another, and before we knew it, everything was arranged.

It was a week in which we laughed and cried in equal measure - and often both at the same time.

Thursday 28th June:

I had a couple of small brandies last night before bed and so I slept well. Although I did find that all week my moments of waking between sleep were filled with thoughts and visions of Dad's final moments. All I could picture was the breathing and heartbeat and how it all changed and then stopped.

I got up early today and felt restless. So I went into Dad's room and continued tidying away things... sorting out stuff for washing and so on. When I disentangled his headphones from their usual home (draped over the hoist stand) and put them away I started to sob.

Mum got up, and Lorraine came round. I'd left Dad's window open and his door propped ajar (as he'd liked it open all the time he spent at home in bed). We all stood in his room (Lorraine had asked me what I'd done in there) and Mum commented that it was freezing cold in there. There was a cold wind blowing in. We went into the lounge for coffee and a chat. About half an hour later, I went back into Dad's room. It felt warm. No wonder - the radiator in the room was on full blast... which was strange as it hadn't worked since about December! I asked Lol and Mum if they'd put it on. No, they hadn't. Spooky - I looked up to the skies and yelled "Stop freaking us out Dad, we don't like it". We all laughed.

Later on that day, Neil spoiled the spooky story by explaining that the radiator had it's own thermostat... and seeing as how the room was now empty for the first time in ages, with no people moving around it and a cold wind blowing in... then it had switched itself on. Ah well, I prefer to think it was Dad, playing with us!!

I'd sorted all Dad's medications, dressings, pads and a variety of other items - bags and bags of it - into three piles. Pile 1, Paul returned to the Pharmacist for us. Pile 2 was going back to the District Nurses as they'd be able to make use of it. Pile 3 was stuff I thought we could keep and use ourselves if necessary. I should point out at this stage that the morphine all went back to the chemist! We kept only a few things like cough linctus and paracetomol.

I called Gail, the District Nurse who had told us Dad had very little time left. I assumed that the Night Nurses would have informed her that he'd passed, but they hadn't. She seemed upset. She said that Dad's passing would leave a big hole in their working day. Brian, the Head Nurse called round to see us later that morning. He collected all the stuff (joking that he'd need a van) and then we had a little chat and thanked him and his team for their support and care of Dad. He commented that we'd all been part of the team, too, and that we'd given great care also. That was nice to hear.

Thinking back on last night, I should have mentioned that about 5 minutes after Dad died, we were all by his bed and somebody commented that Dad had the death he deserved - peaceful and lovely. I blurted out "It's still not bloody fair though!" and started to cry. Next day I was surprised at that - we never spoke in that kind of language during Dad's illness... it felt negative and un-productive to do so. I think I was being selfish in saying it - thinking of my own loss, and not Dad. I'm not beating myself up here, just reflecting on why I had such an outburst.

We arranged for somebody to collect all Dad's equipment - the bed, wheelchair commode, hoist and sling etc. and they said they'd do it tomorrow (Friday). Good - we don't want that stuff hanging around too long.

The Funeral Director called to offer us a choice of date/time for Dad's cremation. We chose Thursday 5th July at 11am. Dad had asked us to have a late morning service so that everybody could go straight to the pub afterwards. We provisionally booked the Victoria Inn in Rainhill for after the funeral service.

Later today, Lorraine and I were back in Dad's room, stripping the bed, when we opened his wardrobe for something... I think we were looking for something that he could wear in his coffin. A lovely maroon shirt caught my eye - I pulled it out, saying "I liked Dad in this, I think he wore it at Christmas". As I did, I noticed something in the breast pocket. It was the tickets for the jazz concert I'd been to with Dad in January - the last time he ever went out before he was sent to hospital. I started to cry (again!) and Lorraine consoled me.

Mum was amazing today - all the people she had to telephone and tell what had happened. I didn't hear her break down at all. In fact, she must have been sick of looking at Lorraine and I crying - one of us kept setting the other one off! I think mum was still much comforted by how peaceful Dad's passing was. The real impact probably won't hit her for a little while.

I also was pondering on how things would have been if this had all happened 12 months ago when I was working. It doesn't bear thinking about. I am so grateful to have been there for mum and dad these last 5 months.

Friday 29th June:

This morning, Lorraine and I went to register Dad's death... you have to have an appointment to do it, so we booked in at 10.30am. It took about 20 minutes.

We were driving about today and talking about the scattering of Dad's ashes in Yewtree Cemetery (mum's family plot). We both commented that we couldn't remember how to get there and I was about to say "Don't worry, Dad will know the way" and had to stop myself.

The Funeral Director came to see us to make proper arrangements for next week. All pretty straightforward, really. We were having a discussion on whether to seal the coffin or not. We didn't know if anybody would want to visit Dad, none of us planned to go to the Chapel of Rest as we were happy that we'd said our goodbyes etc. As we dithered around, Paul (the undertaker) pushed us for a decision and said "I'm getting to the stage where I have to deal with Keith now". It made my stomach lurch. I hadn't thought of the practical side of it all. Anyway, we opted for a closed coffin in the end.

I think I mentioned a while back that Dad had asked me to call in on some friends of his from the gym, to explain why he'd not been there since January. I could never catch them in. Lorraine and I went again earlier, and decided to leave a note through the door. This evening, Doris (the lady of the couple) phoned Lorraine to say they'd got the note. They've been away for a long while but her son had picked up the note and contacted her. They were so sorry about Dad and spoke really well of him - Doris said that "all the ladies had been asking where that nice big man had gone". She quickly followed up and said that all the men had been asking, too! Dad had gathered a little circle of acquaintances at his gym - folk who he'd chat with in the steam room, jacuzzi or changing rooms.

I see lots of posts from distraught people on the Macmillan site claiming that they can't cope without their fathers, and that they'll never get over their loss. It kind of makes me feel bad because I know I will cope without my dad. I'd rather not have to, but I know I will be ok in the long run.

Saturday 30th June:

This morning, Paul and Joe went to our house and collected Dad's double bed (we'd stored it there when his hospital bed arrived) and Roy. We spent the day putting Dad's room finally back to "normal".

Mum, Lorraine and I met Mark Wynn, the methodist minister who would be conducting Dad's service. He was a lovely guy and stayed for ages chatting to us. He said he'd liked to have met Dad, and I wondered why we didn't think to organise that while we could. Never mind.

Neil and the kids came over today. They are so funny... they played really nice and wanted to go into Dad's room to see the jigsaw and just generally have a nose around. I think they're eyeing up Dad's possessions and I promised to let them choose something as a keepsake in a couple of weeks time. They were asking me if Mum was ok. Beth was saying that Grandad was better now, but he was dead!

As they left, Jack (who wrote the letter at the top of this page) was looking at mum and hanging back at the door. I could see on his face an expression of: what can I do to make things better for Nana? Next thing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out some fake money they'd been given by one of their aunties - he peeled off three "fifty pound notes" and gave one to Mum. Then he came round the room and gave one each to Roy and myself! Bless him, he is such a caring child.

Later today, Roy and I drove home. We picked up takeaway curry and stayed in watching tv. Not much else happened - we'd done so well with funeral arrangements that we didn't need to "work" over the weekend.

Sunday 1st July:

Our second wedding anniversary! The weather was shocking, so the planned walk and Sunday lunch was scrapped in favour of a shopping trip for my funeral outfit and dinner this evening at the Beehive. Thinking about it, Dad died right in between Lorraine's wedding anniversary and mine. Not that it is significant. He also died the day after Joe (my nephew and his grandson) sat his last A Level exam. Also not significant. I don't think.

Monday 2nd July:

Signing on day. The Job Centre has bouncers on the door and a dress code. This never fails to amuse me.

Got to Widnes at 11.20. I had an appointment for a neck and shoulder massage at the Cancer Support Centre. I was late, but Tana still did it for me. Chatted with Dee (the "manager" there) and I also booked their respite caravan for a week from 14th July. It looks lovely, but goodness knows what the weather will be like!

http://www.aberconwypark.com/Aberconwy2004/Park/beach.htm

Lorraine and I went to the florists, where we picked out our flowers for Thursday. The florist was funny... he kept telling us not to go mad and not to spend too much. Here's a picture of him holding a display identical to the one we've ordered for mum. (pic to be inserted!)

We also went to Dooleys funeral home to drop off the music for the service, and Jack's letter to Dad (which we've asked them to pop in his coffin). And then we decided on the format for our memorial card and sent off draft wording and photos to the printer.

I spent a little bit of time later on sorting through Dad's folder with all his "stuff" in it... insurance, pension, bank account - stuff like that. I'll be helping mum to get everything stopped, transferred, paid out etc. I had to chuckle - you can tell that Dad was left handed because he's put everything in the folder back to front! Well, back to front to me!

It is so quiet now in Mum's house. All the time, I'm missing the noise of 2 tv's going, the carers and nurses coming in, and the constant popping in and out to see Dad.

I'm sleeping in Dad's room tonight. As I sat on the bed, I looked around and I tried to put myself in his shoes... how he had only this room as his "world" for four months. It would have driven me crazy. Dad was a tough guy.

Tuesday 3rd July:

Here my notes stop (I'd been scribbling them in a pad) and so I rely on my appalling memory to complete the blog. Today, we spent ages in Trafford Park shopping mall and we sorted out Lorraine's and Mum's outfits for Thursday. I bought a new one. I now have a choice between three! I'm going to opt for the red linen suit I bought today. Nice and colourful - just what Dad wanted.

Mark, the Deacon, sent me this email in response to me providing a copy of Dad's Eulogy.

Dear Jan
trust this finds you & yours well
just received your e-mail
many thanks for the personal memories of dad's life
further evidence of what a lovely family you all are
i get to meet lots of families at such sad times & i can assure you that you Almans are very very special.
& i really mean that
with every blessing

Mark

Wednesday 4th July:

A day of finalising plans, contacting people about tomorrow's arrangements and putting the last touches to the Eulogy. Joan, Zodie and David (my cousin, her hubby and brother) came to visit tonight and we had a good chat and laugh with them. I'd been over to Leeds to pick up Roy this afternoon, as he was rained off work early. An early night. Big day tomorrow.

The final piece in the jigsaw

There are two new items in Dad's bed. An Angel poem and an Angel charm, given to us by a lovely lady called Sue who did some Reiki on Dad a while ago.

Lorraine and I decided to call the District Nurses out at about 6am, as Dad was coughing and his throat was rattling a lot. There's a drug called Glycopyrronium that is given to relieve this (it dries up the secretions) and I thought he might need an extra dose. The nurses took about an hour to arrive, apparently they'd had an emergency somewhere, and the main nurse agreed with me that she'd give him some more of the Glycopyrronium. She also added some more sedative as it would help relax the coughing reflex.

Lorraine had tried popping some towels under Dad's pillow to prop him up better, but he looked like he was going to cry (you know that scrunched up face that babies do just before they let rip?) so she stopped.

From the early hours this morning, we sat listening to the rest of the world waking up and reflecting on how incredible a journey we've been on. It seems so unreal now to think back and remember all the things that have happened.... it seems so long ago that we were taking Dad in and out of the bathroom and getting his room all set up (and rearranged several times). Various incidents keep coming back to me like flashbacks.

At some point we thought we heard Dad say "had enough" when he was coughing, but not entirely sure.

Today was supposed to be a big day for mum. She has a rodent ulcer on her nose and it needs removing. She had her appointment at St Helens Hospital and had decided that she was going to go ahead with it. I agreed with this as the system here means that if she cancelled she could wait ages for a new appointment and this needs doing. It has been troubling her for years and was only recently properly diagnosed (by Dr Rathbone). I took her along to the hospital, checked her in and said I'd come back when they called to say she was ready. I cried all the way home... crying in the car is a habit of mine, although probably not entirely safe!!

At Mums, I sat with Lorraine and Dad again. I told him that we'd sorted out for him to be buried at Yewtree Cemetery with my Nana and Grandad.... I forgot to mention this yesterday in the blog but Lol and I had been to the Funeral Directors (Dooleys in Widnes) to make some enquiries. I know he wanted to be laid to rest with Tom and Lil (who are actually my mum's parents) so I thought it would be one more thing to put his mind at peace. I then told him that I when I am working again, I'll buy him a bench. Somewhere nice, where people can sit and watch the world go by, as Dad used to love to do. At this point, Lorraine and I were sobbing again. Then I said "But only when I'm working Dad, I'm skint for the moment" and we both started laughing again. Lorraine asked which benches Dad used to like to sit on most... and I remembered (and told him) that he actually used to sit in the car and watch people go by, but I didn't think they did memorial cars.... by this time we were howling laughing. I do hope he heard us, he'd have found it all very funny, too.

So, at around 10 we got a call from the hospital to say that mum's procedure had been cancelled... apparently her heart rate was up too high and they use something containing adrenaline, so they didn't want to make her ill. They sent her for various tests and an ECG and told her she could go home. Lorraine's husband Paul had taken the day off work so he he said he'd go to pick her up. Mum was ages getting back... apparently they'd made her wait for a long time to see the Doctor before she could come home. In the end she got so anxious that something was wrong at home, she just got up and walked out. Because we sent Paul to pick her up, she suspected that something had happened to Dad.

She got home just before lunchtime. I was headed out to the shops, for some more prescriptions for Dad, and as I was leaving mum asked me did we have anything in for lunch.

Well, there's salmon, cheese, eggs, soup.... I rattled off a list of items. Mum pulled a face at all of them. I laughingly said "Mum, in the months I have stayed here I've never seen you eat anything but those things for lunch, and now you're turning your nose up at them!". All of a sudden Mum burst into tears.... I felt awful. What's wrong, I asked her. "I just wanted two sausage rolls" she whimpered. Well we all burst out laughing again. What a funny thing emotions can do to you!

After I got back from the shops, and supplied mum with two HUGE sausage rolls, I sat and jotted down some stuff I wanted to say to Dad. I was concerned that he was hanging on for some reason and wanted him to go to rest if he was ready. But I was so uncertain about what to say or when to say it that I wrote a "script" and shoved it in my diary should I feel I needed it.

The Nurses came and decided against moving Dad at all... the doctor was here too and she just upped his sedative as he was still twitching a little bit.

Neil turned up, as did Lorraine's kids Joe and Emily. Dad's room was full of love, joy and laughter all afternoon. Lorraine had brought the jigsaw into his room and at around 3-ish, Neil finished it all bar the last piece (which he was hiding in his pocket so that nobody else could place it!!). We'd hoped that Dad could place the final piece but this was not to be as he was semi-comatose by now. So Emily was granted the honour... and as she dropped it in we all yelled "YAY" and clapped and cheered. Again, I hope that Dad heard this. I like to think he did.

I said to him "It's finished now Dad. No more to do. Nothing to worry about - everything is done."

Doctor came out again this evening. She spoke to Dad even though he seemed asleep. She was satisfied with his condition. We asked her questions about how we would know if Dad went into a coma and what we should do. She told us not to worry. "He might just go to sleep and pass". I said I think he will do that. She said she'd see us in the morning, unless she heard from us in the meantime. She said to Dad "I may see you tomorrow Keith". This was unusual, for her to use the word "may".

Also, two District Nurses called in. We were pleased to see that one of them was Pam, a nurse he'd known and really liked from the GP's practice.

Around 6.30pm/7-ish I started shaking and couldn't get warm... I can get like this sometimes if I am extremely anxious about something (that said it's only happened a few times in my life). I went to cook dinner and Neil went home. Lorraine and I had noticed that Dad's breathing had become laboured again - a rythmic pumping rather than the soft gentle breaths he'd been taking. We wondered what that was about... a last rally? Fighting off death? As I cooked dinner, Lorraine had a talk to him. She said "What is it you're staying for Dad? There's nothing to worry about - I know you aren't worried and that you'll go when you're good and ready. And we'll be ok".

When we came back in after a short break for dinner (mum was with Dad) his breathing had calmed again. Lorraine seemed to have been able to settle him down when she spoke to him.

Mum was nagging at the two of us to go to have a sleep (we'd been up most of the night) and prepare for another night's vigil. She planned to do the 8pm - midnight shift and then let us take over. I went to call Roy and told him I was going to bed for an hour and would speak to him tomorrow. I went back into Dad's room, I felt a bit unsettled. Lorraine was there and we both stood over Dad. We'd been holding his hands all day between the three of us. At the same time, we both pulled up our chairs and sat down, on opposite sides of the bed. Lorraine said to me - I don't want to leave him. I agreed, neither did I. We giggled and said Mum would have a fit if she saw we were still up and not sleeping. Mum came into the room - and had a fit - but we explained we just wanted to sit a while longer. She said that's fine, she'd go to make a phone call to Dad's brother in South Africa.

The sun had been on Dad's bed since 6-ish. We wondered if we should draw the curtain but we decided no, Dad loved the sun and he was probably enjoying basking in it. About 8-ish, Lorraine had gone back in to Dad and seen a lone tear trickling down his cheek. Aww... we both looked at him, what is he sad about, we wondered. It was a really touching sight.

We sat quietly, watching Dad's breathing and his heartbeat. They were both very gradually slowing down. Lorraine seemed to intuitively spot that something was going to happen and she said we should call Mum in. Mum was still on the telephone. We asked her to finish the call and come in to sit with us. She'd been speaking to Auntie Margaret in South Africa. She came in and sat down, and took hold of Dad's hand. Literally seconds later, he drew a breath and stopped. Lorraine and I looked at each other. I couldn't see the heart beating either. I think that's it, it's stopped hasn't it? I asked. Mum said "has he gone?". We said we thought so. The time was about 10 past 9.

And then began a mini-farce! Lorraine started crying, just as I put my fingers in front of Dad's mouth. I felt something, so I said to her "Hang on, don't cry yet, we're not sure if he's gone". I was desperately trying to feel a pulse on Dad's wrist - but I don't really know how to take a pulse. Mum was shouting "get a mirror, get a mirror". All of a sudden we all stopped. What are we doing, I said... why don't we just call Doctor. Then Lorraine pointed out it had been about 2 minutes since Dad breathed so of course he was dead. And we all cried.

We kissed Dad goodnight - Lorraine giving two extras from her kids - and left the room to decide who to call. We had to call the doctor and the District Nurses. Lorraine said she would be fine to call the Doc. As soon as the Doctor answered Lol burst into tears and blurted out "It's Lorraine". "Okay, Lorraine, I'm on my way" was the calming reply from Dr Rathbone. She was with us very quickly. Mum called Neil, who headed back (seems like Dad knew he didn't want to be there at the end and spared him) and then we rang the District Nurse. While we waited for people to arrive, we made a few calls to family (and Roy) and I manically ran round Dad's room trying to remove every trace of medical paraphenalia. I wanted him to be in his bedroom again, and not a sick room. I bagged up a load of stuff and just stuffed it in the wardrobes for removal tomorrow. The room looked instantly nicer. There was also a beautiful sky outside Dad's window - the north-west sunsets are the best and I miss them since moving east.

Lorraine helped Dr Rathbone straighten Dad's bed (he used to sleep with his head raised and the knee break in the bed, and with pillows under his feet. Doctor was keen to lay Dad flat - the first time we'd seen him like that in about 6 months! At this point, I was not wanting to see Dad again. I wasn't scared of him, but in my opinion he had left the room shortly after Neil arrived to say goodbye. Everything changed then. The body on the bed no longer contained my Dad's soul or spirit.

Neil's partner Lisa called. She'd explained to the kids what happened. Ryan is 11, Jack is 9 and Bethany is 7. They cried and then asked who was going to bring them lollipops now? Then Jack wrote Dad a letter. I'll transcribe it another day... it was so sweet.

Doctor sat with us drinking coffee until 11pm. We thought she was waiting for the nurse to arrive but she was just giving us some support. Throughout the last 4 months, Dr Rathbone has been fantastic. I can never thank her enough for her care of Dad. As we spoke, Doctor commented that Dad was a very strong minded patient, and she loved how he liked to work things out for himself (all those experiments he liked to do!). She said that made her job easier as she could treat whatever symptoms needed to be dealt with and get a good understanding of what was going on with him. She also commented that he would have had a bowel blockage right from the outset (which is why his first symptom was constipation) and that it was probably the tumour pressing on his bowel. She said the stoma bag over the laparoscopy wound site was probably a blessing as Dad could have been in a bit of a mess without it. As we praised her for her good care and attention, she just said that it was her job to make things as comfortable as possible and that she felt our collective family effort also made a big difference.

Shortly after the Dr left, a lone District Nurse arrived. This is unusual as the Night Nurses usually travel in pairs for safety. Somebody was off sick. I hoped that she would not ask us to help her with Dad. She said she wasn't washing him - the undertakers would do that. She'd just remove the Syringe Driver and catheter and dressings. She came out and asked us for some clothes to dress Dad in... we all just looked at each other blankly! Dad doesn't wear clothes! We went into his wardrobe and found a top and some tracksuit bottoms that we thought would do the job. Difficult as he'd lost so much weight since being ill. I didn't want to see him in them. Mum went in to look but the Nurse had put his blue fleecy blanket back over him, too.

She left and then the Funeral Directors came to collect Dad. We said we didn't want to see any of Dad's removal from the flat. None of this matters now, we have done all we needed to for him and will honour him at his funeral. No need for being involved in the "processing" of a dead body. They went just after midnight and we all sat, exhausted wondering what to do next. Going to bed seemed like a good option. I spent a little time emailing a few people and then fell into bed around 2-ish.

About 4 weeks before he died, Dad said to mum that he wanted to go to sleep one sunny afternoon, with his family around him, and then pass away quietly. He did exactly that. Clever Dad. He'd got used to getting his own way in his final weeks - and he called the ultimate shot, too.

As one of my cyber friends said, this was the final piece in the puzzle of life. Well, Dad's life, anyway.

On the Pathway

I woke early and went in to see how Mum and Dad were doing. Dad had slept until 6am and had been able to swallow his tablets ok. But when I told him he'd be having them by Syringe Driver soon he was delighted.

He asked where Lorraine was. "Where's Lollipop?" I said she'd be dropping Emily off at school and then coming to us. "It's a pity we can't hear her more clearly when she comes in" he said, "Cos we could all shout 'hurray!' as she comes through the door otherwise".

Len (mum's cousin) came to see us with some brilliant old family photographs that he'd loaded onto CD for us. Dad isn't on any of them, but they're good pictures of mum's side of the family.

Maureen (Lorraine's mother-in-law) also dropped in to see Dad. He always liked to see her... he asked her to give him a kiss when she walked in. She was telling him about her trip to America and Canada on a cruise. She said that when they visited Niagra Falls, they'd seen a beautiful rainbow in the mist. Dad looked at mum and said "That must have been nice." As she left, Maureen said to him that she hoped he'd be looking down on rainbows soon. She was very upset afterward and told Lorraine that she didn't think Dad had too long left... she'd nursed for 40 years and so must know these things.

Gail, one of the District Nurses, arrived at the same time as the carers and they got Dad sorted out pretty quickly. He didn't want a lot doing. Gail came to speak to us and advised us that she was going to put Dad on to the Dying Pathway programme. This is a UK care plan for those in their last days and was devised in a hospital in Liverpool. The basic premise of this plan is to make dying patient's comfortable. It takes them off all non-essential meds (e.g. my Dad no longer uses his diuretics or inhalers) and puts them onto anticipatory drugs to relieve any symptoms that may cause discomfort (e.g. something to dry up secretions in the throat and chest and stop coughing). It also enables the nurses to have a very open conversation with the carers and family members about what is happening. And finally, this plan takes into account psychological and spiritual needs. Gail said she felt that if Dad had a week left in him, we'd be lucky.

It's funny because although we've had 5 months to prepare for this, it's still a shock and quite upsetting when you start to talk about Dad's time in terms of "days". I think a lot of the emotion is due to having been through so much with him these last months and staying so positive for him... whilst knowing that really all we were doing was keeping him comfy. We could never make Dad better. And whilst I don't feel any resentment of that (toward the disease) I think it is a tough mental battle for all involved. Talk about learning life skills!

Gail explained that the syringe driver would be started that afternoon. She just needed Dad's GP to sign off the plan paperwork. Dr Rathbone prescribed the anticipatory drugs needed for the driver: an anti nausea/vomiting drug; anti-secretion drug; sedative; pain relief. Lorraine and I took what I think is our last trip to Cooke's chemist.

Neil (our brother) came along today and sat doing the jigsaw for ages. He made huge progress with it... which is just as well cos Lorraine and I were starting to struggle. Finishing the jigsaw was Neil's contribution to Dad's last days as he doesn't really do any of the care/nursy type stuff. As he was leaving (late afternoon) Dad called him back in to the room and signalled him to wait a moment (talking was becoming a huge effort by now). "How's the big Jigsaw going?" He asked. Neil described where things were up to. Dad seemed content. We'd brought it in to show him at certain points in the day.

Last night, Dad had been asking for maps from his car. It turned out he wanted to see Queensbury Gardens and Marlborough Grove in Birkenhead - two places he'd lived in as a child and young man (with his mother). We couldn't find a Liverpool A-Z but we'd printed a multimap page off the internet with both a map and an aerial view of the actual road for Marlborough Grove. Couldn't find Queensbury Gardens (this is where Dad was born). Dad seemed satisfied with this. Today he'd said he wanted to show the doctor the picture of the house and kept talking about "up above". Mum recalls that he lived in an attic room and maybe he was talking about that. He was clearly thinking about his family at these times.

Gail came late afternoon to do the driver. I said to Dad that his injection was here and as she put it in he said "lovely, thanks". As she left his room Gail said goodbye, sleep well, and that she'd seem him soon. She shouted at him "And when I do, don't be giving me any al buck" (Al buck being scouse for back chat). Dad smiled and said he was looking forward to seeing her.

Before she left, Gail came in to speak to us. She told us that she didn't think Dad would last the night. This was a shock as earlier we'd been under the impression he had a few more days left. Gail has worked in Marie Curie Hospice and so I trusted her opinion. She said that she could be wrong, but that she'd be surprised if he was still with us when she was back on duty on Thursday. Ok, so that's two nights then! Which one will it be?

As we wandered in and out of his room, Dad started to sleep more and more and respond less to us. At one point he asked me to confirm that Lorraine and I were not twins! I said no, and he shook his head and said he should have known by our ages. He also told Lorraine that I tell fibs! But I think he was talking about the jigsaw... as I'd been saying how well it was coming along.

The jigsaw is becoming symbolic, I feel. We speak of it so often with Dad and I think what we're all saying is that when the jigsaw is done, that is time for Dad to go.

I feel that my recollection of today is all over place, chronologically speaking, but I'm working retrospectively, from notes I jotted in my book at the time. Please forgive any errors. Oh - and a thousand apologies for the awful punctuation (I know I have friends who may notice this!!!).

Late on tonight we started to use swabs to give Dad water. Gail had advised us to wrap some gauze around a small child's toothbrush and dip it in water. Mostly Dad would just open his mouth and we'd dab around, but tonight he gripped the gauze and sucked the water off. So I gave him a drop more. He relaxed back and said "Lovely".

At some point tonight I was alone with Dad and sat sobbing by his bed while he slept... I tried not to be too noisy as I didn't want him to hear my pain.

Mum had been in and sung to Dad - How do you talk to an Angel. This was one of the few songs my Dad ever sang as he didn't have a great voice and could never remember past the first line! Funny that, considering how much he loved music. In fact, last year, he listened to every single one of his CDs over a period of a few weeks. When Lorraine asked him why, he just said: No reason, I just did. I wonder if he knew..........?
Anyway, Mum said he smiled and nodded as she sang, and when she finished she told him "I'm not as good as you". He smiled again.

When a patient is put on the Pathway, District Nurses call at night to check on them. Ours came quite early to see Dad, about 8-ish. They were happy with Dad's condition but he'd slumped down to the right and they tried to lift his head back to make him more streamlined. As soon as they touched him he started to "cry" and whimper. So they let go. Dad is clearly beyond the stage of being messed around with.

Neil came back to do more jigsaw! Yay! As he left we told Dad he was going and Dad nodded. So he still hears us and can communicate to some extent.

Tonight was Lorraine's turn for vigil, so I went to bed at midnight. I slept until 3 and looked in on them... everything was ok. At 3.30am Dad started coughing and so I got up and sat with Lorraine. We just chatted and drank coffee all night. Dad didn't rouse if we spoke to him. He was doing what they call "Cheyne Stoke" breathing. This pattern involves taking a breath and then a long pause before the next. It is difficult to watch when you are expecting somebody to die as you don't know which breath is the last! However, we discovered that we could see Dad's heartbeat under his vest and napkin. We tried to take his heart rate but we ended up just concluding that it was "very fast". So the heartbeat reassured us during pauses in breathing.

I have to explain at this point that Dad spent his last few months wearing very little! Sometime in about mid-March he dispensed with wearing his tops as he felt too warm and uncomfy in them (we had a very warm spring). Not long after that, the Nurses recommended that we stop putting his shorts on him as they were starting to irritate his skin around the waistband and could result in pressure sores. So he spent his time in a white cotton vest and a "modesty pad" loincloth that we devised from a white cotton pad. He resembled a cross between Mahatma Ghandi and Onslow from Keeping Up Appearances!! To accesssorize this outfit, Dad wore a green square table napkin across his chest and under his chin. This started out being there just at mealtimes, to catch any spills, but gradually became a permanent presence. Sort of like Dad's little comfort blanket... he wouldn't let us move it. I went to take it off in his last day and then put it back quickly.

Mum came in at 6am and said good morning. Dad was "asleep" but I told him mum was here and he opened his eyes and mouthed "Morning". This was the last Dad spoke.

At first I was afraid........

It wasn't just ghosts I was scared of. My real fear was of a conversation I knew I had to have with Dad. There were two parts to this. I have been wanting to say a few things to Dad for a while now - just to let him know how much he means to me. I got upset at the weekend because I told Roy I just bottled out every time an opportunity came up. Why am I scared of this? Possibly because whenever I think of the words, I break down, and I don't want to crumple in front of Dad. When I told Roy what I wanted to say to Dad he just looked at me and said "He knows".

The second part of the conversation is that I need to let Dad know that it is ok for him to leave us. Giving permission to let go can be a very important part of the dying process, and we have to do it. My fears about this one are the same as above - a dread of it becoming a very distressing conversation for both Dad and I - and then I undo all the positivity we have worked so hard to build over the last five months. More on this later.

So - back to last night - my "vigil" with Dad. Earlier in the evening Mum had sat in with Dad. There was such a cute moment when I looked in on them both. Mum was in her recliner chair, next to Dad's bed... they were both fast asleep. Mum holding a book in one hand and Dad's hand in the other, and Dad holding his remote control in one hand and Mum's hand in the other. One of those lovely scenes where in normal circumstances I'd have sneaked a photograph of them. Never mind, I will hold it in my memory.

I took over in the recliner chair when Mum went to bed. I wasn't very settled but dozed for short periods between midnight and 3.30am. Dad woke at 3.30am and wanted his mouth doing... we use a saliva replacement gel, Bonjela for his ulcers, and Vaseline for his lips to try to keep him comfortable. Did that and thought we would both now go back to sleep. Not so lucky! Dad wanted his tablets. "And this time, I'm taking them MY way!". This was a reference to his constant battles with mum over the timing, spacing and method of taking his meds! I explained that it was too early yet, and he should go back to sleep for a while.

But he didn't. Intermittently - between 3.30am and 7am (when I did allow him his meds) Dad talked a lot. He was clearly not settled. Thing is, if he'd been talking normally I'd have happily conversed with him all night, but he was in a period of "confusion" where he was talking nonsense, really. Telling me about how comedians develop a "flow", asking constantly about his tablets, asking about scaffolding for when we started the building work, many references to the jigsaw, talking as if he were a judge in a courtroom. At one stage, I felt like a mum who's baby won't go to sleep. Another time he asked for more pillows under his feet. I almost snapped! "Dad - you can't have one, there isn't a single pillow left in this house". So we used a towel instead! Mentally I was pleading "go to sleep dad, please!!". But he didn't.

So, we woke up properly and sorted the meds out. I noticed that his catheter tube had split and was leaking so I changed the Night Bag and cleaned everything up (some had gone onto the carpet). Mum then got up and the daily routine began again.

When the carers came, they were visibly shocked at how Dad seemed to be deteriorating, and we asked for them to do just the bare essentials in terms of cleaning Dad. Dad himself was keen not to be moved and messed about. He kept saying "I'll have a good wash on Wednesday".

When Dr Rathbone visited, Dad was asleep. As we stood by his bed I explained that Dad had seemed very agitated in the night - not physically, but I felt that his inability to settle, and the constant talking, was a sign. She said to Dad that something was wrong and she wanted to talk to him about what it was. He woke up and said "Oh hello Dr.... who are those people behind me?". Of course we could see nobody.

A long chat followed between Doctor, Dad and us. He was explaining that he couldn't bear to be rolled around the bed anymore and so we devised a way of reducing the number of times he was manhandled by carers and Nurses. Doctor also explained that she would soon arrange for Dad's meds to be given by Syringe Driver under his skin - no more swallowing. Dad liked that idea. "That'll be great." I don't think we realised quite how big a deal it has been for Dad to take his tablets every day. As Dr Rathbone ended her visit with Dad, he told her "Doctor, I am blessed with you - for looking after me. Thank you for all you have done for me." She looked touched by this.

Mum, Lorraine and I went through to the lounge with Dr K and she told us that she thought we were nearing the end of Dad's life. I asked how long. Days or weeks? Not sure, she said, but probably days. Despite knowing this anyway, it was still a moment of shock and reality kicking in. She prescribed Lorezepam to help settle Dad and told us to give it at night and again in the morning if we felt it necessary. Doctor also talked to us about giving Dad permission to die. So now I have been officially ordered by his Doctor to have that conversation. Better get a grip and get on with it.

Dad slept all afternoon. We had already decided not to leave him alone so the three of us drifted in and out of his room - sometimes just one of us in there, sometimes two, and occasionally all three of us.

At some point, and I forget the exact time, but it was teatime(ish), Lorraine had popped home and mum was eating. Dad woke up coughing... I think I've mentioned his "musical coughs" - he would put a silly tune at the end of them. As he stopped he looked at me and said "I must get that tuned up". I laughed and thought: great, Dad is coherent again.

He asked for a coffee (I can't tell you how good it was to see him enjoying coffee again - he used to drink gallons of it and then went right off it when he got out of hospital) and I was giving it to him as he was now using a toddler's drinking cup. I was rushing a bit, mainly because I expected him to say he'd had enough... he didn't often finish food or drink. Anyway, he drank the lot and I sat back down. He said to me "you were just rushing to get back to that jigsaw". I denied it... "Why would I want to do the jigsaw when I can sit here and talk to you". He smiled and closed his eyes. I was sort of staring into space and had my chin in my hand resting on the bed rails when I felt something. I looked back at Dad and he had held his hand out to me, as a father would to a child, and had this "come on, I know you're fed up - let me comfort you" look on his face. I took his hand and he closed his eyes again.

I knew Dad wasn't really sleeping so I thought I'd seize the moment. "I love you very much Dad" I said. "I know that" came the answer. "Every day, I am thankful for all you have given me" I added. "Always will be". I was struggling now to hold back tears. After a short silence, Dad asked me "Are you frightened?" "Of what?" I asked.... even though I knew. "Me going". "No, not at all" I lied. Dad replied: "Good." I asked "Are you?" "No. You see, for me it will just be like going to sleep." "Yes it will Dad", I agreed. "And I know that very soon you are going to want to go to sleep - and you must do that when you want to. Please don't worry about us - we'll miss you loads, but we'll be okay. All of us. And Mum. Whenever you're ready... just go." "I'm leaving.... two beautiful daughters, a good son and a wonderful wife" Dad said, with the emphasis on the words beautiful, good and wonderful. Then he added "And a mountain of debt". Huh? Mum and Dad don't have any debt!! I corrected him: "Love. A mountain of love. No debt". He laughed and said, oh that as well. By this time I had tears streaming down my face. Dad closed his eyes and I wondered what the heck I'd been afraid of having this conversation.

Later on, I was in Mum's bedroom doing something and I heard Lorraine back and in Dad's room. She was sobbing and trying to tell him something - and Mum had to step in and interpret as Dad couldn't understand her properly. Lorraine - you'll have to tell me this conversation properly so that I can add it in... I don't remember the detail.

Later, Dad asked to see the jigsaw again and cheekily told Mum how well he was doing with it. I can't believe how his humour stayed with him right to the very end. I'd been telling Dad how, every time we put a piece in the jigsaw, Lorraine and I shouted "Yay". A little while later, he was struggling to get the lid on to his sputum pot (or spectum, as he'd now started calling it). When he managed, he looked at me and shouted "Hurray". Cute, dad!

Dad had told mum today that if people rang to ask after him, they were to be told that he was slowly passing away.

He also was asking Lorraine for details of the weather. It wasn't very nice and when she told him, he looked disappointed... "Oh, I'm not getting warm weather for going, then" he said.

Later on this evening, he told Lorraine that we should try to finish the jigsaw tonight. Of course, that signalled to us that he felt he was about to pass and so the two of us sat up until almost 1am trying to finish the thing! We had no chance... it wasn't even halfway done.

Mum had decided that she would sit vigil with Dad this evening. Lorraine went home leaving strict instructions to be contacted if we thought anything was going to happen, and I hit my mattress on the floor.

Roy was right - my dad did know how much I love him.

Scared of Ghosts...

Mum slept in Dad's room overnight. In the middle of the night, he said to her that she'd be sleeping in her own bed tomorrow night. She asked why and he said, I just think you will. So of course this has got us worried now. Lorraine came over and stayed with mum last night, too.

He also kept asking for the machine and when Lorraine told him there wasn't a machine he just threw his hands up in frustration.

I decided to come back to mums today and not tomorrow as planned. It is becoming painfully clear that Dad is on the final part of his journey and so we have decided to make sure that one of us in with him at all times. Mum has just given me an hour off to "talk to my cyber friends". Bless her. She looks exhausted.

I was pretty upset this morning before leaving home. Roy was wanting to drive me across but I knew I'd be ok in the car. I think I was trying to get it out of my system before I got here. I always feel better when I am here, though. I'm helping on a practical level and that a) distracts me and b) gives me a sense of purpose in this horrible thing we are dealing with.

It's Lorraine and Paul's 19th Wedding Anniversary today. Lorraine was upset before remembering Dad holding her hand before they went up the aisle. Now she's holding his hand for him. We both had a little cry together about it.

On the funny side, we started Dad's jigsaw for him... his friend brought over the board for us to make it on. It's huge! 70cm x 60cm. Dad, in between dozing, bossed us around and kept telling us how to do it. Lorraine got such a fit of giggles in the end as he kept waking up and saying "find a piece that fits and work in from the edge". Then when Mum came in he said he was exhausted from advising us!

He asked to see our work after about two hours and we were ashamed to admit there wasn't too much too see!! All the edges are done and a few other bits. Emily came and helped a lot too, later on this afternoon. He said we'd done well, but I think he was just humouring us.

Dad also ate some jelly this afternoon and drank some soup this evening. This is the first he's had for a few days. He is still coming out with random things that don't make sense. But that is part and parcel of the metabolic (chemical) change in his body.

Dad was insisting that we trim his eyelashes this afternoon. I refused - saying that bits of hair might go in his eyes and make them sore. He sulked a bit and then said "I'm staying here (pointing at his bed) until these eyelashes have been trimmed". We laughed and said well you'll have to stay there, then, cos we're not cutting them. His eyes have gone very "sticky" so we have to wipe them several times a day with warm water to keep them clear. Maybe he's thinking that if cut the eyelashes then it will help.

Oh - the mystery of the leaping mice has been solved... it isn't mice at all, but a wasps' nest in the eaves of the Dorma. We had the same thing a couple of summers ago on the opposite side. So I've contacted Pest Control to come and deal with it.

Well, I'm just about to head in and start my night-shift sitting with Dad and mum has frightened the life out of me!! She told me that in the early hours of this morning, Dad was looking into the corner of the room and laughing & said "Oh go 'way with you" or something like that. She asked what he said and he said, "oh nothing". She says he was talking to somebody else in the room. But that it wasn't scary. Not to her, perhaps, but me..... I'm a big scaredy-cat!!!!

We've been struggling to find a third song for Dad's funeral service - he wants "I'll Walk with God" (Mario Lanza) and Mum has chosen "I'll be Seeing You (Michael Buble). Last night, coming home from our meal, I heard Paul McCartney song on the radio, from his new album. The tune is quite simple, and I thought the words were appropriate. Touching, but simple. Mum agrees so I think we may have this one (the whistling section is a bit naff!):

At the end of the end
It's the start of a journey
To a much better place
And this wasn't bad
So a much better place
Would have to be special
No need to be sad

On the day that I die I'd like jokes to be told
And stories of old to be rolled out like carpets
That children have played on
And laid on while listening to stories of old

At the end of the end It's the start of a journey
To a much better place
And a much better place
Would have to be special
No reason to cry

[Whistling]

On the day that I die I'd like bells to be rung
And songs that were sung to be hung out like blankets
That lovers have played on
And laid on while listening to songs that were sung

At the end of the end
It's the start of a journey
To a much better place
And a much better place
Would have to be special
No reason to cry
No need to be sad
At the end of the end

(Paul McCartney, from "Memory Almost Full")

Leaping Mice

I've been out, come back and sorted some washing, googled some stuff I wanted to look into (funeral directors, end of life signs, hereditary pancreatic cancer - not nice stuff) coloured my hair, had a nice long soak in the bath (which I don't often do) and am now nicely re-settled at the laptop! Is it normal to have a favourites folder called "Cancer"? Well I do. It's full of all the stuff I've researched and I will delete it one day.

We went out to eat quite early - 6.15pm at the Beehive, the 3 courses for £10 pub that we found a while ago. It was a great meal. Just Roy and I this weekend. No kids, no brother-in-law! I think we needed it after the last couple of hectic weekends.

Did I mention that Roy thinks there is a mouse in our loft? He said last night he still thinks it is running around, so I refused to sleep upstairs. Instead we used our guest bedroom - which actually was quite fun because it has a tv in it (I won't put one in our bedroom) and I watched tv in bed for the first time in years! Is it physically possible for a mouse to get upstairs in a house (without having come in through the front door and up the staircase!!). Fred, our neighbour, says he can't imagine that a mouse could do that, but Roy insists he has heard it gnawing. He says it will have come in thru the garage, climbed up the shelves and got into the loft space that way! Must be a really good jumper that's all I can say, cos there's at least 2 feet between shelf and garage ceiling!

Dad's friend Colin called today. He was really upset, because as he was leaving, Dad gripped his hand and said "Know what Col? I'm falling apart rapidly." As Colin went out, he gave Dad a thumbs up, and Dad said "You're a good lad". I think they both know it may be the last visit.

Mum has just called to say that Dad has asked her to sit with him all night. He asked her if he was going to pass over tonight. She said she didn't know and asked if he thought he might.... he said he didn't know, he might have days yet. She asked if he wanted me over, and he said no, there might be nights left yet. Neil has gone over to sort her recliner chair out near to Dad's bed so that she can be comfortable and hopefully get some sleep. Mum says she isn't afraid to be alone with Dad tonight... they've had a good chat today, she said.

I've had too much wine to drive just yet (and unfortunately when we came in from our meal Roy had a few glasses too) so I've said to mum to call me later if she needs to me to go over. I guess if Dad wants us all there when he does pass, he'll wait for us. Oh, I don't know what to think really. I can't believe that this is the only Saturday in ages that I've actually had a drink and can't drive.

Catheters, Cleaning and Cuts

I was up at 5.30am with Dad, but not for long. He just needed his Buccastem tablet (anti-emetic) and I think that was all. Then he had mum up a few times, and by 8.30am we were all awake and up.

I got up because Dad was convinced that he had a bladder problem. He was saying that his catheter wasn't working and despite our reassurances, he was convinced there was a problem. I think he got concerned at the lack of output in the catheter bag, and wouldn't have it that he'd barely drunk anything yesterday which was more likely to be the cause.

So, I changed the catheter tube and bag, so that I could show dad the urine was coming through. I warned him that it could take an hour or so to start. He sat drinking water and studying the tube intently. After an hour (and while the carers were with him) he called me in to ask me to contact the doctor. I checked the tube - nothing there. Hmmm... strange as Dad said everything felt ok, and last time there was a backing up (due to a kink in the catheter tube), we knew because there was leakage. I called the District Nurse (doctors don't do catheters!) and Denise said she would ask Gail to bring a flushing kit to flush out Dad's bladder.

I put the phone down and next thing I heard cheering from Dad's room. I wandered in to see what was going on, to find the Care assistant triumphantly holding up Dad's catheter tube - full of wee! Ah, it's working again.... thank goodness! Dad seemed happy for me to cancel the flush out. The carer said that sometimes they get a little airlock and that she hadn't done anything to get things moving, it had just started.

After the carers had been I got Dad's toothbrush and stuff for him. He took ages cleaning his teeth and was so weak and slow. I don't now if he was taking so long because he wanted to do a good job, or because he just didn't know how long he'd been going. Whichever, it upset me to see him so weak again and I had a good whinge in the bathroom while I was cleaning his toothbrush, cup and bowl out.

So after the morning's excitement I spent a little while cleaning mum's flat, which doesn't take too long. Then I headed to Lorraine's for a haircut - I hadn't had it trimmed since January!

Dad had been smiling to himself when I went into his room earlier on. I asked him to share the joke and he said he was laughing about women. Why, I asked. Oh, the way women are always worrying about their hair, he said, laughing again. Ah well, that's something you and Roy won't ever have to worry about, I said... you're just jealous. He laughed again. Good to see a smile on his face.

When Gail (District Nurse) came, she already knew to expect Dad to be weak. She also knew his Zomorph dose had changed. Dr K had briefed her. After she'd gone, Dad was questioning what she had done, and asked me exactly what happened to him during her visit. When he told him, he was surprised... "didn't feel a thing" he said. "I quite look forward to Gail coming now". This is a massive turnaround - he used to groan when Gail was the Nurse on duty. Now I think she is so quick, he likes her to call.

Dad was due to have vistors tonight - Joan and Wally - but when I asked him about it at lunchtime, he said to ask if they could leave it until Sunday morning. He said he was fresher in the morning (he'd been sleeping pretty much from after the carer's leaving today). Mum and I had dithered over whether to cancel them, but as soon as I asked Dad, the decision became very clear. I had dreaded the day we had to do things like this, because it feels like another milestone - telling people not to come because Dad is too weak and sick. Not good.

And then I headed home. I anguished a little about this, due to Dad's condition. But then I decided that if I could have a quiet weekend, and rest up, then I'll be ready for the week ahead of us - and we have no idea what this will bring.

I don't know whether mum has realised that things may be drawing to a conclusion. I think I need to start gently preparing her that this final stage may not last very long. But then, what do I know! All my guesses and predictions so far have been off the mark.

When I phoned mum tonight she said Dad had asked her not to let the carers in when they arrived for the evening visit - he couldn't be bothered with them. This was half an hour after they'd been and gone.

The Longest Day

It is 21st June - longest day of the year. Each year I always have in mind that I'll do something to mark it - go out somewhere, sit out in the garden - anything really to enjoy the daylight well past 10pm. But I never do. I'm great at thinking of things to do, but never doing them.

This year the occasion was marked by a real downturn in Dad's health. Where did that come from? Over the last week he'd been getting weaker, and quieter.... but today was a real shocker. He didn't eat. Isn't drinking much water. Slept most of the day. To the point where his carers this morning said they were concerned he was drifting in and out of consciousness, or about to pass out. The output in his stoma bag has changed from bright green to very dark green. He has started to really fidget - not just fiddling as I've described earlier this week, but what seems to me like early signs of agitation - picking at his loin cloth, double checking the position of all his stuff (sputum pot, vomit bowl, water, clock) all the time when awake.

And so it feels like we're turning a corner on Dad's journey - a corner that's proving hard to negotiate and I know when we come off the bend the view isn't going to be great, either.

It was an upsetting day in many ways. Kind of feels like the "bad" stuff is happening all over again - I guess we'd had a false sense of normality the last couple of months. Now it seems that we are entering the final (and much dreaded) stages. I had hoped that Dad would just fall asleep and not wake up before we got to this point... probably too much to hope for. I have no idea how long this will go on for.

Doctor came this afternoon. Dad managed to crack one joke with her, amazingly! When she asked to look at his tummy he said "That's ok, we know each other now". I asked her after her visit with Dad about the funny turns. She explained that this is all part of chemical changes in the body caused by the disease, lack of nutrition and the medications - it can affect the brain. She said Dad is obviously getting weaker, and if we need her at all before her visit on Monday then we must call her. She has also increased Dad's morphine to try to keep him more comfortable (even though he doesn't appear to have much cancer pain, he's generally not been as relaxed the last few days). This upset mum - the more the morphine dose goes up, the more she feels like we're losing the "Dad" we know.

Last night, Lorraine asked me if I'd call her should I feel that she needs to be here. Of course I will was my answer. Today I pondered on this - how do I know when she should be here?! I have no idea when is the right time to call her over? My extensive research shows that in the normal process of dying it would be fairly obvious when the very end is close. But not everybody goes by the book, and unexpected things can happen. So I will have to do the best I can (and she likewise when I'm at home for weekends).

Emily had to come out of school this morning as she got very upset thinking about Dad. It's affecting her a lot, and I think she's acted a bit too brave so far, and been bottling things in.

I was thinking about some of the reactions I see from people on various cancer websites - anger is a very common one, especially in younger people (those in their 20's who are about to lose a parent). I don't actually think I've ever felt angry about this happening to dad. Sad - yes. Helpless - yes. Out of control - yes. But not anger. The closest I got was when I thought back on dad's medical history and the various things he's battled and beaten - including: asthma; hernia; 2 hip replacements; heart valve replacement; arresting when having pre-op tests for the valve replacement; pneumonia (more than once); many nasty bouts of cellulitis; skin graft on haematoma wound following cellulitis. I was mad that this time fate had given dad a disease that he didn't stand a cat in hells chance of fighting. But that anger was short lived, as the focus had to be on arranging Dad's care plan and making him comfy.

Dad's stepsister visited today but he wasn't really up for talking a lot. I popped out to have coffee and lunch with Barb - it's a regular Thursday date now, all being well.

Dad has dozed all day and night. He hasn't had many smiles for us today, but when I went in at about 9pm he woke and winked at me. I started to talk to him but he just closed his eyes again and went to sleep. Then at 11-ish when we took his headphones off (he'd insisted on having tv on) he seemed to wake up a bit and said he didn't think he'd sleep now. He did very soon after saying that. Now he looks peaceful. I keep wanting to go in and check on him.

Bits and bobs of thoughts..

So, it's that time of night when I gather from my bag all the scraps of paper I've jotted things down on. Throughout the course of the day I have to scribble notes for myself so that I can remember what I wanted to blog about.... my memory is shockingly bad.

Note 1: Dad and the Doctor
We were talking today about Dad's cheeky little exchanges with the Doctor, and I couldn't remember if these two little things had been included in the blog. Apologies if I am repeating myself.
One day, Dr Rathbone (AKA Dr Kay or Dr K for anybody getting confused) came to visit at the same time as the District Nurses were here. The Nurse asked if Dr would like to have a look at Dad's pressure sore wound. She said yes and went into the bedroom. She came out a little while later, laughing and telling us that Dad had told her it would be £1.50 for anybody wanting to look at his wound!

Last week, Dr K asked if she could lift up Dad's vest to check his tummy. He said to her "Well I don't know about that - have we been introduced?".

And one day, Dr was visiting when Dad was on good form. He was talking a lot and mum said every other word was "bloody". Mum was mouthing to him from the end of the bed: "stop swearing". He shook his head and eventually said to Doctor K "Doctor, do you mind if I swear". Doctor burst out laughing and said "Not at all". Another point scored for Dad!

Cheeky, funny Dad :-)

Note 2 -Jigsaws
I think I mentioned that Lorraine's kids got Dad a jigsaw for Father's Day. I had mentioned to her that he'd said he enjoyed doing them. Although in my 44 years I have never once seen Dad do a jigsaw!! Sooo... this thousand piece jigsaw is very nice, but looks pretty challenging and the pieces are quite small. I mentioned that I would help him with it, and so yesterday was allocated the task of sorting out all the edge pieces. Dad always was good at delegating. He's also been on at us today to ring Colin and remind him that we're waiting for the jigsaw board. So, tonight, I spent a happy hour sorting the edge pieces out into four bags - top, bottom, right, left. I guessed loads of them - it's one tricky looking jigsaw!!! So if you're reading this Lorraine - thanks for buying that. ;-). Oh, and mum says you have to help sort the colours for the middle bit out this weekend!

Note 3 - Getting comfy
Dad now has us raising his right leg higher than the right. I'm not even sure why. So he had me wrap a thick paperback book in a towel and put it under his foot. So now his accoutrements in bed are:
Mattress. Sheet. Pillow. Soft fleece baby blanket under his head on the pillow - this has to be folded in half, double and quarters throughout the day depending on what head position dad wants. Rolled up towel under the right side of Dad's head (to keep him from slumping right). Soft microfibre towel under Dad's thighs... they were getting hot and itchy a few days ago so we placed this here to help him and he says it does. Three pillows at the foot of the bed - one under both feet. One on the hard wooden footboard (real design fault when a 6' plus person is the occupant). One under all of that to prop up first two pillows!
Under Dad's arms we have two "arm rests". One is a short lumbar roll shaped pillow. The other is one we made out of a towel wrapped in a pillow case.
Napkin that Dad drapes over his chest when eating or drinking, and sometimes quite likes to keep on all day. "Loin Cloth" made of a square white cotton waterproof pad. Dad has no blanket on him at all now on most days and nights. If visitors are coming, sometimes he covers up, and sometimes he doesn't - depending on closeness and likely degree of embarrassment for said visitor!
So this helps you see why we spend so much time fiddling and repositioning the various items on and around Dad, several times each day.

Note 4- Rambling
Dad had another little funny turn tonight. I went in about 9ish and he said he was feeling all crunched up in his groin area. Little wonder really - he had the bed in a "jack-knifed" position and his head and legs were both too high. He started asking me if I knew that US jails were different to UK ones. Then he said he'd have to go and tell the judge that he'd got himself all uncomfortable. He said to me that he would have to give up criminal law. I was just smiling at him - all this was so serious, and interspersed with a sensible conversation about me moving his bed height down at the legs and head. Then he settled back onto his pillow and said, quite forlorn-ly (is that a word?) "I'll have to get an office job".
What on earth is causing this? Mum is getting quite worried about it now. We'll speak to Dr tomorrow.

So that's it really. Oh - I went for a swim today! Put the flags out. Only managed 20 minutes. And I was sent a job description for a role I may well look seriously at. More on that as it develops.

I was really proud today - I'd been trying to help somebody on the Macmillan forum. He'd just found out his mum has PC. He replied to my post and said it had been an inspiration to him. Made me smile. The power of online communities never ceases to amaze me - how much support we can give and receive, by reaching out to people whe we don't know, and probably won't ever meet. Incredible.

Midnight now... I'm getting earlier. Dad settled down about 11.30, he had pain in his right shoulder blade again. He looks poorly tonight.

Fiddle Faddling around.......

I thought Dad had settled down last night at about 1am. He had been reading his book until late. I got into bed at 10 past one. Then I heard this zzzz, zzzz, zzzz noise. I went in to Dad's room to discover that the noise was Dad fiddling with his electric bed buttons!

He then wanted me to feel his face so I could see how great a job the carers had done in shaving him the day before. He obviously wanted to chat.
So I got into a conversation with him (he was telling me all about how he's going to organise himself to do the jigsaw Lol's kids got him for Fathers Day) until about half past 1. "He said he thinks he's going to have a lot of fun with the jigsaw. He then told me about when he was sick as a kid (he was asthmatic and had bronchitis a lot). One of his favourite pastimes was jigsaws. Another was knitting (nothing elaborate!). Also, he liked to sit where he could see out of the window and write down car registration numbers - although I think that game got a bit boring as we're talking about the 1940's here and only one person in his street actually drove a car!

Then he said "Right, you'd better get to bed", like I was keeping him up! And ordered me to put my light out so he could settle down.

I told him I was going to take the buttons of him if he didn't stop playing with them....

Today, Dad is fiddling like mad with everything -his bed, his feet and legs, how his "stuff" is arranged on his table. It's doing my mum's head in as he calls me in a lot to help him - but I've told her it is what I am here for and if I'm not re-positioning his feet, pillows, bed and table every half hour then I'd have nothing to do, would I!!!

Earlier I walked in his room as he was fiddling about with his you-know-what (checking the catheter) so I just told him to stop messing about with things and walked out. Didn't want to get involved in that one, LOL!

He looks pretty rough today -probably tired as he woke early. He keeps wanting Oramorph (liquid morphine for breakthrough pain). He calls it Orriemore, and mum calls it Oraform. Sometimes if we ask whether he actually has any pain he says no, but he thinks it might just settle him down! Generally, the only pain Dad has is from his pressure sores - if there is any underlying cancer pain, then the Zomorph (slow release morphine) seems to do the trick.

Mum is very pale and wan looking. She hardly goes out..... for various reasons.

I had a short trip out to Widnes today. Picked up prescriptions, filled up with petrol, got the pension and lottery sorted out. Then home. A quiet day. Oh -Lillie and Brendan, mum and dad's old neighbours and long standing friends, came to visit before lunch. They bought him some holy water from Knock (site of a shrine to the Virgin Mary in Ireland). I told Mum not to mistake it for the Orriemore in the morning!

Not much else to report. Dad's arms itched tonight, but they seem to have calmed down with some cream on them. It's now after midnight and he's still awake but trying to get to sleep. And I'm about to do the same.

Signing on day

Another Monday, another appointment to sign on for jobseeker's allowance. I hate doing it. I always have a slight sense of shame and a feeling of "how on earth has my life come to this" when I go to the Job Centre. And yet it's a painless process and the staff there are very pleasant. Even the security guards (yes, security guards!) hold the door open for me.

I explained to the guy there that I've applied for Carer's Allowance instead of Jobseekers (at least I won't have to sign on for that!) as I'm now unable to seek work due to caring for my Dad. He advised me to carry on signing on until it comes through.

After that I went into the Tesco next door. It was interesting that most of the non-food goods now have their labelling in English and Polish! Did some shopping for mum and then went to Marks and Spencer for the rest of her food stuff. I decided to go on to Costco as there were a few things I needed from there. And then I called to see Lillie and Albert, as Lillie hasn't been so well since they got back from holidays. I took Albert a tray of sirloin steak for his Father's Day gift - a bit unusual but we couldn't think of anything else, and he begged us not to buy a shirt and tie!

I got home at about 1.30pm and had lunch, put the shopping away and sorted out my washing from the weekend. Before I knew it, Roy was home and skulking round looking hungry - so I made our meal. Left at 7.30pm to drive to mums.

Dr Rathbone had been today and had a chat with Dad about dying. Lorraine was here at the time so she's going to do a quick write up so I can cut and paste into today's blog.

Mum was tired when I arrived. She is still quite stubborn with Dad. I wish that sometimes she would humour him a bit more, and listen to him better. He was trying to tell her tonight how the bed could be redesigned to be more user-friendly, and she just talked over him. I kept trying to say that he was only wanting to share his thoughts, and she kept on fussing about how he could get his legs comfy.

I found Dad looking worse than yesterday... something about his eyes that looked more tired. He's had 2 coffees today - first time he's tried coffee in about 2 and a half months. I think he enjoyed them. He also ate a few spoons of jelly and custard. And that's it. Mum says he is drinking less, too. These are not good signs really, but we knew it would happen.

He's been trying to do the jigsaw that Lol bought him for Father's Day, but he needs a board to work on, so his pal Colin is making one. Mum is paranoid about him getting jigsaw bits all over his bed!

So, it is now 12.30am and Dad is reading to try to send himself to sleep. I'm done blogging so I'll go into him now and see if he's ready to settle down.

Added later - here is Lorraine's blog entry about what happened when Dr Kay visited:
Dr Kay visited dad today as she does every Monday and Thursday - her support is wonderful and I think dad quite looks forward to her visits, maybe it makes him feel safe in the knowledge she is keeping an eye on him.

There was not an awful lot to discuss in terms of any noticeable changes since her last visit, dad explained he had been sick a few more times and she did say that if it got worse they could give dad something to stop it but she seemed happy that it was not a blockage causing the sickness as it doesn't happen every time dad eats.

She also said she will look to reduce his clexane again soon (unfortunately this is because of his weight loss).

Dad then went on to tell the doctor about the dream he had on Friday that had upset him. Dr Kay (who has obviously been reading "Final Gifts") asked dad if he was frightened about what was going to happen to him, he replied "Not at all". She told him not to worry about a coroner as there would be no need for one as we know what dads condition is. She also said there would not be a post mortem unless dad specifically wanted one - to which he replied, pointing teasingly at mum, "yes, I want to know if she has been trying to poison me all these years" - Mum found this amusing (thank god!).

Dr Kay went on to ask dad if he had thought about what he would like to happen when he passes (this was very hard for me as I have waterworks like Niagra Falls - hard to control!!) Dad told the Dr all he had discussed with us (I won't detail this as I think it is a previous days blog) but when he started to talk about Lil and Tom (our Nana and Grandad) he got really choked and was talking through his tears, he said he thought the world of them and him and mum would not be anywhere without them helping to get their foot on the ladder (Mum and Dad lived with them for their first three years of married life whilst they saved for a house and furniture). Dr Kay said he would be able to tell them how much he thought of them when he got "up there". Dad then went on to say how the Reiki man had said his Mum and Brother were going to come for him but that Joan (mums best friend) had already been to get him - again dad was upset recounting this but was also saying how lovely it was but he was not ready to go when she came. That reminds me dad would like to see Sue Gardam again who gave dad Reiki which he found very relaxing and he liked her.
Mum brought in a photo of Nana and Grandad so I put it up on the shelf and told dad they would look after him from there.
Mum said dads blood pressure had dropped a little bit further (again not a good sign but a further sign that dad is starting to fade - I don't think we will ever be ready for what lies ahead so have to face each day head on.)

Mum brought in a photo of Nana and Grandad so I put it up on the shelf and told dad they would look after him from there.

Mum said dads blood pressure had dropped a little bit further (again not a good sign but a further sign that dad is starting to fade - I don't think we will ever be ready for what lies ahead so have to face each day head on.)

Father's Day

So, Sunday 17th June is Father's Day. Our last one with Dad. When I said to him on Friday that I was coming over for Father's Day, he just pulled a face. Don't think he really wanted a fuss. And he didn't get one really - we all visited and brought nice cards and gifts, but that was all.

Normally we'd try to do something like go out for lunch with both sets of parents, but this year obviously that wasn't possible. And I remember we didn't do it last year either, as I recall it was just a week or so before our trip to Canada and I didn't really have time for it (work was manic and I probably just didn't want the hassle). Makes you think, doesn't it. Do things when you can, because you don't know when you won't be able to do them...........

We left home at about 11 with Emily and Fran, and dropped them back home. Stopped for a quick chat with Lorraine and the family - and to show some photos. Then round to mums.

Mum was very, very touchy today - in fact she has been for a few weeks. But today she was weepy and really down. I'd felt like crying for part of the weekend myself - so I felt a bit like I could do without it. I know that sounds mean, but it is how I felt. I didn't show that, of course.

Dad was quite quiet really. He was trying to figure out what was going on in the cricket and Roy had to explain to him a few times that the game had been rained off on Friday. He kept asking about it. He'd had another funny turn (we seem to have named his dreams or visions as "funny turns" now) on Saturday, when he was convinced that he'd been to a mechanics in Warrington and two brothers had crashed a car up a tree.

We had one of our little victories on Sunday - we found a way of popping a rolled up towel under Dad's pillow so his right side stopped slumping sideways. We like it when we discover new things - although I did comment to Dad that it took us a long time to come up with that one!

Roy was surprised at the red marks (bruises) all over Dad's hands. His skin kind of splits sometimes and they bleed. There was a broken one on his arm today. The fleshy part between his thumb and index finger disappeared weeks ago and there is just a hollow there now - it's quite strange to see. His feet are starting to puff up a bit, too. Today I noticed that his face is getting tiny lines in it - he never really had wrinkles like that before. He is eating very little and even starting to drink less water.

We left at 3.30-ish and drove back home. Pizza and wine for dinner, and a lovely lie on the sofa watching tv! I left Roy to watch golf later on, while I sorted some other stuff out. I am still feeling tired from the rest of the weekend!! I'm such a wimp!

How do you solve a problem....?

We left home on time for our train to London. This day out has been in planning since December! Train to London, 3 hours to do what we like and then tickets for Sound of Music at the London Palladium theatre. The big attraction was Connie Fisher - she won her role as Maria in a reality tv show (How do you solve a problem like Maria) on BBC last autumn. Ticket sales exploded and when I tried to book (in December) the earliest I could get decent seats for a Saturday matinee was June 16th.

I was a bit iffy about taking the trip to London - when my Nan was ill I went to London and she died that night. I'm not really that superstitious, but Dad's funny turns on Friday had worried me. But he insisted I go and Mum had promised to tell me if she thought he'd deteriorated on Friday night (which he didn't). So off we went.

Courtesy of Pru (I travelled so much to London with them I had a book of free rail tickets) we went first class on the train. There were some delays around Wakefield due to flooding but all in all not too bad. Fran and Emily were quite impressed - Fran said she felt very posh! There was a bit of drama on the train as there were two drunks in the next carriage (yes, at 7.40am!) causing mayhem. They seemed like young guys, dressed quite smartly. Anyway, a Scottish stewardess and the threat of Transport Police at the next station seemed to sort them out.

We arrived into Kings Cross at 10.30am (half an hour late) and it took until just after 11 to sort out tube tickets! There are some fundamental flaws in the London Underground ticketing options. There were huge queues for the ticket office, and we stood in the queue for the ticket machine instead. When we got to the front, I realised that the machines did not sell child tickets - adults only. So I thought sod it, and paid for adult day travelcards instead. My logic was that it was better than queuing for the ticket office. I had an oyster card (which I'd got when I worked for Pru) and so was expecting to whizz through the barrier. Wrong. It didn't have enough cash on it. Back to the queue for another travelcard for me. What a nightmare - and Saturday is the worst day to be trying to buy tickets as Kings Cross is packed with tourists who don't know how to use the machines properly. This means that transactions which should take 2 minutes can take up to 10!!

We got to Oxford Circus really quickly - it's only 3 stops. The girls did not like the underground (but having had all that fuss getting tickets I was not up for going on a bus or by taxi!!).

Across the road from the tube station is a huge Top Shop. Emily and Fran were excited - they stood and the entrance and bounced up and down hugging each other for about 2 minutes. Then they went beserk... running around the store like possessed people! Reminded me of when you wind up a toy and then let go................

So they had fun trying on wigs and just generally looking at stuff they couldn't afford to buy. Next stop was Jane Norman, where they spent some of their money (they had £30 spends each) on sunglasses. Then to Claire's Accessories for magnetic earrings. And finally, the Disney shop, where Emily bought some cute glasses (drinking glasses) and so did I.

Time for lunch - I'd booked us into Bodeans BBQ Smokehouse. We ate burgers, pulled pork and BBQ chicken, and then it was time to go to the theatre. How excited we all were.... we were in our seats a good half hour before the show started!! (After the girls had purchased their Sound of Music T-shirts.)

The show was great - "brilliant and amazing" was Fran and Em's verdict. Connie was wonderful, as were all the cast, and despite running from 2.30pm until nearly 5.30pm (with a short interval) it seemed to be over far too quickly. We were debating whether to wait at the Stage Door for the cast to come out (we'd exited the theatre at the back) but decided against it, as we could be waiting a while. So we were on our way to find a coffee shop before heading back onto the tube, when Fran announced that she'd left her bag (containing camera and mobile phone!) in the theatre. We ran back round to the door we'd come out of. I told Emily that she might as well stand at the stage door and wait, while Fran and I went in for the bag. After speaking to about 4 members of staff, we finally found somebody who had her bag. Thank goodness, she was starting to get quite upset about it.

When we came back out, Emily said that Connie was about to appear... so we waited. She soon came out and the kids were thrilled to have her autograph, and a photograph with her. So Fran losing the bag turned out to be a stroke of luck.

By this time we needed to head back over to Kings Cross for the train home (at 6.30pm) so we jumped back on the tube. We arrived back really early at the station so stopped in the Lounge for a coffee and biscuits, and then onto the train for home. We were all really tired - I thought the girls would sleep but they didn't. They actually seemed to get a second wind at about 7.30pm and were quite boisterous all the way back! Lucky me.........

Again, we were delayed, and got back to Leeds around 9. Roy picked us up and we were home and having Pizza by half past. Then to bed.... all of us exhausted after an early start and a hectic day. Emily and I ended up having words about her behaviour later on (after she got tired she got stroppy) but that's just par for the course.

The start of another busy weekend!

Where to start? If only I could blog whilst travelling, I'd keep up better! This is a summary of the weekend (15, 16 and 17 June). Oh, this picture is the newspaper after Dad has finished reading it! Because he can't hold it all he reads a page at a time and the paper comes back to us in many pieces!! It takes ages to reassemble - especially on a Sunday :)

Friday morning I think I was in bed until late as mum got up on early shift. Dad was pretty weak and slept a lot during the morning. His eyes get a bit freaky sometimes - he's asleep but his eyelids are ever so slightly open.... it's scary to look at but we don't think it is significant.

I had no errands to run so stayed in all morning - Lorraine had taken the car as hers is still off the road. Around lunchtime, Dad woke up and called me in. When I got into his room he said that "they've been in messing with my medications". I asked who had. "Someone from the army. I'm not supposed to be here, they said I should have died at 11 o'clock this morning". I told him he hadn't died, and was still here with us. "Phone the doctor, and ask if the coroner has been informed of my death" he asked. I resisted.... I said I knew they hadn't. "How do you know". Because I'm here and you're here, and you're still alive. At this point, Dad got a bit agitated, so mum (in the other room but listening) pretended to phone the doctor and called into me that everything was ok, and the coroners hadn't been notified. I passed this message onto Dad. He wasn't happy. "Have I got to go through another night of this? All that palaver with my knees and legs?" (It had taken Dad a long time to get comfy this morning, he had a lot of pain in his bottom.) I explained that it was only lunchtime. He looked at me and said "Have we got weeks of this left?" I said I didn't know, I didn't know how long we had left. He shook his head in frustration. I asked if he could tell me what had happened and he just said "Not yet". If we ask if he was dreaming he always denies it, and says "I don't think so".

A little while later, Lorraine had gone out to pick Emily up from school and to go to the chemist for some prescriptions. Dad started saying he was a bit worried about her. I asked why, and he said: "Well, she's gone to A&E with one of the kids, and you know what Social Services are like for taking kids off people if they've had accidents. You think she'll be ok, don't you? Do you know what I'm getting at?". I said not really, because Lorraine hadn't gone to hospital. "Oh, she's just gone to the pharmacy?" Yes. "Am I having one of those funny things again?". I think so Dad. He just shook his head again.

He then asked me if I thought he needed a sedative to stop it happening. I said no, and that it could be down to his medication, or his blood pressure. I said if it kept happening or if he was scared about it, we'd speak to the doctor. A little later he asked what the noise was. Then he glanced down and noticed his headphones were blaring out on the bed next to him. He just rolled his eyes. He's losing his edge a bit. Not as sharp as he's been up to now. His hands and feet were very cool and his urine is still dark.

Dad caught sight of himself in the centre of the fan today - it's a round shiny piece of metal. He commented that he didn't look any different to last time. "Not too bad" he said. He'd expected to look really awful by now. I told him he didn't.

Lorraine came back at 4 with the kids - Emily and Fran. Fran is Emily's friend and she's coming to London with us because Lorraine can't go now. We headed off to Leeds just after 4 and got stuck in horrible traffic! Got home just before 6, just enough time to shower and change, as we were booked into Jinnah for a meal at 6.45pm.

Because the weekend was for Emily's birthday (although that was in December!) we'd asked for a cake when we booked the restaurant. They're great in Jinnah - they always give you free chocolate cake on your birthday! Emily's face was a treat when they called her over for it... you have to stand in the front of the restaurant while everybody sings Happy Birthday to you. She'd already admitted to having a crush on Yasser (the manager) and so she was blushing like mad (but loving it all really!!).

Got home at 9 and the kids played on MSN and then settled down to watch TV before going to sleep. An early start tomorrow - I have set their alarm for 6am as we are leaving at 7 and they have to straighten their hair and do their make up. Can you believe that these girls are only 12?

A trip down memory lane

I am sooooo tired today. Don't know why - could be the lack of sleep, LOL! Actually, it's my own fault as after I settle Dad down at midnight, I've been staying up till about 1am and then with getting up in the night or early(ish) I don't get in my 7 hours (my personal minimum sleep requirement!!). 8 hours would be better! This morning I was up at 7 and felt really knackered all day - usually I pick up after a coffee or two.

Dad woke with crampy legs (he'd slept with his knees bent and couldn't get them straightened out properly. I did a few gentle manoeuvres on him (no more massages!) and it seemed to help. Then he wanted to go over on his side for an hour until the Carers came, so we did that. Which necessitated some cleaning up operations - two Poop Patrols in 24 hours! Well, I did say I needed the practice.

I went to Asda to get mum's shopping this morning and then met Barb at Rivendell Garden Centre for a coffee and sandwich at 11.45am. Her mum is not good at the moment.

From there, I drove into Liverpool to pick Lorraine up from work (her car is off the road for a few days) and I was about 15 minutes early. So I parked up and took a wander down Old Hall Street - which is where I spent the first 15 years of my working life. Parts of it had changed dramatically - the building I used to work in now has a very swish huge glass atrium wrapped around it. Other parts (mainly the older buildings and down the side streets) hadn't changed at all. At the top end, a number of major building developments have gone up, and so that all looked totally different. I walked down as far as Moorfield's station (Liverpool has a 4 Station underground system!!) and was amazed to see that the Fruit and Veg man who occupied a corner spot on Old Hall Street was still there. He's been there at least as long ago as 30 years (well, maybe not the same guy, but the stall has). I took some photos, and I think people thought I was a bit odd!
I also took some pictures of new statues at the top of Old Hall Street - some wag passing bay shouted to me "I hope you've told them to stand still". The two guys are Sir John and Cecil Moores - of the family who started the Littlewoods empire (Football pools, catalogue shopping and stores). Anyway - they're the two men who you see at the top of the page.

After Lorraine met me we whizzed back down to Widnes and to the Market - I'm trying to get a picture of mum's framed but the stall had closed early. This was my second attempt (first attempt was on Tuesday when the whole Market is closed) so I'll try to make it third time lucky next week. Then we went to Cookes Chemist for a prescription (yet another Owing Note!) and then to pick Emily up from School. Finally - home to mums, where I sat like a zombie for the next three hours!

Dad is quiet again today. He told me he watched a lovely film this afternoon - the Guinea Pig - and he'd enjoyed that. Didn't really seem to want to chat much. Dr had been out, but didn't say much. He's only had a glass of milk and a half cup of soup today. He's looking thinner again. I don't know what else to say - I just am still so glad that he is more or less comfortable. I dread him getting pain, he doesn't deserve that. I do think he's fighting this cancer - maybe not consciously (i.e. he has declined the vague offer he got of life extending treatment) but certainly he must be getting by on his will power to survive.

So, midnight now, and everybody is settled down. So I must stick to my plan and go to bed. I might just read a few pages of my book........