I've lost count now of the number of weeks we've all been waiting for a REAl diagnosis for dad-in-law. He's had test after test after test: but still no actual treatment. Maybe at 97 there isn't any.
He still won't eat more than the tiniest quantities. He's lost so much weight, he looks like someone from a concentration camp. It really is pitiful to see. He is terribly weak and can't get out of his chair…
Back to school today (I'm a teaching assisitant working with primary age children). Usually I would be complaining about the end of the holidays but reading blogs & comments on here I'm VERY aware that I'm lucky, lucky, lucky to be healthy and able to go to work. Hideous cancer puts everything else into perspective.
J had a day off from caring for his dad yesterday (Sunday) so he relaxed by working like…
So, after some prompting, I went to see my GP (a locum whom I hadn't met but never mind).
She was a bit gobsmacked at my 'short' version of my woes & complaints but listened kindly and sent me off with a fistful of prescriptions.
And that was that. I will be All Better soon and not complain so much as I will be drugged up & docile, I hope.
It was only after I'd left that I realised she would have…
Thank you for your kind comments and hugs, everybody.
The latest today is that a syringe driver is being fitted, a Macmillan nurse is caring for DIL in the care home and he is too far gone to be moved to a hospice (or to any other place, despite J's bossy sister's somewhat harebrained ideas). As usual, it's not possible to give a time frame, but the mac nurse reckons on days at the most. (Which is what I'd thought…
