Nine in the morning I get a phone call from Pleasantview. Something happened to Willy (lost consciousness) and the nurse is concerned enough to send him to the hospital. He may have pneumonia. They will let me know if they will keep him or not. He will be assessed because his chest is congested.
They tell me he refuses food. They've offered him liquid food in a bottle (Ensure) but he won't take it.
He is returned to Pleasantview and I go to see him. He has Bronchitis and they've given him anti-biotics. As I go into his room he looks like all the people I've seen in documentaries of someone minutes from death. Mouth open, drooping to the left and stuff dripping out. Eyes closed.
Horrible rattle comes from his chest. I don't want to hear it. I sponge his face and hands.
I talk and put my hand on his shoulder. His eyes open to recognise me but I can't make out what he's whispering. After a while I can hear the word "water" and the care-aid brings some with a crooked straw so he doesn't have to sit up to drink from it. We are so relieved he can drink.
If only he didn't have that awful rattle in his chest... I hear him say "lunch-time". I tell the care-aids I think he might eat something that he recognises as more solid food and I leave.
I drive around to Brenda's house but the car isn't there so I carry on home, feeling sad but glad they are caring for him well. No wonder he was acting strange the other day, he had been feeling ill.
I washed my hair and read my beloved Saturday Globe and Mail and now I hope tomorrow will be an easier day. signed Tomorrow - tomorrow - Doris
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