My father not well at all. In fact worse. Just the news I need to hear, hands tied, so far away. His cold has not turned into pneumonia, quite, but close to it. He's been prescribed strong doses of antibiotics but they don't seem to have done anything. He's not been out of bed since Saturday when Outside Bob and Terri managed to get him out to his chair in the den and got about 4 sips of Ensure down him. The only food or drink he's had. What with no nourishment to speak of plus morphine 4x a day (to open airways), he's too weak to stand, even with help. Hospice home health aides coming now every day instead of 3 times a week, since a) he can't get to the shower and b) he's having accidents, including tipping a full urinal over him and the bed. Terri has been doing the cleaning up. And Bonnie. Christ.
I now need to find a Nurse's Aide to take some of the pressure off everyone there. That ought to be easy from St. Marc sur Mer in Brittany...
Where incidentally we are days behind in the studio through no fault of my own I hasten to add, having told everyone from the start when air tix were being booked that this editing session would take longer than four days, gentlemen, and sure enough here we are only about a third of the way through and due to leave in two days at noon. No way is this project going to be finished and no way am I leaving until it is, we've been trying to find a date agreeable to all do since October and if I'm soon off to the States now we'll never get together again I just know, and I want this audio book out for Christmas and--I am not in a good mood. Not at all. And we're wasting time on TEXT stuff, perfecting blips and levels and double cuts that all should have been done in the editing studio back in Suffolk--while I was away in the States, I also hasten to add, or we would not be in the position we find ourselves in today, I guarantee you, panicked and tempers frayed wondering if we should stay on and change plane reservations and extend rental car and airport parking and what about Mabel, who could look after her this weekend when Alex is working double shifts at the Anchor and sure wish Mike my brother in law who was supposed to be up there right now dog-sitting hadn't suddenly come down with shingles.
With Odd it seems at death's door in the States.
And Peg, her cold better, worried about getting to the hairdresser. When she's not calling me at 2:30 in the morning French time to say Daddy's not very well, which I already knew.
And the bloody boundary dispute unresolved.
Outside Bob sent me photos of the rhododendrons in the lower garden, which are in bloom, and I wanted to see, because I never seem to be there at the right time. In more ways than one.
No comments:
Post a Comment