TIMING

Phone rings just as we're going out the door en route to Brittany via London: Bonnie. In charge of my parents. 

"Hey," she says, sounding perturbed.

I motion to DK out the window, just getting into the driver's seat, car loaded. "WAIT!"

"What's up?" I say, heart sinking, taking off my jacket, my sunglasses, sitting.

 "Glad I caught you. A lot's been going on here..."

Odd has a terrible cold, getting worse. Peg now has it. There followed a lengthy Nebulizer and Lasix and Blood Pressure discussion which involved endless citings of figures and numerical comparisons which even if I see on paper and have the whole afternoon to do the math, doesn't sink in, so you can imagine how much registers over a phone. Bonnie pauses here and there for reaction, which is awkward, because I'm never sure if I'm supposed to say "Fabulous!" or "Jesus Christ, I'm on a plane!" 

I remember being in the greengrocer's once in London, corner of Belsize Crescent, I'd been over here about four months and was politely standing in line waiting my turn, queuing beautifully like a real Brit, when the lady in front of me turned and, shaking her head, tutted and said, "Would you look at the price of cauliflower!" Whereupon I looked at the price, tried unsuccessfully to convert pounds and pence to dollars and cents without pencil and paper, marveled for a moment at the idea that someone thought I knew what anything cost--me being more of a If You Want Cauliflower, You Buy Cauliflower kind of girl--and said "Amazing!" not knowing if the price was too high or too low.  She didn't buy one in any event, so I went home thinking okay, 57p a pound (or whatever) must be high, on the cauliflower front, I can remember this and try the line myself tomorrow and really look like I belong here (wow, she knows her fruit and veg too, not just how to queue!) but then it occurred to me that maybe the lady didn't go out to buy any cauliflower to begin with.
Anyhow, I just say "Ah.." to Bonnie and sound like I'm mulling it over whenever she talks blood pressure and milligrams. 

The hospice nurse, Wendy, then got on the phone and asked if I wanted my father to have a chest x-ray. (Do I want him to?? I'm the one saying "Ah" a lot three thousand miles away. You're the nurse standing next to him.) It seems, because it's Hospice, and Hospice is "palliative" care, and I'm the Primary CareGiver, it has to be my decision whether to quick quick oh yes please chest X-ray, let's see if he has pneumonia and if so get him some antibiotics or....do nothing and let nature take it's course. As if I'm not already stressed out making decisions about fucking stone walls there, now they're throwing my father's life into my court. And just when we're heading to France for a week--working, I hasten to add, not all sun 'n fun n'croissants (or "kroysince", as my Aunt Elise pronounced them). 

I told the Nurse Wendy to wait with the chest X-ray, see how he is in a few days...but yes, to go ahead and see if his doctor will prescribe some antibiotics. Just well. Cuz. He's my dad.