THIS MAY BE IT

And here I sit dithering over when to go. Can you bear it. Even when I'm not sure she'll last the week: not swallowing, not eating, can't get pills down, even the tiny Ativan, nauseated, shortness of breath, wants to sleep. Won't use the oxygen. I know all these signs. And yet, I can't book my ticket. I don't want to go. I will, but I don't want to. A horrible admission. Partly because I'm tired, partly because I don't want to be there on my own--but Alex working and Denis has gigs booked. (And of course doesn't want to go either, at least while my mother lives, what else is new.)

The pressing issue is that the regular Staff, when Peg really really needs them, ie NOW--have scheduling problems this week, what with Terri The Regular Overnighter still being away until Wednesday. So they all worked out a rota whereby Bonnie did a night to give Dominick a break, then Trevor (with his son, for some reason) comes Tuesday overnight, the new person Toya or Taya  tomorrow night, and tonight--which I have to do something about sharpish because this will never work--my dear friend David who's in his late 70s and not a nurse or disposed to this kind of situation AT ALL but being a kind, good person, said Yes. Christ. But any way you look at it, no way can I get there by tonight. It is just not right though that David, or Toya/Taya or Trevor has a 98 year old die in their arms, or when they're in the loo. This should be my job. As the daughter and only child. 

Yes, well. Peg had people looking after me for about 10 years while she worked, now I'm having people look after her. That's just how it is.

My mother, for the record, says she is fine, I am not to worry, she is "being well looked after". Yesterday, unbelievably, she apologized for "being so difficult" and "making everything so hard for me". 

She is dying though. I know this.

And she still has impeccable timing: she has chosen to be the centre of attention just when I am days--hours--away from the launch of DK's book.

So. Let's see. Tomorrow, when I become a nicer person, I will get over to the printers and order the displays for local bookstores, plus a big London one because the owner is best friends it turns out with our producer, plus get posters made, then get the books ordered and leave it to DK to sign them and get to the shops. Meanwhile spent half the day today trying to design the mass marketing email announcement and can't get the bloody images to move to the right place and of course my all-things-techno guru has gone off to Spain and now it's all rush rush panic panic--and fuck it. I was looking forward to all this and now I almost don't care and am practically ready to hand it all over to Mabel the dog to do. Which pisses me off. As did the lady in Waitrose car park an hour ago who confronted us about leaving a "distressed" dog in a "hot" car (for 20 min with all the windows open thank you). And it's not Mabel who's distressed, it's me. Cow.

Then, Thursday I will be free to get on a plane and go cope. Thank you God for the devoted local support I have over there. I mean it.

Now to write Peg's obit.