Davni Chasny (Those were the days)

A lie in for me and the boy. He is up after me. Almost midday before he is up. An unsettled night for him, vomitted and required morphine. The vomit may be tumour-related or constipation. Morphine is great for pain but wreaks havoc on digestion.

He is happy to paint and do cooking in the early afternoon. Oddly hard work as he is immobile in his chair. So, you have to do the running around. He does a bit less and less as the days pass. He is less able to control his 'good' hand, which is now quite shakey. He is happy to have his home schooling person come over for a few hours. But is tired when she leaves. We watch TV for a while before he wants to go to Mummy and Daddy's bed. Mummy reads him a story before he decides to decamp to his bed for a nebuliser and an uncharacteristic nap.

In the meantine we get him laxatives. Anal pessaries - nice. But it does the trick and he is barely awake before his bowels open. Messy but good.

As a treat, we invite auntie over. They paint and she does a picture of a panada for him. But he is inconsolable when she leaves. He wants to go to her house. We mollify him with more cooking and the promise of a new recipe tomorrow.

Then it's bath and bed. After such a short day, who knows what kind of night he will have. And worry for me in that the left side of his mouth seemed a little droopy. A bad sign. He had this when he was diagnosed for the first time. And the tumour was massive at that point. They said then that he only had a couple of weeks to live. A comforting thought to take to bed.