First Night Watch:
10:45 p.m. He gets up to pee.
I have rehearsed this in my mind. First, I need to extricate myself from the somewhat dysfunctional recliner chair the nurses dragged into the room for me to sleep in.
Next, a stumbling dash to the other side of the bed in time to unplug his medication "tree" and help him out of bed, first wrapping up the cord, and moving his bedside table to just the right angle so that he can easily get up.
What am I saying? Easily? Nothing is easy for him any more.
When we get him back into bed, I stroke his head. That is when I feel the shock of the tumour. My heart stops. I kiss his forehead. I draw the flannel sheet up to his waist, the way he likes it.
And then I pray, silently, intensely. Please God, make a miracle, or take him quickly home.
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