He doesn’t speak at all. Lies there, sometimes raises an arm, puts his hands down and touches his dingus. I ask him questions: Do you want anything? Do you know who I am? What is your name? No response.
Two weeks ago he was fully conversant, though eating almost nothing and not even getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. But we enjoyed movies together, and listened to books on Audible. A few days ago, when still speaking a little, he asked me if we could go walking in the park tomorrow (Saturday I think that would be). Of course we did not. I bought him a big bolster pillow to make it easier for him to sit up, but he only rests his head against it. Last week he was still after me to restock our vodka supply, to make him drinks, get him more ice.
I was crying a couple of hours ago when I went to the drugstore. I’d love to have him back, even in the pathetic state he was in two weeks ago. Talking to me, asking me to get him things.
Considering trying the Veterans Crisis Line chat link. Could they help? https://www.va.gov/new-york-harbor-health-care/make-an-appointment/
I’m afraid they’ll take him away and I want to stay near him. I haven’t even gone to the gym in a while because I can’t be away for two hours. When he was mentally sharp and conversant a few weeks ago, he’d tell me it was difficult for him when I was away in court or at the gym for a few hours. He was afraid I was never coming back.
Intriguing yet terrifying website that describes pretty clearly what I’ve been seeing: https://www.verywellhealth.com/the-journey-towards-death-1132504
It says there’s often a sudden burst of energy from the dying person, just before the end. I’m hoping against hope we’re not just before the end. I will continue the novena to St. Jude, asking for recovery. Full recovery, even minor recovery.
Today I’ve been coloring my hair for the first time in over two months. That’s why I went to the drugstore earlier: I couldn’t find the plastic shower cap I used last time. There’s now over an inch of fairly solid silver-gray hair at the hairline and part. Great big silver streak running down the back of the crown. If I have to meet people to handle Moki’s endtimes—EMS folks coming into the apartment? (Must clean up)—I should look half decent and not like a crazy person.
I see the dermatitis or eczema or psoriasis is coming back on my forehead. That disappeared entirely about six weeks ago, perhaps because I was on antibiotics for painful gums; one or two tooth abscesses. I should get back on amoxicillin or erythromyacin. Fish antibiotics, you know.
Michael’s sister A.T. hasn’t called at all lately. I don’t think they’ve spoken since her husband Jim died, back in April or May. She had a stroke last year and could scarcely talk on the phone at all after that. Michael tried to get some money from her for rent, and this outraged her. “I’m tired of this!” Michael was in such good health then. Michael stayed in touch for a while with one of her adopted sons, Jamie, but we haven’t heard from him either. Perhaps I should check Ancestry and see if Alice Therese Scanlan is dead yet! That’s how I learned a couple months ago that my sister and her estranged husband were dead.
Sobbing and weeping uncontrollably again, on and off as I write this.
