Monday, 27 June 2011
It's impossible to work out how ill Kelly is. A week ago she attended her Grandmother's funeral and was regal and erect and funny and crabby, worried, as usual, about her cough spoiling the ceremony. A week ago. It's impossible to imagine how much her condition has deteriorated since then. She's awake only to take her pills and have her meals. When she is awake she seems fogged and dazed (albeit happily, she claims to be "content"). The doctor is coming out to see her and speaking to her oncologist she seems happy for her to start her new, her third, chemotherapy on Thursday. She explains the chronic fatigue and swollen belly away as a complication from the problems with her liver. But I don't know. For the first time it is possible for me to imagine her dying. I see the same vagueness, the same dislocation I saw in my dad before he died. It's hard to guage exactly how much of it is down to the tiredness. But I wake several times a night to check on her.