Death rattle breathing.
Her cardiologist said he was concerned that she wouldn't make the weekend.
But this afternoon she sat up and complained.
COMPLAINED that she couldn't have a cup of coffee and a cigarette out in the fresh air.
She is much better now.
Seems the anti-biotics are working. And, bugger me, is complaining.
She complained about the 94 year old across the ward talking too much.
She complained about the food - "bloody awful".
She complained about the coffee - "bloody awful".
She complained about not being able to have a smoke - "It's just a cigarette! What do I have to worry about? Cancer? I'm f**ked anyway. I'll bloody die on my terms."
For f**ks sake they don't make women like that any more.
I'm dry-retching with stress and she's 81 and complaining about the food?
What the frick' do I have to complain about?
Fish and chips?
I worked with her in the 70's in a hospice, so I know the risks about a 'late' recovery.
But she looks so much better.
She may make it.
FYI on Tuesday I'm taking round a frickin' great pile of chocolates to the nurses.
If I believed in angels they're the archetypes.