Dodging The Bullet. Maybe.

I did not sleep well, expecting at any moment the ringtone of my mobile. As is often the case I fell properly asleep just before the alarm went off, and my addled brain actually heard the alarm as a ringtone.

I rang the Care Home before the night shift handed over to the day shift, and spoke with the duty nurse, a young and efficient Romanian woman, who told me that Rosemarie had passed the night without incident, but was still drowsy and not breathing easily.

I got dressed and tried to occupy myself until the day shift had a chance to take over, check on everyone, and do the breakfast and the medication round. 

When I finally phoned I was told good news. Rosemarie had taken her medication - actually swallowed it, eaten three spoonfuls of porridge, and drunk 50 ml juice. This was a transformation from last night. Her breathing, however, was only slightly improved, and she had fallen back into a deep sleep. The duty nurse also told me she had asked the GP to prescribe Rosemarie Glycopyrronium bromide, which would help reduce the production of phlegm in her throat, and could be injected as required by the nurses. This, combined with a suppository version of paracetamol to address the UTI pain, was starting to cover the bases.

By the time I arrived early afternoon she had been woken and given a second dose of medication, which she swallowed, and had refused to have anything to do with eating lunch, falling back into a deep sleep.

I was not so sure about this 'sleep'. It seems to me an alternation between unconsciousness and some form of delirium. Even if her eyes are open she rarely responds to any stimuli and makes no sound. As always it is practically impossible to tell whether she is in pain and although she must be distressed at what is happening she does not seem to be able to communicate it.

We had more of the long cycles of breathing, coughing and choking throughout the day but as the afternoon wore on her vital signs became more normal. As the fluid in the bag shrank my optimism grew. 

She is still not getting enough fluid to rehydrate her, not by a long way, but what she is getting is buying us time and every dose of antibiotic she swallows brings her away from the edge.

There were times during the day when I questioned whether I had overreacted yesterday, but I really don't think so. It certainly felt a critical time and when I first saw Rosemarie my heart froze. I am so glad I insisted on the drip. 

When I left tonight she was still breathing like a hookah and had a film of sweat across her forehead. She had not eaten anything apart from those three spoonfuls of porridge and had not accepted anything from me, although she did take her third dose of medication from the nurse. She was getting another litre of fluid tonight but I already sense a looming battle about how long we can keep it going: I spent a useful half hour summarising the food and fluid intake notes and crunching some numbers in readiness.

But my main feeling today is as if a car has just thundered past, missing me by inches.