I have just had the medical check-up that seventy year-olds get under the much-maligned National Health Service. My blood sugar level was a little up, my body mass index is good and my blood pressure is fine. My husband came for his check-up at the same time. His BMI is a little more than it should be, but this whole concept is probably going to be reviewed. Muscle weighs more than fat.
Last weekend Dan went to the Adventure Film Festival from Friday morning to early Sunday evening. I went out on Saturday. I seldom go out on my own but that day I caught the bus from Petersfield Square to Waterlooville precinct and met up with a friend. We lunched and then went to look round the charity shops. I got a very nice Ikea vase for £1. Waterlooville looks very sad nowadays. So many of the shops in the town centre are empty. We reminisced about how it was when we first knew each other, forty-three years ago. We first met in Kingston, New York, where our husbands had been sent on assignment by IBM. I think that we would have become friends no matter how we met. A little more than a year after she and her husband returned to the UK they separated. She nearly remarried twice but is still single and I think wants to remain that way. I went on to have another child and eventually to lose both of my children in different ways.
On Sunday I should have visited my uncle but did not. I simply could not face it. On Monday evening I had a phone call from Lijo, the manager of the nursing home where he lives. She told me that he was ill and that the doctor had been sent for. There was talk about the old man being taken to hospital. Later the doctor phoned me and confirmed that I had signed a Do Not Resuscitate form. He said that old Bill has pneumonia and there was nothing to be gained by removing him to hospital or administering antibiotics. The nurses had diamorphine to give him if he was in any pain or distress. I telephoned Patricia, Bill's niece and next-of-kin in Swansea. She asked me to let her know as soon as Bill's death happened. Yesterday we visited him and he was awake but not lucid. Today I did my shift in the charity shop and Alex, one of the carers, came in with his wife. They do a lot of shopping in Sue Ryder. He told me that Bill had eaten a good lunch and was getting better. I do not know what to do; should I phone Patricia and let her know this, or just leave things.
On Friday September 8th we are leaving for Vence. The installation of our kitchen begins the following Monday. I was worrying about how Bill's funeral could be fitted in before we leave; now it seems there will be no funeral. He is not going to die after all. It has been a constant source of anxiety, that he would die while we are abroad. I have planned the music for his funeral but would need Patricia's help for the tribute, which I would get the minister (or celebrant, as they call such non-denominational people nowadays). I have nominated a funeral director; the firm that conducted our daughter's funeral. I have let my youngest brother know about the old man's illness. He is my back up attorney and would manage Bill's affairs in the event of my death or incapacity. He has never visited our uncle-in-law. I resent this as Bill enjoyed masculine company when he was cogent. My aunt was very good to him and it was always understood that he would be her executor. Why she changed her will is another story.
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