Mum

My Mum has fought thyroid cancer for decades.  It has spread to her torso.  At the age of almost 77, she has decided to stop fighting it.  With the support of my sisters, I help Dad to get a night's sleep every night by sleeping over and staying alert to Mum's needs: nausea, vomiting, discomfort, toileting.  No two nights are hardly ever alike.  Thankfully, we have the support of the palliative care team, district nurses, O/T for equipment, CHC funded services to provide personal care in the early evening - and lately, local hospice support, which will increase in its importance as Mum's health declines further.

In the late evening, once Dad has gone to bed, I sit with Mum, administer her last meds, then wait for her to settle.  You never know if the nausea will come, or she may need the loo again, or her position might need adjusting.  Mum mumbles things I can't quite make out, a mix of reality and confused dreams.  She can no longer move, but she dreams of walking in the Lake District (I think BBC Wainwright series is the cause of that!)

Last night I tried to sketch her as she prepared to sleep.