31.03.2022 Day 7: More ranting:

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 Thursday 31st 32-38F. Up at 3am after an earlier call of nature at 2am.

 I went down to check on my dear wife. She was breathing deeply but woke to try and speak. She was completely incoherent at first. When I said it was only me she mumbled: "Thank god for that.""I thought it was them." Which could mean almost anything. It presumably meant a fear of more morphine being administered by the early shift nurse.

 Only 60F indoors. So I got the stove going with some difficulty. There is no direct light on the stove without turning the main, overhead light on. So I used a torch. We have always had torches all over the house due to the almost total lack of adequate light switches. There never was a proper light in the bedroom. It used "borrowed" light from the other end of the attic. Where we lived out the last two and a half decades. My wife insisted on leaving the light on during the last few months. Downstairs was always much colder and darker.

 I went outside to clear a path to the house. More snow has fallen overnight. Probably only about another inch or two had fallen. No sign of nurses' footprints. A cat dashed off into the darkness.

There followed a desperately needed cup of black coffee. The morning's starter motor. 

 Nearly 4am. Now what? Socks! I had washed my sock backlog overnight. It needs to go in the spin drier. Our top loading washing machine doesn't do it well enough with only 1000rpm spin. We don't have room in the bathroom for a "proper" washing machine. So we have a small spin drier under the bathroom sink. Tiny Thomas drains into a washing up bowl placed temporarily on the floor.  I am not supposed to leave washing in the machine overnight. However, I had no choice if I wanted clean socks today. I promise not to tell. If you don't! 

 The socks were spun and hung on the clothes horse by the stove. The concertina clothes horse was bought by my wife from a local secondhand shop in about 1970. Her initial, light blue, paint job has become slightly worn over a busy lifetime! She held it together with zip ties when I failed to repair it. The securing pins had finally rusted away. I started to make her a new one but stumbled on finally fixing it together. So it took up space in the living room for a year. Not that there was room for it anywhere.

 4.30. The stove has gone out after the first block had burnt away. I had thrown another in but it didn't catch light. Throw in more split kindling and a screw of newspaper. A satisfying conflagration soon followed.

 Breakfast did not start well. I filled my wet, freshly rinsed mug with porridge oats instead of filling the bowl. So I tipped out all the dry stuff. Then cunningly used milk to rinse out the remaining flakes into the bowl. I added the raisins and resumed normal muesli practise and consumption. Though I readily admit that stirring in the raisins was not as effortless as usual. It was like having oversized gravel in a concrete mix.  

 There is another pending problem. My favourite, organic porridge oats comes from a supermarket which does not offer a delivery service. You think all organic porridge oats taste the same? Waddya mean you don't start the day with porridge oats? 

 This was a life changing habit suggested to me by a hospital specialist after years of digestive problems. I used to have a mountain of different, popular cereals and lashings of sugar. Then found myself starving and exhausted only an hour later. Classic energy depletion following a sugar bomb. I owe my entire fame and fortune to home-made muesli. [Coarse, organic porridge oats + organic raisins] Don't bother with the widely advertised muesli. It is full of crap. Which is why they have to advertise it as value added. Porridge + crap.

 4.45 Breakfast over. Only another 3½ hours before the doctor arrives. I'd better do last night's washing up. 

 5.00 Washing up proved to have too few items to make it worth the effort. My wife is not generating much in the way of crockery nor cutlery. I can already feel a reorganisation of the kitchen manifesting itself. Her cupboard full of 50-20 year-old paint is on borrowed time. I offered to remove at intervals but she would not hear of it.

 She could have had a proper washing machine in all that wasted space. Even a much larger fridge freezer, but no. We didn't need either apparently. She washed everything by hand in the bath until much later. She "didn't want" a washing machine! Until the tap water grew so cold she could bear it no more.

 Now I look back and measure our more recent times here in replacement, top-loading washing machines. Whirlpool, Bosch then Whirlpool again. I repaired two of them just to keep them going. Using obscenely expensive plastic [deliberately fragile] mouldings made in China. All of these machines were total crap. With built in obsolescence. So glaringly obvious that it ought to be a crime against humanity.

 All of them designed by men, of course. Probably wearing thick rimmed glasses and an asymmetric, designer haircut. Just to prove they are working well above their pay grade. Even though they have their own, private parking space for their Audi twin-arseholes shitmobile.

 Don't even get me started on Gram ceramic cookers! Three rings [of four] have stopped working. The top oven element sags right down to the oven floor. Simply because they forgot to fit a retaining clip. Rust bubbling up all over the top paintwork. With large areas of blackened rusty metal.

 She still insisted on continuing with it. Even thought the "designer" markings were completely illegible without her [always nearby] magnifying glass. If I replace the cooker or washing machine I will feel guilty for evermore. That she did not live to enjoy them. Perhaps she simply saw them as tools and unworthy of serious consideration. She was always very careful with money. 

 5.30 and the stove has gone out due to a lack of fuel. The temperature has climbed to 65F and the soapstone cladding is nicely hot. The room will stay warm for at least an hour. 

 6.00 I was nodding off at the computer. So I went back to bed and managed to sleep for another hour.

7.00 I have relit the fire with some shattered scraps of oak. Which my wife had saved in a cardboard box from a failed firewood purchase. I brought home a trailer load. Only to find it was quite literally wet. Oozing water wet. Instead of the much more expensive "oven ready" firewood. Which the local timber yard racist had illegally claimed. And, which I had fully paid for. Just as it had been on the previous times we had risked it.

 Several years of storage, under cover, are needed to dry out such wood for burning. Not much help when you need to keep warm here and now. Crooks abound. Even here in idyllic Denmark. They are still claiming they have vast stacks of "oven ready" dry firewood on their website. 

 We changed to imported, compressed wood briquettes after that. Which meant we haven't been back for their sopping wet "oven ready" firewood. I am burning the scraps now. So that my wife enjoys the warmth of her sacrifice of time and effort to save us some money.

 My wife is sleeping with shallower, more ragged, occasional inhalations. Her head is straight now and more naturally poised. Instead of being eerily twisted upwards. Staring blankly at the boarded living room ceiling above my head. Her dark-ringed and deeply sunken eyes and protruding cheekbones are less obvious in the softer, natural light of dawn. The discoloured, anatomical drawing, naked sinews of her now, tiny neck are safely hidden by the duvet drawn up to her chin.

 There is a brighter northern edge to the grey overcast. What passes for a local hill is warmly lit in orange. Snow clings stickily to almost everything. Picturesque, if you like that sort of thing. She never did.

 8.00 The nurse has just washed and cleaned my wife in readiness for the doctor's visit. My wife had a little apple juice but some went down the wrong way. That hasn't happened before. I have to tip the tiny egg spoon very slowly so she can sip in her own time. 

 9.00 The doctor and another nurse have just left. They needed my wife's verbal confirmation that she was not to be resuscitated if her heart stops. My wife said she needed more time to make that decision.

 There was considerable discussion of the awful way she was treated after she left hospital. The whole weekend passing with her in agony and robbed of her dignity. Lying on a bed sore on a thin foam mattress on the carpet in the living room. Unable to rise to urinate. Peeing into the same towels she always laundered so fastidiously.

 I had to keep pushing towels under bottom to soak up the pee. In desperation I rang "the acute nursing service" number for advice. To be told my wife no longer existed in "the system." She had booked herself out! Only on the coming Monday would service be automatically restored. Monday was three days away!

 I mentioned to the doctor how they kept offering her foods in the hospital. Which she would never have touched before she became sick. The constant noises at night and being subjected to painful procedures and injections. Our rural cottage is completely silent at night. Her tiny, shrunken arm was blackened from wrist to armpit by needles. The total lack of response when I asked for nurse in the hospital. Even when I went to the office and asked for a nurse. Two hours passed without any response at all!

 Then the terminal cancer verdict right out of the blue. The nurse scowling down at my wife as she tried to complain to the doctor about the food. My wife insisting that she should be sent home early. Instead of waiting for Monday. With three more days without ANY palatable food or drink.

 They had weakened her considerably already. By denying her suitable food. She said she was starving and bursting to urinate! She could no longer cross the corridor to the toilet. She wanted to use the toilet chair but there was no bag attached.

 I had to stop a nurse in the corridor and ask for help! Finally my wife could pee with some dignity. I left the room and left her with the young nurse. Was my wife really meant to pee in the hospital bed while wearing only her own, tiny nickers? There didn't seem to be any lack of staff. As they hung around socialising in the large office. The receptionist scowled at me when I tried to talk through the open door way. How dare I invade her territory?

 The whole hospital experience was a terrifying nightmare for her. She had finally been persuaded to go there to see about her eating disorder. Now she was terribly lonely and wanted me to be there beside her. Just like I always am and have been for nearly 55 years. I couldn't sleep on the floor in her room. So I was at home 58km and 70 minutes away.

 She just wanted to get home and rest in her own bed in complete privacy. Except that she was too weak and in pain, by then, to rise 1" off the living room carpet. Let alone climb our steep stairs. She wanted to get home from the ravings of another patient. Who kept her wake all night with his endless coughing and shouting! The doors to all these rooms were left wide open for easy observation. By any passing stranger.

 I have been asked to write a report on the acute nurse's brush off. I'll also mention the repeated lies by the home use, hospitable bed providers on the Friday she came home. Twice they rang to say a bed was on its way. Their later failure to provide the patient hoist. Which was ordered by the first attending staff on the following Monday. Along with the bed and [unused] toilet chair. The first home help had to literally manhandle my wife onto the bed from lying on the floor. Causing my wife to have an acute bout of trigeminal neuralgia in her jaw. Her face was hideously distorted by the intense pain of her bed sore and a hideously painful weekend.

9.30 My wife is now sleeping normally. Time for morning coffee and a roll. Dull the rage! 

10.15 My wife is still sleeping. She did not want any apple juice to slake her thirst when I asked gently. Her breathing is more rapid and laboured now. The agreement is that the nurses will only call once a day and not at night. With visits from the home help service too. There will be no more morphine unless she is in pain and I call the nurses directly. The doctor will ring me tomorrow for an update.  

11.00 My wife is still sleeping. Her breathing is rapid but at spaced intervals. No, she still does not want any apple juice. So I added another briquette to the fire and left her in peace. Her mouth is open again. Though her head no longer has the morphine distortion. Freed of the drugs she has a much more natural posture today.

 I am torn by guilt for wishing her an end to her suffering. Another few hours, or perhaps days, will not extend her real life measurably. The uncontrollable tears will still be shed. It is only a matter of when. 

13.00 Still working on my mug of tea. I had an early lunch to help fill the empty hours. Time borrowed early must be repaid, with interest, later on. It will be a very long afternoon!

A health worker called earlier. It was agreed that they need only visit once in the morning. Unless, I ring them to request a later visit. 

My wife is sleeping but requests water via a sponge lollipop or apple juice occasionally. She seems more alert but has choked twice today on the tiniest of drops. Which is a worry. I think her face shows she is more unwell today. Though still not in any pain. 

 A nurse gave me some idea of how the cancer slowly takes over as the body and brain withdraw. Eventually the brain shuts down and the heart stops. Resuscitation risks finding the patient has already died from oxygen starvation. Further prolonging the misery.

 I have just rembered to drag the green, recycling bin the 100m along to the main drive for emptying tomorrow morning. My extra black bags of rubbish were still lying there where I left them. Though the black bin had been emptied. I wonder how long those black, bin bags last before they break down? It will be an interesting experiment. What a strange way to run a business! I'd bet they actually believe that their employer pays their wages.

 The car has been moved away from the intended position of the recycling skip. Arriving at 8.00am tomorrow. There really isn't much room to manoeuvre in the drive. My car will be trapped if it doesn't all go exactly to plan. With a promised half hour turnaround from delivery. 10 minutes should be easily enough to dump it all in. Particularly now that I have compacted everything to the minium volume. I'll have to speak to the driver when he arrives. He may be willing to wait for loading. Rather than drive away and come back again. That could more easily be done outside the gate. To avoid him struggling along the much narrower drive inside the garden.

 Afternoon and evening. A couple of health visitors came and went. My wife's breathing grows shallower. She complained of not being able to breathe. Some expression of pain was traced to one of the pillow props. Which were intended to tilt her away from her bed sore. This was easily remedied.

~~

 

30.03.2022 Day 6: Snow!??!

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 Wednesday 30th 28F. Up at 5.20am. 59F indoors. Still pitch black outside. All the lights are on inside and out, as usual. So that the nurses can visit and work freely and safely. I had an early night [9.30] but got up twice to pee. My back is hurting again.

 The forecast is for a band of rain or snow moving SW across Northern Europe in the afternoon. Probably reaching us at about 6pm. Bad timing, considering my Friday waste container arrangements. 

 Not to mention the last month of continuous [record breaking] sunshine. The indoor temperature has dropped to 59F/15C overnight. So I shall have to light the stove again.

 My wife appears to be sleeping with her eyes half closed and her mouth wide open. [As is usual, now she is on morphine] I am trying not wake her by going any closer. My increasing clumsiness [due to tiredness] and being deaf, with tinnitus in my left ear, doesn't help to hear her breathing. Besides that, I might start coughing involuntarily.

 Every precious second of her sleep is an escape. Even if it means weird dreams. Though she asks to be woken when I get up. This would just mean a longer wait for the nurses or home help to arrive. They are coming at frequent but irregular intervals by rotation. They have all been very kind and clearly have a high level of competence. Several trainee nurses have been in company. Reality is a hard schoolmaster.

 The bed sore on my wife's back is now being treated with a side pillow to offset the usual pressure points. One of the staff spoon fed her with a little tea yesterday evening. Which I made in a small china cup. She still likes the Organic British Breakfast Tea after trying several others. 

 6am and I had better go back down and check on her. I haven't heard a sound from her so far. I wonder if she can hear my wet coughing? She may hear my computer chair graunching as I rise. The gas strut went ages ago. Another charity shop find.

 She woke as I approached and complained of her legs being raised. She had removed her wet nappy [adult disposable diaper] in the night and needed a replacement. Her voice is badly slurred but stronger and deeper today. Monotonic and strident. She refused apple juice to wet her mouth. I relit the stove but burnt my fingers on the grate. It retains its heat remarkably well deep in the ashes. Which I immediately cleared. Experience will avoid such foolishness. I have taken to talking to myself to avoid blunders. 

 My wife has relented. So I spoon fed my wife with tiny drops of apple juice. She seemed grateful but is still worried about her legs being raised. The fire is lit and going well. She doesn't like the smell but complained of being cold. I try to explain everything but then she resents my pedantry.

 06.50. Eating my muesli upstairs as it becomes light outside. I can turn the outside lights off when I have finished. Another, hard, white frost on the grass. My wife has gone to sleep.

 The chaos of my endless tidying and sorting looks worse than ever this morning! Every time I need to put something somewhere else there is already a pile of stuff sitting there. Double handling is becoming a trial. Yet the place still looks like a tip inside and out! I have no spare room to act as temporary storage. The stuff I have piled around me can't just be dumped outside.

 I will have to take a break and use my brains for a change. Stacked some boxes. Clear bin bagged some full carrier bags of her knitting wool for the charity shop. This freed up some considerable floor space.

 What do I want to achieve today? I nearly broke my neck on the stairs just now. Somebody had added an extra step at the top. Fortunately I was on my way up. Rather than going down.

 Now I am using her old bed to stack all the duvets and pillows. They had all been tried as she became more sensitive to cold and the weight of her bedding.  I am now using my own bed as a working surface. Went through all the towels in tubs and sorted them by size and age. The small, frayed ones can go straight to the shed as rags.

 Now 61F indoors. [Open plan via the stair well so the main living areas benefit from the stove]. The antique, Jøtul, box stove was a huge horizontal box, but could never cope. We should have swapped it for a modern stove years ago.

 We bought an upright Thermatech recently and it is absolutely amazing in comparison. One burn of two briquettes and the whole stove and house are warm. The soapstone on top and either side produce heat for hours. There has been no need to relight it. The large, curved glass door removes all doubt as to the burning conditions within.

 We just had a nice picnic. First we wet her dry mouth with tiny spoonful's of apple juice. Then a few tiny pieces of the meat from a thawed out, British pork pie. We both agreed it was a bit dry. Though she could still get a taste of what she had been anticipating. She had cried when the parcel took 13 days to clear Broxit customs at both ends.

 Then onto the thawed out, British brown bread. It was wonderfully soft. A few tiny pieces. Cut from a well buttered, quarter slice with plenty of Sandwich Spread. The bread was dry in her mouth. So we moved onto pure Sandwich Spread on a tiny egg spoon. She was taking the spoon and feeding herself. More apple juice to follow.  

 An assistant nurse has looked in and changed her nappy. Made her more comfortable. Though my wife is clearly slipping down the bed. Probably rolling on the added pillow underneath her. Put there to protect her from the bed sore on her lower back. She had some more apple juice and then fell asleep.

 9.20 and 37F. The sun has come out. White clouds and the wind vane point to the approaching NE weather. Every surface outside was covered in white frost. I am having morning coffee and a toasted roll with marmalade. Deciding on my next priority. I have yet more cardboard boxes from the bedroom clearing to put outside. 

 10.10. Another wonderful nurse [Miss U] has just left. Years of experience show in every practised movement. Her perfect beside manner, communication skills, [in English] sympathy and empathy are provided freely in equal measure. My wife now has a pillow placed beside her. To tilt her gently off the sore on her back. Though she has always preferred to sleep flat on her back. The quiet skill of the nurse produced a calmness instead of increased agitation. 

10.30 The sky is really darkening from the NE now. I had better return to tidying. I feel I should flatten all the cardboard boxes outside to compact them. If I leave them in box form they will be too weak when wet to be easily handled. There is nothing indoors which needs to be done immediately. I really need to work at something. To take my mind off the situation. I am also deeply ashamed how untidy the place looks now. 

 I went outside to do some therapeutic box crushing and tearing. The row of debris was halved in length and nested to much reduce the volume. I have dragged the black wheely bin the 100m to the main drive. Then used the sack truck to carry eight, full bags.

The chimney sweep rang to check how out new stove was behaving. He had demolished our old and leaky chimney earlier. Then installed the new stove indoors. Last week while my wife was in hospital. His charges must have been pared to the bone.

 12.30 Another health visitor. She re-adjusted the side pillows to relieve the pressure on the bed sore on my wife's back. The doctor is coming at 8.10 tomorrow morning.

12.40. Black sky and hail! Followed by large blobs of frozen rain and then a steady fall of mixed snow flakes. It started just as I tidied the last bits of her packaging materials. So I retired indoors for lunch. A very productive morning! 

1.40 Lunch. My wife was not impressed by the news of snow. She hates it!

1.45 Very heavy snowfall! The nurses will have to drive carefully! 62F indoors but it feels colder. I'm going to relight the stove.

 That was weird! I just caused an explosion in the stove! It was going well. So I turned it right down. It glowed darkly and then the flames vanished. Then boom! The door flew open and the chimney inspection hatch plates blew off! Explosive gases must have built up in the stove chamber. Imagine if there had been nobody at home! The open fire would have been exposed to the entire area of the wide open door. The door is held closed by very strong magnets. Rather than the usual hand operated latch. 

Another nurse looked in. Gone again. So I am going to have a shower. My wife said she needed a shower and to wash her face and eyes. I gave her face a very gentle wipe with a damp kitchen towel. The she dried her own face with a tissue. She has returned to a drugged sleep.

15.30 36F. There must be 50mm/2" of snow lying on cold, horizontal surfaces. It is slipping off more sloping surfaces. The washing is piling up. I had better make an effort. It used to be that I was never allowed to interfere with her laundry work. Now I am responsible for the laundry but poorly equipped to do so.

 The ability to bounce even the most trivial questions off my partner has ended. I was always asking her if she had seen something I had lost. She had a remarkable facility for remembering such details. Her continuous presence and support has been a comfort for more than half a century. As was her ability to take the wind out of my sales when I had silly ideas. While still supporting me in the most outlandish projects. We made the perfectly balanced, oddball team. Yet argued endlessly from morning to night from day one. 
 
 Cooking has now been reduced to toast, pasties, pies. Eggs, soup, peas and beans. Wholemeal rolls were always a staple I enjoy. Toasted or fresh. Mature Cheddar cheese, jams, marmalade.

 We ordered some Sandwich Spread and Branston Pickle from the British food shop. Typical of her foresight in giving me increased variety.  I still have 11 mini pork pies to consume. Brown sauce will help them down. Provided I remember to thaw out the pies out overnight. Salads will seem far more attractive when the weather warms.

16.30. My wife continues to sleep with her eyes glazed and half open. Taking deep breaths at very long intervals. I am told this is typical behaviour under morphine. Her speech is almost completely incoherent at times. It has stopped snowing. So I have been out with the snow scraper. To clear a path to the door for the first nurses of the day. 

 While I am tempted to give my wife her proper name I prefer to protect her privacy. Such intimate details, as I have shared here, have no place on the internet. Not if I clearly identify her. 

I usually referred to he as "The Head Gardener" on my triking blog. However that seems to trivialise her now. She was as obsessed with gardening as I am with all my own hobbies.

 I have found her literally hundreds of seed packets and plant packaging materials during my sorting of her vast collection of "stuff." The number of her plant pots would astonish anyone except an avid gardener. She would make hundreds of pots out of the bottom half of milk cartons and other commonplace objects. 

 She loved the bees and butterflies she attracted to her plot. Though it wasn't a showy flower border in the more formal garden sense. She liked the unusual varieties of her favourite plants. Lately she was interested in growing tall, decorative grasses. Inspired by Piet Oudolf. She was an avid watcher of gardening programmes and YT gardening videos.

 It is extremely unlikely she will ever see her garden in bloom again. After she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, she cried . She said she just wanted to see her flowers again. I am no gardener but will try to tend her plot as required. The giant trees which surround us throw deep and long shadows. She has constantly battled with the wind and Horse Chestnut Moths. Creeping weeds invade from the shelter belt to the west.

 17.30. Yet another nurse visited her briefly.  She said she will be coming back later this evening. I am confused by the sheer number of different faces. Is the entire staff visiting us in rota? 

 18.00 Another nurse arrived. She spoke perfect English and was obviously intelligent. She agreed that my wife should not be dosed beyond the absolute minimum necessary to keep any pain at bay.

 I'm afraid this empathy prompted me to unburden on the unfairness of it all. The awful neighbours, the cruelty, the isolation, the overt racism. My tears flowed copiously again. Not for myself but for the neighbours' sociopathic treatment of my wife.

 It would all have been so very different. What if there had been a single other, human being, living within this hamlet over the last 25 years? How different could her life have been with pleasant company? Instead of pining for the unaffordable house near the sea? Endlessly collecting pointless packing materials. For the move which would never, ever come. 

18.30 34F. I have relit the stove. A minor panic when I realized we had run out of kindling. Only to remember a quarter of a bag hiding in the greenhouse. That wont last long if the temperatures stay low. I wonder if the vendors can be persuaded to deliver the usual five bags? Which I usually collect in the car from eight miles away. An outing might suit them if I offer to pay. 

20.30 33F. Dinner over. Had a long talk with my wife. Though it was very one sided. I told her how much I loved her and admired her and always had. How I had been a fool for not telling her how much I loved her every single day. She still managed to rise through the morphine fog to tell me to shut up! 

 She wanted something to eat but shook her head at every possibility. However absurd. She dozed off again without any supper. No matter how minute the portions. Not even a drop of apple juice to wet her lips.

 I went out to lock the sheds and it was snowing lightly again. I scraped the path to the door again. To avoid problems for the nurses on the night shift. The outside lights are turned on to guide their way.

~~

29.03.2022 Day 5. On the perils of hoarding.

 ~~

 Tuesday 29th 36F. Another overnight frost. Up at 3.00am. I must have heard the nurses' voices. Their car headlights were reversing away as I quickly dressed and went downstairs. 

 My wife is sleeping soundly. Safely propped up by the hospital bed under her goose down duvet. The latter I had bought for her only recently. To combat the constantly nagging chill which her malnutrition caused.

 She could not tolerate the weight of heavier duck down duvets over her. We have several, good quality duvets. All bought cheaply at charity shops many years ago and carefully washed. Purchase was usually prompted by the magic "duck down filling" just visible on the faded labels. We had the luxury of snobbery and would avoid anything which suggested added feathers. The certain sign of cheapness, poor insulation quality and lots of extra weight.

 The first rain in ages is promised for tomorrow evening. I have been rather lax in leaving stuff outside because of the long run of sunny days. Yet another new weather record in March sunshine set for Denmark. The boxes and packing materials scattered along the drive are going to get decidedly soggy, soft and heavy. Particularly by the time the promised, Friday skip filling and collection day arrives.

 The kitchen proved to be a goldmine yesterday. If you like Swedish, art glass bottles. Or 8 pairs of unused secateurs. The saddest part of my wife's hoarding is that she did not get to fully enjoy her belongings. She claims to know where everything is. Though the evidence of finding multiples of things suggests otherwise. Unless duplicates or even octoplets were her thing?

 There was never anywhere she could display her beautifully coloured bottles/vases. They needed backlighting to really come alive. She allowed herself only a few on the window sills. Or collecting dust on "her" series of sideboards.

 Her beloved cat figures are mostly crammed into a tall, dark, glass fronted cupboard in the living room. I found many more china cats yesterday. All carefully wrapped in newspaper and boxed in "her" kitchen cupboards. Though I only checked a few small bundles at random during my reorganisation siege.

 Keeping busy is a vital defence against the tears. Shed not for myself. But for my almost unrecognisable, frail, lifelong partner. Downstairs in the bed in the now near empty "living" room. Though we always lived upstairs to avoid the chill. We would only do her always perfect, Christmas dinners at the dining table downstairs. Though even this was always surrounded in boxes of her "stuff."

 A roll of "Persian" carpet remained trapped behind the dining chairs for 20 years until I finally threw it out last week. Mouldy underneath and covered in woodworm dust from above.

 She always wanted to move to a bigger and better house and away from the local, 2-legged scum. Unfortunately she would not pull the trigger on anything we could remotely afford. Which usually meant a semi-derelict farmhouse. Of which there are many in Denmark.  Usually stripped of their agricultural land to further enlarge a major holding. Often the smaller farm was abandoned for economic reasons. Or having no offspring willing to take over the crippling burden of poverty and debt. Plus the workload which no union would possibly tolerate. Denmark has the handy way of charging the offspring the offspring for buying their own parent's farm. A perfect guarantee for the "Farmers Party" to increase their land holding for small change.  

 Having spotted a new potential home, online, I would tricycle off across the island. To photograph and hang around another scruffy property. It was soon all too obvious why the places was so cheap. Far too many, stinking pig farms nearby. Too many barking dogs. Too near a deafening motorway or main road. The warning signs of some raving lunatic. Stacking his agricultural scrap. Or vast stacks of mega-bales tight against the property boundary. I would return, show her the pictures and we would compare our feelings about the property.

 My wife liked her silence for her gardening. Even here, in a small hamlet, there are endless car doors banging. Noisy trucks, giant tractors and illegal scooters passing along the road. Though we are set well away from this road the traffic noise often intrudes through the winter-sparse, shelter belt trees. The Thursday jet fighter training is just another sore point for outdoors people like us.

 My crime against common decency was not providing my wife with a well lit, display area for her glass and china collections. Even her larger gardening tools are standing under a shed roof overhang. Or share "my shed" with "my lathe" and "my wall clocks." Along with "my own" boxes of long untouched detritus from countless, previous hobbies. No wonder she always wanted me to tidy "my" larger, home-built shed. Though she did manage to take over a corner behind the door with her mother's, few remaining belongings. Now despatched to a far better place.

 I had the priceless luxury of space. Which I constantly denied her without ever knowing it. By my own hoarding of long unused tools, timber and scraps of plywood. Or odd bits and pieces. Which might just become valuable one day. Or would be vital to a later project. I shall carry that guilt to my own grave. My only defence was my almost complete lack of awareness of her collections. 

 Ignorance is a better word. She hid them all so skilfully within the fabric of the assorted, secondhand furniture. I really hadn't a clue what she was up to as the house slowly shrank around us. It's burden of long-unopened boxes went almost completely unnoticed. I was never allowed to peek. Which became an auto-inhibitor against further exploration.

 There is still a tall stack of dusty banana boxes under the steep, open stairs. Contents completely unknown. Other than that they came with us from Wales. To be left untouched for 25, long years. She said there were some drawings by our talented son Tim in there somewhere. Whom we have not heard from since moving to Denmark. He does not seem to have an online presence.

 There is one blessing from my wife dying safely "at home." She does not have to be subjected to the drug-addled torture of commercial, Danish, old people's prisons homes. As did her mother. Before finally escaping via the online undertaker service. Her mother's last "home" was an obscene, money printing mill of human misery behind a smart, ex-hospital facade.

 Terrifyingly understaffed, usually by East Europeans and largely functioning at the taxpayer's expense. She had all of her antique ornaments stolen over time and managed to break a hip falling out of bed. Despite being totally paralysed into a complete stupor by her drug regime. Perhaps this is how sociopathic oligarchs launder their dirty money? 

 My wife's nose was whistling. So I went downstairs to check on her again. She was just surfacing from a dream. Somebody had asked if she was ready but was unable to say whom. She asked why she couldn't get up and move around? I explained that she hadn't been eating enough. So lacked the strength. Why was she sleeping day and night, she asked? I said she needed the rest and held her warm hand. Which she clutched with remarkable strength.

 Then I used a wet, sponge lollipop to moisten her constantly dry mouth. She said she wanted tea and a currant bun. I suggested she wait for breakfast time. She asked how long her recovery was going to take? I told her that nobody could possibly know. Then she gradually went back to sleep.

 The nurses were obviously wary of liquids running into her lungs last night. As I gently spoon fed my wife with tiny drops of tea. My wife has fluid on one lung already. Though she was spared the potential intrusion of drainage. When she left hospital early. Her voice is weaker than ever and she really struggles to speak. Or even make a coherent point at times. I presume this is the morphine and all the other drugs fogging her mind. 

 I can hear her nose whistling again as I make endless typos at 5am. Surrounded in the debris of an all too hasty removal of a large, concealing curtain. Boxes of vinyl LPs compete haphazardly with boxes of books and other junk. Stacked on a raised stage behind the inevitable, flat screen TV. A load of my clothes thrown over the top of everything. Just to get them out of the way.

 This used to be where I had my large loudspeakers on either side of a series of TVs. Where we would both sit and watch films and TV together. Then old age arrived. With the constant struggle to hear the dialogue on Netflix. So we moved onto YouTube and its damned adverts. The dusty boxes of DVDs and CDs still remain to taunt me. Untouched for years once the film was seen. Only music could be enjoyed repeatedly. Until that too was slowly removed from my daily experience. Now I have only tinnitus for company. 

 I went back to bed for a couple of hours. My wife was half awake when I went down to check on her later. She wanted tea again. The house is getting cold without the help of the recent sunshine. I am going to have to light the stove. I had firelighters delivered with the shopping. Hopefully this will aid in a problem free burn from a cold start.

It was down to 60F /15C indoors. With the help of the firelighters and a stack of criss-crossed kindling the stove started effortlessly. Two compressed wood blocks were added to the dying hot coals and all is well.

 Until it became too hot! I had to open the door to let some of the heat out! A different nurse came by to see to my wife. Whom keeps complaining of having a dry mouth but won't have anything I offer. Though she had a little tea. Which I tipped slowly into her mouth from a tiny spoon. Her memory is extremely fuzzy now. As is her vision. She can't easily see the toys and ornaments I have arranged for her. She keeps asking why she can't get up.

 Two more nurses. One of them pushed my wife to have her injections. Just to keep her stabilized. My wife was unhappy about this after the event. She wanted to stay awake but soon fell asleep. She felt she was being denied the ability to be aware of her last available time on this earth. 

 I have made a start on sorting my wife's clothing. I probably won't want to do it "afterwards." It was typically scattered throughout many drawers, bags and boxes. I hardly recognised any of it. She never wore any of it while I was around. Which was most of the time. One hundred jumpers, cardigans and jackets. Two hundred vests and tops. One hundred pairs of trousers, jeans and shorts. 

 Perhaps I exaggerate slightly but the clear, poly, bin bags are now running the length of the bedroom. At least two 100 litre bin bags per clothing item. Her sock collection alone my end up filling three whole bags. With each new discovery I feel I never really knew her. Was she happy in her rural isolation? Squirrelling away her little treasures? It is much too late to ask. She is confused and hovering in a morphine haze. I have lost track of the cubic meters I have gained throughout the house.

 Decorative and nesting baskets were hidden away in the bedroom. Behind and inside furniture. Rolls of carpet runners. A suitcase. The dust so thick on some of it it that it must have been there for at least 20 years. I found bank security details. Which she could never have accessed. Simply due to to the impossibility of reaching it. Boxes of mixed trinkets and curtain rings. Interspersed with everything imaginable. Old broken padlocks, a hinge, some string, assorted zip ties. Rubber bands, artist's paints and chalks. Spatulas and paint scrapers. Where to start? Who would want it all now? 

 I don't resent her one item or cubic centimetre of the entire lot. Not if it made her happy and brought her some pleasure. Now my wife is complaining that the drugs have knocked her out again. When she so wanted to be in the present.

 Multiple visits from more nurses and home helps today. All very kind, caring and pleasant. I found some old pictures of my wife looking absolutely gorgeous. Probably in her 30s. The prints were hidden away like all the rest. I left one picture out for the nurses. To remind them that even dying old ladies were once active. Articulate, funny, desirable and much admired by all. 

 The gentleman pharmacist called again. With more drugs to hide her pain and calm her fears. Then a young lady brought the grocery shopping I had ordered earlier. I tried to make her into yet another nurse. So it took a moment to correct my confusion.

 So many visitors in so short a time. My wife is beginning to feel overwhelmed but still very grateful. Her deep breathing was spaced so far apart at one point that I thought I was losing her. Then she woke and wondered what was going on now. I spent an hour holding her hand but the conversation was very one sided. 

 The British food shop is delivering micro pork pies tonight. One will have to be thawed out before I can offer a tiny bit of one to the impatient patient.

~~

28.3.2022 Day 4. What will today bring?

 ~~

 Monday 28th 41-48F, overcast, feeling much cooler. Up at 5.00.  My back is completely shot after three days of lifting my wife back up the pillow and cushion incline. The only thing I could do in the absence of a proper bed. [Or any bed!]


 I bought some toddler feeding bottles. Though I had to remove the useless inner tube. This allows her to drink at modest head inclinations by rotating the bottle spout.

 My wife has agonising sores on her lower back and has been lying on a 75mm/ 3" foam mattress on the floor since mid day on Friday. She woke me half an hour after I went to bed. She was uncomfortable again. So I had to adjust her pillows and massage her calves. She is in a great deal of pain and every movement is agony.

 Just lifting the weight of her head is very hard work. Unfortunately it is the only way I can get another  pillow under her head. She is now too weak to lift herself in any way. Which makes sliding towels under her bottom. To allow her to urinate. A terrifying ordeal. Until the Kommune workers and nurses arrive there will be no bed pan. Nor drugs to ease the pain.

 My wife is suffering from numerous delusions. Paranoia is a constant theme in her lost items in her chaotic bedding and surroundings. Time has become hugely variable for her. She constantly complains about being "upside down" in bed. Particularly when lying flat. With only two soft pillows under her head.

 My wife has received an official message that her first medicine costs are covered. Still nothing from the Kommune nor medical side. By sheer luck I remembered her password and where she hid her numbers card to access eBoks. Which is the Danish official, online, secure website. Where all communication takes place. Instead of physical and slower post in the form of letters.  

 I have changed my usual indoor sandals this morning. To soft soled slippers. Hoping to avoid waking her as I sneak downstairs to the bathroom.  She is still asleep at 7.30 despite the neighbour's [24x365 outdoor] guard dog barking furiously at the postman. Or any passing cyclist.

 Last night I went back outside to move all the [failed house move] packing materials across to the other side of the drive. Otherwise no vehicles could get through. God knows what any "visitors" will think! Perhaps they will have a hotline to the refuse department and get it removed? I have been searching online for the Kommune's bulk "waste" removal service. Nothing. The Kommune's telephone hours are 10-3. So no early phone call to the "refuse department" as I had hoped. WYSIWYG.

My wife must have been secretly squirrelling packaging and boxes for years. In the forlorn hope of a move to a [far] better place. Thanks to our toxic neighbours she has had no contacts for years. The annual visit by the chimney sweep has been a rare highlight.

 The racist prick, who used to call annually can no longer bully us and carry out his vandalism. Obviously another fully paid up member of the neo-fascist Danish People's Party. A nasty bunch of bent crooks buying cheap votes. With a completely empty promise to end all immigration. It would be extremely hard to assemble this lot outside of Denmark, Nazi Germany, or the "Lynch Belt" of the Southern USA.

 In the absence of communication, we can only assume that all our toxic neighbours are pure racists too. [My wife is 99% Danish -1%Swedish. But of course the white trash neighbours don't know that. One of them put up signs saying "Fuck the British" at the start of our own 100m run of drive. He was a welder, "working the system," with "a bad back." Not bad enough, allegedly, to stop him lifting two crates of beer simultaneously from the ground. Nor repeated procreation with assorted unmarried girls. 

 Snow clearance was certainly not in his [legally binding] job description. Not as as a home owner with a boundary drive. Particularly the year we had a 16" snowfall in one day. The very moment we had dug ourselves out. A three day ordeal to clear over the full 120m length our drive. He immediately drove down to fetch a crate of beer from his outbuilding. Which is situated just beside our gates. He was supposedly, legally responsible for shared hedge clipping duties too.
 
 None of the occupants of this adjoining property have touched the boundary hedge in 25 years. The same property has lain empty as "property portfolio padding" for years now. That was after yet another forced auction. The last lot to live there left a smashed car. Right beside our gates. This was after a friend had a drunken crash and wanted the evidence kept out of sight. The wreck has now been there for years.

 I only had to erect the double garden gates to keep another neighbours' thieving kids out. They would come in to steal all my wife's garden flowers while we were out. Or congregate, with toddlers, around our garden pond. Which is where my wife found them. Hands full of her stolen flowers. On her return home one day. One of these abused [?] kids used to constantly thump his little sister in the stomach. Just for the pure fun of it.

 The [alleged] "parents" would tear branches from our garden trees. To give perches to their exotic birds in their outdoor cages. They kept Muscovy ducks under a door. Which they stole from outside my shed. Fenced around, only to the door's perimeter, as a roof leaning on our fence. In  cramped and appalling liquid mud conditions.

 Their dogs would die off repeatedly and unexpectedly. After being left outside. To bark incessantly. In a narrow slot on the north side of their house. Where the elevated field edge started and precisely where our house faced. They would import extra dogs from the "extended" family. Then leave them to bark 7x24 while they went away on holiday.

 These same peasants would use un-silenced, blunt chainsaws for hours, most days, for decades. To produce firewood for their "extended family." They regularly brought in a stinking old tractor. Which they left running. Right outside our living room windows. This was used to drive a log splitter.

 The tractor was never turned off until the end of their "working" day. Not even while he and others went in to watch the football on the TV. Or retired for a wet lunch. He hadn't worked for many years until very recently. When he suddenly reinvented himself as a builder.

 We started going out from dawn to dusk every weekend. Just to escape their constant racket. They now illegally burn lorry loads of demolition timber as firewood, 24x365, in an old water heating stove. Their toxic smoke fills our house whenever their is a SE wind. [A regular occurrence here.] We haven't been able to open the windows in all the time we have lived here.

 The Kommune's "smoke inspector" arrived on request and coughed in the foul sulphurous atmosphere. Then explained that there wasn't a high enough reading on his particle counter to warrant action. They now saw up old, half-timbered house, framing beams. Which have thick layers of lead paint. Much of it going back hundreds of years. No doubt the chipboard, from the demolished kitchen cabinets in the same lorry load, isn't wasted either. Climate friendly, Green Denmark? Yeah, right!

 Another racist neighbour would turn her back on either of us as we passed their house on the main drive. She would completely ignore all our greetings [in Danish.] She didn't speak to us in the 14 years she lived there. They finally moved out. After a drunken "waster" of  a local "builder" bought the adjoining derelict property on forced auction. For mere peanuts. 

 He ruins the lives of countless "neighbours" across the county. As he spends years making a hideous mess of the dirt cheap properties he buys up on auction for [supposedly] renting out. Before filling their gardens with absolute junk and completely ruining local property values.

 His own "land" is covered in the most unsightly heap of scrap metal, rusting vehicles and a dozen, partial, prefab, building site offices. His neighbours could no more sell their homes than walk to the moon. I bet he still gets the EU agricultural support! His house hasn't been fully tiled and hasn't been touched for years.

 Every property he owns has "For Sale" signs up all around. He cut down a shelter belt of trees as his first task. Before half demolishing his latest derelict at the start of our shared drive. Then he installed large, rusting trailers as close to the "neighbours" house as he could possibly manage. "It's always the missus who wants to move!" He quipped to me as I passed his unbelievable mess.

 The branches, from the huge trees he had felled, were deliberately spread far and wide across the adjoining field. They lay there for over six months. Presumably the landowner farmer wants to spray the area now. So the "builder" has had to remove all his crap prematurely.

 Presumably one of our rural, peasant neighbours was also responsible for sending the oversized, plain white, cardboard postcards, through the post. With large script, in Biro capitals. Accusing us, in Danish, of being on the scrounge from the kommune. [Social security] Ironic, indeed, when I had been working for three years for a large Danish company at that point. Not that they'd know that through their filter of blind, race hatred.

 One neighbour's offspring later took to shooting at our home and greenhouse with air rifles. They left dead birds of prey outside our gates. Which we then had to padlock from this point onwards for our own security.  We would regularly find lead pellets in the greenhouse gutter and garden.

 We never received a penny of social support until official retirement. Simply because we had some "savings" left from the sale of our house in the UK. Even our [old age] pensions are taxed at 39%. We receive no "winter heating cheque." Which is meant to help the elderly with heating their refrigerator living conditions. Of typically, badly insulated, old houses. I don't want a heating subsidy. But it seems only those with gas central heating are to be heavily subsidised in Denmark.

 8am and still nothing is happening. I have my dumb phone in my pocket. Ready to kill the ringtone on quick draw. To avoid waking my sleeping wife. Every second of sleep is a precious escape from her hideous, endless nightmare.  

 Success! First we had a very efficient and wonderfully kind "home help." I lack the correct job translation for "Hjempleje" for the moment. She organised all the stuff Shirley would need. Then a pleasant and highly professional nurse turned up at about 10am. She gave my wife some of the pain killing medicine she badly needed. Thankfully my wife is now dozing.

 The hospital bed and other kit arrived at about 11.00. Unfortunately the bed had to be dismantled to get it in through our narrow hallway. No promised hoist? Apparently not. How is my wife going to get into the bed without one? Or reach the huge, toilet chair? Best not to ask!

 The kommune don't have a bulk refuse, removal service. I was given the number of a "man in a white van." I'm hoping he will turn up today. His website looked perfectly presentable.

 The home help came back again and we lifted my wife bodily onto the bed between us. My wife went into a neuralgia spasm at the pain of it all! She is now being changed out of her normal clothes. So I gave them some space.

 After a brief shock and agony, of being lifted bodily, my wife was much more relaxed in a raised position on her new bed. She remained calm even when we rotated the bed to give her a view of her surroundings and easy access from both sides. Fortunately she soon zonked out from the morphine. With her mouth wide open and her eyes glazed and half shut. I just want to cry and cry.

 I have been steadily clearing stuff out of the living room as much as possible. What to do with it all? My wife was a keen collector, over a very long time. Much of it is quite fragile.  At the moment I feel completely overwhelmed. I can't even find any clean underclothes to wear!

 There isn't room to put anything anywhere without moving something else first. All my efforts to improve the visibility and order of her wardrobe, for her return, are suddenly, completely pointless. Some very large clothing donations are likely in the charity recycling bins.

 14.00. A sudden brightening. Even a hint of sunshine. I went outside to trim a conifer. So I could see the drive beyond our gates. It ought to be lopped at an appropriate height. Just so I can see further from the upstairs window. Do I feel brave enough yet? To flout my wife's admonitions on giving her trees "a haircut." Even if they do completely block the view?

 There was a phone call from our doctor. A meeting is arranged with the nurse and home help here for Thursday.

 Then "man in a white van" turned up and we agreed a skip hire for Friday morning with a fast turnaround. My wife's packing materials collection all has to be burnable material. Or costs will rise dramatically. Not remotely cheap, but I have a chance to find more packaging in the meantime. Hidden away in all the other nooks and crannies. Where I never dared to pry. There have been far more people in the house today. Than in all of the 25 years we have lived here!

 Two more nurses turned up later. They are coming back at intervals during the night. I buried myself in tidying the kitchen. To avoid dwelling on the tragic situation. Removing the huge and ugly oak cupboard from the kitchen, working alone, was a noisy affair. Thankfully my wife slept right through it. All of today's visitors are lovely people. So kind, so empathetic and so gentle.

 The nurses came back later again. They dressed the bed sore on my wife's lower back with a large plaster. Then I spoon fed her a little tea. She seemed happy and relaxed and very grateful for all the kind and expert attention. She appreciated being able to sleep and wake refreshed. Instead of being in constant pain. The whole weekend must have been unending torture for her!

~~

27.3.2022 Day 3: The fine art of squirrelling.

 ~~

 Sunday 27th 33F. Up at 4.30. Still a whole day and a night before the promised nurses and bed arrive. I looked up the manufacturer's morphine instructions. There were dire warnings about dose adjustments for age, weight etc.  No way! My wife has been having an lot of weird dreams and nightmares. That was why she as so keen to leave the hospital!

 I had an early night at 8.30 to make up for lost sleep. Felt unwell all day yesterday. Dizziness, headache, coughing the wet up in my chest, snotty nose, dry mouth.

 My wife had a slightly better day. Not having to be dragged around on the floor helped. The pie dish toilet was a huge relief. For both of us. Though it was soon discarded when I bought a lot of the largest, baby size, disposable nappies.

 My back hurts. Idiot! I cleared a dozen bin bags worth of "stuff" from outside. Plus half a trailer full of scrap metal and timber offcuts She had had squirrelled away. Not sure how I can empty the trailer with such limited opening hours locally. Dare I leave her alone for so long? 

 We've never had a single, extra bag of rubbish for the bin men in 25 years. Do they take extra bags stacked around the bin? I'll have to take it all to the end of the drive. 100 meters away. Just as I always do. They don't collect from outside our house. The logistics with increased loads is is terrifying!

 Next top priority is finding a wireless doorbell to wake me when my wife needs help. Being deaf and her voice so weak I can't hear her calling. I can check on her from the kitchen through two glazed doors. This helps not to disturb her by creeping into the living room. Though it isn't always obvious when she is awake.

 I just spent an hour [mid morning] clearing 10m^3 of mostly empty, cardboard boxes from the lean-to greenhouse. My wife had always hoped we'd move away from the local racists, criminals and peasants. It never happened. We could never find a house which suited her at a price we could remotely afford.

 The kommune [council] is going to have to send a rubbish lorry or weldmesh trailer. Even if I have to pay for the service it will save an awful amount of time. Which I don't have. Not to waste on throwing ten trailers worth around the recycling yard, container maze. While selfish old fools serial park their cars and trailers. Nose to tail in front of the most popular containers. Just to have their weekly gossip.

 My wife has volunteered to supervise the sorting of the living room detritus. Not rubbish. Just ornamental stuff I shall sell later at a flea market in the greenhouse. Or under an awning. Or both. A lifetime of ornament collecting needs a lot of new homes! Anybody want 200 china cats? What about 300? All very different! Bring your own packaging.

 My wife fell asleep. So I went back out and re-arranged the mass of cardboard boxes into a 50' long strip beside the drive. Just in case anybody turns up tomorrow. They might want to drive past my wife's lifetime collection of carefully stored, potential house move, packaging materials. 

 In the afternoon I added the pro-quality, sunscreen net to the roof of the lean-to greenhouse. The sun was shining on my wife's head. Then I made pancakes. My first ever! The Head Gardener managed to eat a whole one and was not without some faint praise. 😊

~~

26.03.2022 Day 2: Broken medical protocol!

 ~~

Saturday 26th 45F. Up at 4.30 am. A grey start but sunshine is promised.

 My wife has been abandoned until Monday for breaking protocol. She wanted to leave hospital early. Nothing they offered her in food or drink matched her crippled appetite. Nor her habitual tastes. So we had a bedside picnic of things she did like on Thursday. A local supermarket provided the goodies. Not that she ate much but it helped to cheer her up.

 We pushed for early release and she was delivered home, the next day, by two nice young chaps in an ambulance. So began the titanic struggle for her to gain a few centimetres of altitude!

 I had made up a temporary bed for her of thick foam, folding mattress cushions. These were placed where I had removed and destroyed our 1970s, 3-seater settee. [Sofa] She promptly slid straight off the edge of the "bed" and couldn't climb back onto it!

 She can't be lifted so I had to whip out all the cushions and leave the single foam mattress on the bare carpet. While she lay on the bare carpet. Now she was flat on the floor she couldn't rise to the height ofa 3" /75mm thick mattress.

 Having rolled her onto the "bed" she needed the toilet. She could certainly no longer rise to the home made toilet I had made. So we racked our brains for an alternative.  A call to the acute nursing hotline was a complete waste of breath and time. My wife does not officially exist in the system until Monday. So none of the promised advice on the website was available in verbal form. We seriously considered calling 112 for emergency services. A hefty firemen might help.

 A shallow, soft rubber, gardening tray containing a folded bath towel provided the perfect solution in the toilet arrangements. She had only to lift her hips by 2cm and I slid the tray under.  We made do for the two teaspoons of urine she managed in fifteen minutes. It's obvious really: Nothing goes in at the top end. Nothing comes out down below.

 Without the promised adjustable "hospital" bed and nurses it is extremely difficult to get my wife comfortable. A living skeleton has no padding on the pelvic girdle. Sharp bones project downwards while she is lying on her back. These points  get very sore from pressure and friction. A "proper" bed would allow changes in posture. Promises-promises! Monday is still two days away!

 The pharmacist turned up unexpectedly yesterday afternoon with a bag of medicines. No instruction and no nurse to teach me. The carrier bag will have to wait until after the official Monday start deadline. 

 Next priority is more house clearance. My wife has gone from an eating disorder to terminal cancer in less than a working week. Her previous wardrobe, gardening detritus and countless ornaments are now superfluous. I had been carefully sorting her clothes into large, clear storage tubs for easy identification. I should have been clear, bin-bagging it for charity recycling. That would have saved a wasted week and quickly reduced the remaining storage volume in the bedroom.

 All her vast collection of "stuff" needs to be quickly downsized. She is lying on the floor of the lounge/diner. Everything around her is total chaos. Preserved, prematurely, so that she would not feel I had dumped all her belongings while she was in hospital. It is all now completely superfluous to caring for her every need. Several cubic meters of "stuff!" How many decorative flower pots does she now need? She has hundreds! Now she can't even see them from her temporary bed on the floor. Her range of vision will be worse still when she has the proper bed.

 Getting her more upright is the next priority. Otherwise she can't eat or drink. Not even with a bendy straw. I fancy a sheet of plywood would provide a firmer head angle but she would just slide down flat onto the floor again. Just as she has on all the pillows I have added.

 She went back to sleep at six. So I have retired to my computer upstairs. To tell the world how badly we are coping so far. I wasn't trained for this. My wife would never allow me to fend for myself while she was present. That doesn't make me an idiot. I just need some practice. Forget about effortless parallel processing for the moment. No more day dreaming.

 I haven't mentioned the new stove. Bought to replace the long, low, antique, black box. This one is upright has a vast glass door to see the flames. Instead of a closed, iron door which required a praying position while being serviced. As if dodging stray, Russian bullets. The problem is that the new stove doesn't light easily. Not without the firelighters recommended in the manufacturer's blurb.

 Firelighters mean shopping. Can I leave her alone for at least 50 minutes? With the doors unlocked in case a promised nurse or bed turn up in my absence? It's quarter of an hour to the shops and the same back again. I feel another home delivery service order might be worth a try. 

 The last few orders, towards the end of the pandemic, went unanswered. Probably asking for too much stuff for the paltry delivery charge. Volunteers were going back to work. We shall have to see what a deliberately modest order produces. A big bag of nappies and some firelighters will be a high priority.

 I have to keep a constant ear out for my wife calling from downstairs. Thank goodness for our open plan living arrangements via the stairwell. We are both increasingly deaf and her voice is increasingly weak. We used to live and sleep upstairs. Now the stairs might as well be K2!

 I really ought to go out and open the garden gates to the shared] potholed drive. Or that will be a perfect excuse for "visitors" to claim there was "nobody at home." 

  It is hard to tell when my wife is asleep. Enjoying a precious break from the waking nightmare. I am creeping about so as not to wake her. Avoiding the creaking floorboard upstairs and preventing the sound of a door closing have become rehearsals. For my intense retraining as a "carer." Paying it all back for my over half a century of being expertly cared for. Which provided me with the thoughtless freedom for my endless hobbies and projects. 

 I have now washed and re-spun the towels. Now they have to be dried in the only heated room. Where my wife is lying asleep on the floor. I crept in, turned off the lights, put down the laundry basket  and then crept out again. I'm developing some new found skill at creeping. Shame about all the rest!

 ~~

 

25.03.22 Day 1: My wife of 54½ years has come home to die.

 ~~

My triking diary now covers the period after my wife's diagnosis of terminal cancer. This is written purely as a record of her last days for my own benefit. Nobody can say how long she will last. However the morphine is distancing her ever further from reality. 

 She is deteriorating very rapidly indeed. I have been trying to immerse myself in reorganizing the house contents. Short of a spectacular miracle she will not be returning to her former life.    

Friday 25th 60F at 15.00. After a major trim at the hairdressers I spent the morning attacking the hedge with the chainsaw. To make more room for nurses' vehicles to come and go while I am parked. 

 My wife came back from hospital in the ambulance. Despite my hedge hacking it was a tight squeeze.

 The promised hospital bed never arrived. Nor did the promised nurse. We will have to wait until Monday now. I made up a bed on a layer of foam mattress on the floor. My wife was too weak to climb onto it. Too much in pain to let me lift her. So I had to remove the layers beneath the best 3" thick foam mattress. 

 Now She can't get warm despite several layers of thick, down duvets. About a foot of goose down in all. She can't tolerate any weight on her. Fortunately, She has now fallen fast asleep.

 The afternoon and evening passed slowly as we tried to raise her to use the makeshift toilet. After some floor gymnastics on thick, sponge pillows, trying to get her upright and higher, she wanted to die. 

 Physically rolling her seems to be the only way to gain any horizontal distance. She is too weak to crawl and her back is agony if I try to lift or [worse] slide her bodily. Polythene would help reduce friction but it is difficult to get it under her. Not to mention retrieving it after the journey of a few inches. We need a crane. The necessary sling would be incredibly difficult to arrange it under her. This definitely needs more thought.

~~

24.03.2022 Crisis ongoing.

 ~~

Thursday 24th 48F [09.30] Another mild, sunny day.

My dear wife, "The Head Gardener," mulching the huge and prickly, boundary hedge. The hedge consisted of a few, bare, tree trunks on our arrival. She filled it out with countless extra plants which she cultivated herself. This eventually shielded and protected us from the toxic neighbours from hell.

 I have been out in the car again to fetch some bigger, transparent, storage tubs.  I am clearing and reorganising the whole house while my wife is in hospital. 

 Sloping ceilings in the attic bedroom have defeated us so far. We have developed an incredibly inefficient combination of small wardrobes, cupboards, cardboard boxes, wicker baskets and bags. 

 I started with 10 x 20L boxes but soon ran out of volume. I dare not throw out anything without disciplined supervision. Now have an additional 10x 50L and 3x 72L. Just to play with. 

 Then I had to drive the 58km to to the hospital for the completely unexpected diagnosis. My wife had already been told. But would not say anything on her frantic phone call for me to get there soon. Not good news at all! Terminal cancer spreading widely. My poor, poor dear! She wants to come home!

 ~~

23.03.2022 Morons in storage.

 ~~

Wednesday 23rd  34F, heading for another sunny day. 

I have to charge my wife's dumb, mobile phone. Then make an illustrated guide to which buttons to press. I doubt she has used it more than once or twice since we bought it. There was never any need. Not with a landline at home.

I need some transparent storage boxes to get rid of assorted bags and cardboard boxes. I am reorganising the bedroom storage while my wife is in hospital. Trying to end the guessing games as to contents. Guess what? The most popular discount chain in Denmark does not list the sizes. "Small, medium or large? Shoe, boot or high heels?"

 You have to click on "Specification" to get the sizes. Are these people deliberately mental? Bone idle lazy? Desperate to torment their customers? Or just looking for a better job? The question is why anyone else would employ such a drooling moron. Stay where you are. You are more effective being a deliberate idiot under this banner. I shan't be buying my boxes from you. 

 A hasty decision it seems. Nobody else lists the dimensions of their boxes either. Which means endless mouse clicks to make simple comparisons. Intelligence revolution? Are they kidding?

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22.03.2022 Sygehus communication?

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Tuesday 22nd clear and sunny again. Slight overnight frost. 57F at 13.00!

The hospital telephone system is broken. When they say they are putting the caller on hold. For a staff member to become available. It goes straight to the engaged tone! Am occasional microsecond of the queuing jingle then endlessly engaged. More than a dozen times now. I emailed them but still no change in over an hour. Again and again through the afternoon. Each time it went straight to the engaged tone.

Luckily I tried my dumb mobile phone. This had no problem getting through. More hours wasted because they could not find my wife. Or kept putting me though to the wrong number. Then more time wasted as I kept being put repeatedly through to a nurse who never answered the phone!

Silly me! Everybody, except us, have smart mobile phones surgically welded to their bods. Anyway, I finally got through to my wife. Who was now completely distraught at not hearing from me. I had a quick snack and drove the 70 minutes to the hospital 58km away. We spent a couple of hours chatting before I had to return home in the dark. That took another 80 minutes. It has been a very long day! 

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21.03.2022 Last chance fix for a pair of hoarders. [Just in case.]

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 Monday 21st 39-49F. Up at 3am. My wife has been very poorly and has finally consented to going into hospital to be stabilized.
 Knowing a doctor would be calling at home required "a bit of tidying up." There are no letters large enough to convey what this actually meant. Things did not go well!

 We have lived in almost perfect, rural isolation for 25 years. Stuff mounts up in bags and boxes and then slowly takes up living space. I am an incredibly poor tidier. My wife an absolute genius at making things fit into spaces. We are both lifetime hoarders. 

 Planning decluttering for a pair of hoarders: While trying to make the place more tidy I discovered stuff which hasn't been looked at for literally decades. Hoarding can start from former, economic hardship. Or downsizing a home. Or both in our case. We never moved onto the [almost] affordable farmhouse with an aircraft hanger sized barn!

 Emotional attachment to worthless stuff, "just in case it is needed" is, or can be a mental disorder. I'm not talking about stinky household waste up to the ceilings. Just collections of old stuff or clothing we once bought. Collections which no longer have any real meaning. Clothing worn to holes out in the garden or workshop but still "lurking."

 Curtains indoors, hanging in front or over "storage areas" are a license for intensive hoarding. I just tried hanging a curtain across my wardrobe. This was to avoid the difficulty of the door blocking access to unwanted items for recycling. The curtain looked absolutely awful and the door went straight back on! Without having thinned out any of the clothing I haven't worn in 25 years!

 The Danes are much more informal in dress. Which meant most of my former wardrobe was utterly pointless. Suits? Nope. Tweed jackets and trousers? Seriously? It is all still in there. Crammed in with all the other items I never wear and those I just might. The best clothing storage is open to view. Then there are no excuses.

 Many of our "collectable" items have not accumulated value over time as we had hoped. Trying to sell them now proves very difficult except at knock-down prices. Not all of it is worthy of recycling through charity shops. Charity shops seem to have even more of the same stuff and the prices are no higher now. Than back then. When we bought them because they seemed too cheap compared with UK prices. We were utterly wrong!

  I have managed to sell several unused bikes and most of my old Hifi. The rest of the [stored] Hifi went to charity shops. Probably to be discarded as outdated. A modest clock collection [of 40!!] was sold. There are many more clocks to "unload." These are only moderately valuable in the right market but impossibly far from that market. The main area of interest is the UK. In Denmark they might as well be scrap!
 
 My vintage, industrial wall clocks are large, very fragile and very heavy. Others are smaller, still heavy and not easily posted. There is no helpful eBay in Denmark. Just small ads websites. Which have rapid turnovers of almost completely worthless items. Making my [supposedly] more valuable stuff quickly lost to page 39 or 40. Moreover, I don't have a mobile phone, payment app which everybody now uses and prefers. Major hurdle! Unless somebody really wants your stuff at giveaway prices!

 I think I am now up to six trailer loads taken to the recycling yard so far. This is not a small trailer. It can take an 8x4 sheet of plywood in the bed. The logistics of filling and then re-distributing the contents of the trailer is becoming ever more tiring and tiresome. 

 I still own 12 boxes of "bike stuff" taking up valuable space in the shed. Scrap bin for recent gear changers and saddles? Or try to move it via the small ads? It cost thousands over time. To accumulate and discard for new and "better" stuff.

 The recycling yards are strictly set out for minimum handling for commercial recyclers. Certainly not for the benefit of the public. Staff hang about to point out our mistakes if anything should go in the wrong one of fifty, incredibly badly labelled, industrial containers or bins! They will never help with lifting. Not even for a septuagenarian with a hefty flat screen TV to lift into a container! It stopped working several years ago but we kept it "just in case!" 

 I have several hoards of wood and timber [in case a project comes up] scattered around. Some of it is worm eaten from contamination by purchased items bought 20 years ago. How to be rid of it all? I planned to recycle some of it through the wood stove. Will this ever happen? I could never afford timber for my grandiose projects in my youth. Now every precious piece must be kept. Really? 

 So it's a multiple, negative, serial impact of a lifetime hoarder desperately trying to downsize! Choose stuff indoors, carry outside, put in trailer. Drive to recycling yards and unload again, item by item. Often involving 50 yards of walking between identical containers! 

 I have even driven round the yard several times to reach remote container locations! Physical and mental challenges abound at every single step of this whole process! You couldn't design a worse recycling solution. Except for manic recyclers who actually enjoy the task! They really do need AI robots to unload the car trailers. Not make old ladies [or men] struggle to carry heavy stuff up ladders to the scrap bin! Did I mention that the recycling yards are only open a couple of days a week? 

 We are both approaching an age where downsizing will be forced upon us. Old people's homes do not have storage. I have seen the "utter garbage" in storage areas for sheltered accommodation. Hoarding insanity writ large in some cases. Stacks of old newspapers, receipts and bills filling the entire space. Several trailer loads required to the recycling yard. Broken furniture. Bits of curtain rail and cracked crockery. It's tragic!

~~

20.03.2022 Yet another weather record broken.

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 Sunday 20th 36F, light frost, rather cloudy and windy but sunshine is promised again for later. Denmark is breaking a 147 year, March record, for high pressure at 1051 hektopascals. It is also enjoying continuous, extra sunshine for March. This has been useful in keeping the house much warmer than usual. 

 Handy, when the rising expense of using Russian gas. Has "forced" central heating owners to shift their heating over to wood. Thereby causing a wood fuel shortage and greatly increased prices. Particularly for those who have only wood fuel as their prime source of heating. Meanwhile, the gas users are being subsidised, by the taxpayer, for their increased gas, fuel bills. Spend small on climate. Spend large on old habits. Leading to a fuel-subsidised war with the Russian, lifetime lunatic and proven despot.

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19.03.2022 When is a war crime not a war crime? Better ask the ICC!

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 Saturday 19th 30F, white frost with yet more sunshine and spring, afternoon temperatures promised. 48F at 12.00. 50F at 13.00.

 Cold on the hands and a blinding sun on the way back. I saw my first wagtail of this year. A double chevron of geese went over. Quietly for a change. Woodpeckers have been drumming for several days now. 

 The roadside hedge slashers had been out. Leaving their debris scattered widely. For the solo, morning walker to kick out of the path of the third class cyclists riding in the gutter. Several crash test dummies were practising for the Danish Land Speed Record. While taking blind corners with a "racing line." Just to prove their infinite masculinity and drooling idiocy. 

 A Danish political party wants to reward those suffering under the increased, central heating, gas profiteering. While those of us who have lost our only fuel. Because those with gas central heating have fired up their decorative, wood stoves. Must suffer in silence and be grateful for their remaining furniture. [For use as kindling.] But still receive no winter heating subsidy because they have savings in the bank. [But NOT a multimillion mansion. Which can be sold tax free.] This is called "Scandinavian, benign socialism."

 How do you recognise the Danish owner of central heating? They wear only their underwear indoors all winter. They run out to their car to fetch something. Still in their underwear. While leaving the house door wide open, behind them. They usually have a taxpayer subsidised, indoor swimming pool, sauna or wine cellar. As well as central heating.

_____________________________________

Question: How do you "investigate war crimes" when the evidence is before all of our eyes?

Answer: Give the job to The ICC. [The International Corrupt Court] Another few decades "nice little earner" lined up for all those well heeled, "ambulance chasers." To dutifully prosecute a token, conscripted, lance corporal for "just following orders."

Question: Why is Putin not being held in prison pending the three decades of his formal trial? If this was the US a broken tail light would be enough for summary execution by firing squad by a racist cop.

Answer: I expect Putin has been given a right of veto on that too. 

Question: Why was Putin's and the oligarchs corrupt financial behaviour allowed to occur internationally, for decades, before Putin's private invasion of Ukraine?

Answer: Their dirty money was always welcome, without question, everywhere they dumped it. [Most favoured nation status. Seriously?]

Question: Why was Putin allowed to continue his charade as lifetime dictator after his last invasion?

Answer: Because the world's spineless politicooze wanted to stand beside him for "a selfie." Borrowing glamour from a photo op with the chief dickhead. Oh, and several of them had invaded other countries themselves. "Do as I say. Not as I do?"

Question: Why was Putin allowed to supply so much "dirty" but vital oil and gas. Just to line his own pockets?

Answer: Because the politicooze would have traded with Hitler and still would. The banks certainly did and still would. Still cheerfully accepting sacks of Jew's gold teeth as deposits? "That will do nicely Sir!"
 
Question: Why does a war criminal deserve decades of "fair trial?" While the countless victims get not a single nanosecond of consideration?

Answer: Better ask the ICC. 

Question: Why are vast armies of conscripts allowed to perish hideously on the whim of a despot like Putin, Xi or Assad? Yet the despot is infinitely safe from a single cruise missile damaging his palace furniture while not even in residence?

Answer: Better ask the spineless politicooze. They pretend to make up some of the rules for their election lies. Whereas The 1% make up all of the rules.

~~

18.03.2022 Pathetic dictators and their pathetic, disposable armies.

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 Friday 18th 36-51F, white frost with sunshine. Another, long sunny day. Record setting amounts of sunshine for March.

_______________________________

 Every Russian NOT protesting against the deranged monster and lifetime dictator, Putin, is a fellow war criminal. Or accessory to war crimes. Putin is only interested in personal power and his own wealth. Having sacrificed his poorly trained, teenage conscripts, as cannon fodder, the despot now threatens the world with nuclear war. Just to save face? Pathetic!

 If China helps the pathetic invasion, by the pathetic Russian army, then there should be a total boycott of all Chinese goods. The corrupt, lifetime, Chinese dictator is as deranged as Putin. His own national cowards have allowed him too much freedom to commit crimes against humanity. All for a corrupt bank balance? Pathetic!

 Whether it is better to have a spineless and corrupt geriatric. Or a spineless, corrupt crook in the White House. Has yet to be determined. The trillions spent on arms and disposable forces, is not worth a cent if the spineless "leader" is not a major part of the deterrence!

  It has long been proven that [asymmetric] guerilla fighters can run rings around the world's largest and most expensively equipped, armed forces. A few ragbag, cavemen held of the Russian and US armies for decades in Afghanistan and elsewhere. 

 The only reason for these vast armies is to play war games, hold pathetic, flag waving parades. While supporting an otherwise bankrupt, taxpayer funded, industrial wasteland and pretend it is still 1914. Pathetic! 

~~