annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Monday night

I walked along the beach today, litter-picking and reciting in my head all the things I was going to write here later, but they've all fallen away.

I think Sam's stomach is starting to bloat up again. I'm going to give her her name, she's not just my daughter, she is her own self, and she's lost enough without losing her name. I'm scared. I haven't told anyone, except the nurses, but they are only going to keep an eye on her as far as pain relief goes. There's no monitoring of anything here, other than pain or other kinds of discomfort.

Joyce asked in the comments what the 'fatal element' is and I replied: "A massive, kidney stone blocking one kidney, that formed in a matter of weeks since the last ones were cleared. Removal of the stone would be risky, painful, and need doing again and again and again, which would be cruel, as her quality of life has become so low. A vague smile every few days… The antibiotics given in hospital, although stopped when we came here, did see off the sepsis. Urine WILL get backed up in the kidney again and will cause more infections but none of this is yet happening. They are all about the comfort so they have given some feed to avoid hunger pangs, and here she is now sleeping like an angel as we arrive at day 12."

So maybe the distended belly is the start of something.


How can it be possible that I have become so inured to the death of my daughter? I'm not really, I don't think. I think I am numb and in shock and in my own kind of limbo to match the limbo she's in, hanging in the balance between life and death. Her eyes are often open but rarely seem to see. She has been like this for two weeks now. Two fucking weeks. I would never have believed that I would blog about it, but I have to.

I am quite mad with grief.

I hate everyone and have isolated myself pretty much from everyone except my friend who has cancer and my son, other daughter and grandson. Everyone else can go fuck themselves. Grandson's girlfriend is staying with him and I do actually like her but it's all I can do not to tell her to fuck off as soon as she opens her mouth.

So I walk on the beach, especially on days like today when it's grey and wet and there aren't many people around. And sit with my girl and get into stupid spats on facebook with people about the election or Trump or the pope. I did this before when I was scared for Sam, at last year's Glasto - sitting in my tent in the middle of the night arguing about gun control via my phone with some crazy old lady in the US who couldn't believe I go to bed leaving my front door unlocked as she couldn't sleep unless she had guns in her bedroom. Today it's been about terrorists - a local man was arrested today in connection with Manchester - and people saying we must be vigilant. I want to know what we are being vigilant for and I don't get any answers. I fear it's about brown-skinned men talking in non-European foreign languages. That innocent Brazilian lad who was shot dead by police after 7/7 could have been my son - same height, colouring, facial structure and identical clothes and back-pack. This makes me anxious about what people mean when they say we must all be vigilant - it's not like we're going to overhear a plan to attack somewhere, or spot someone stuffing a bag with explosives and if it's disillusion with the way the west is carrying on, bloody hell, they'll have to build a lot more prisons to fit us all in.


The consultant is coming round in the morning - a doctor comes every day but a senior one less often. There are no answers. People have been keen to tell me stories of friends and relations who hovered on the brink of death for weeks, edging back and forth like it's a fucking dance contest, causing people to travel to their bedside and away again like motherfuckers. This is one reason I hate everyone. Are they telling me this is some kind of normal?

Midnight. Bedtime. Laters. xx

12:04 a.m. - 30.05.17


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