I've had too much time away and too much time in the company of others (even if one of the others is my hubby, and another is my Mum!) because, bloody hell. I'm in such a crabby mood. Poor Paul's gone up to bed early to escape my snappy responses to everything he says and does. I can't wait to get home and do very little in peace and quiet.
Especially as I'm not sure when I'll have to head north again.
Rachel's daughter Anna messaged me today to say that Rachel's consultant told her it was now a matter of days, a week at most. Honestly, I don't know how they know - I'm guessing she's had scans and they can see how the tumours are progressing. Anna says Rachel had a few bad days (bad being days where she is in a lot of pain and barely functions) after I took my Mum to see her last Thursday, but that today she was bright and with it again, singing "Do ye ken Mike Finnegan" to her when she woke. Crazy woman, why that song? Who knows.
I feel so much for Rachel's three kids. They are all there every day, taking it in turns to sleep over in Rachel's room at night, and so they see her up and down like this, never knowing how it's going to pan out. Hoping she'll beat the odds but wanting it all to be over at the same time. It's easier for me because I'm not there - and the two times I've seen her were good days. Her older daughter, Helga, recently found out she was pregnant, so Rachel has a second grandchild on the way, but one she isn't going to meet. Fuck, that's sad. She loves seeing Max, her six month old first grandchild, which is good. I remember when we reconnected after several years she told me she wished she could have more kids - not a sentiment I ever understood but then I don't have a maternal bone in my body.
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