Out of Breath

Saturday 21 April midnight

Today was an intense day for Lara. A host of friends and relatives passed by her hospital bed with all the attendant emotions that such visits carry, given the circumstances. First there was Liliana, who had flown in from Madrid. Followed by her friend Andreina and her husband, and then my kids. Bouke and Merel went in one by one. Their one-year old daughter Madelief (Daisy) looked in through the window in the inner door of Lara's room, and her grandmother waved enthusiastically with both arms, as soon as she spotted the little girl.

Then there were my daughter Lot and her husband, Kai, with our grand-daughter Yasmin - who likewise peeked in through the window (much more curious, at four and a half). Yasmin had found the perfect solution to Lara's breathing problem: Oma should use my cough potion, that will cure her.

The children all took turns saying their goodbyes, and Lara (to the extent I was privy to their conversations) had a kind and wise word to say to each of them. To Merel she confided: I would have wished to be a grand-mother until I was old and decrepit, baking cookies and cooking Mexican food. To one of the other children she said she had looked so much forward to taking up swimming again by this summer, the great passion in her life. Was that too much to ask? There were tears on both sides.

Then I had some quality time with Lara for about an hour and a half, until her brother Gordon arrived. I left them alone for about forty-five minutes and then rejoined them. I had fixed Lara some food we brought in from outside, for she only had some cornflakes and milk that morning. She actually ate an entire portion of it, plus a cup of Haagen-Dazs icecream.

At around eight, we said our goodbyes and left to get some dinner ourselves, meanwhile joined by Tanya (at Bleu sur Toi). As we were leaving the restaurant, Lara called. She had trouble breathing, and she couldn't locate the panic button to summon the nurse. I called the nurse, who explained after looking into Lara straighaway.

Lara's breathing is steadily deteriorating because of the ongoing lung infection. We had noticed this ourselves over the last few days. This afternoon she was getting 10 liters of oxygen per minute, while her saturation was down to 90. (That is about the maxium each way.) She coughs more and more. (Pain she doesn't have.) This decline is going to continue but nobody knows how fast or for how long. It depends. Normally, as part of palliative care, Lara would receive a morphine pump. That would help her relax and improve her breathing as a result. But Lara refuses morphine for the time being as it clouds the mind. As time passes, she will find that morphine is inevitable. The only alternative would be intubation, which doesn't make sense for someone who is terminal and doesn't want to be put under. Intubation would entail sedation, and then she would end up where she doesn't want to go in the first place.

I offered to come over immediately, and Gordon and Tanya said they would join. The nurse had asked Lara, and Lara declined. There was no need. The nurse has my mobile number and promised to alert me should anything dramatic happen.

I don't want my Lara to die on her own, without her sweetie, and certainly I don't want her to die by lack of breath, her great fear.