Cake

Sunday 6 May

Once Lara was washed and prepared for a power day, we had a late breakfast together, over the dining table, and conducted a conversation as normally we would. About the French and Greek elections, for example. Caroline de Gruyter brought over a polenta/almond/lemon cake and set it out with powdered sugar. The two ladies are engaged in a lively chat as I write this.

Doctor Schroyens, the homeopathist, called in to hear about the situation, having read my emails over the past several days. We are staying with the present dose of medication until Wednesday. Then, on the basis of the blood sample results, he will adjust the therapy.

At around 3:00PM my sister Hanneke and her husband came over with my mam and my daughter. I was glad I had the cake to serve with tea, which they all loved. We sat around the bed and talked at an easy pace. Lara had put her favorite ring on plus some black onyx earrings, just to get an edge (which she would need; see below). At the last minute, when our visitors were already in the elevator up, she wanted her pink turban, but I couldn't find it anywhere.

We all looked at the hematoma connecting the abrasions above Lara's right brow and on her cheekbone, and wondered why none of the doctors had checked her for a concussion. She must have hit her head pretty hard (on the ground? against the dining table or her bed?) with the little control over her neck muscles that she had. Tell tale signs like sensitivity to light were not picked up on. Anyway, symptoms begin to recede now. She checked her face in a handmirror for the first time in weeks, including the bruises. "Jeez", she said under her breath.

The vistors from Breda left at 4:00PM as promised and by that time Lara had really had it. She has been napping since then, interrupted by one last visitor for the day. Apart from the nurse who will come by later.

After a few phone calls the oxygen company came by to deliver two new masks as promised. I was out shopping at the corner supermarket. The technicien adjusting the mask - a friendly clot without much training in social graces, by his own admission - talked to Lara and referred to me as "your son"! That hurt. Then, trying to get his foot out of his mouth again, the poor bloke made it worse by saying "But you look a lot older than him." Ay, that hurt even more. Please leave; like rightaway.

The masks are sturdier, especially the airbag part, and therefore take quite a bit of time to assume an accomodating form. We upped the pressure to 9 liters a minute again just to get her started. Then we will gradually diminish down to 6 liters/minute. It all boils down to trust and confidence. Still she feels a little lightheaded.

I made some warm soup and then we will split come Thai chicken with red curry. Which pretty much takes care of the evening.