Captain

Sunday 20 May

Although admittedly low on energy, Lara made six rounds touring the dining room table after her morning toilettage. She is, my friends, more and more emaciated, and needs rather prolonged naps in between activities. Now two days shy of a full month back at home, her question (and mine) is how long her sick-bed is going to go on for. We are looking at mental exhaustion on her part, and a dwindling supply of hope. Resignation is beginning to set in and preparation for an untimely end. How will it come, she wonders, and will it be destiny making the call, or doctors - or Lara herself? And where does that leave her, as master of her fate and captain of her soul? The concomitant loss of control is deeply worrying to her, to put it mildly. We discuss about it a lot.

We decided we want to talk further about this with our GP tomorrow.

The poem she wants to see used on her own death annoucement is nearing completion, but in a way she is reluctant to pursue it to the end, as it would eliminate one more impediment to just putting her head down for ever. It feels to her as if, with the poem finished, there would be nothing left for her but dying. Partly, also, the poem is bringing her awfully close to where she rather would not be. It is like the Isfahan poem in a different variation. Heavy on her heart, but determined nevertheless. Sounds like anybody we know and love?