Museum

Saturday 2 June

I may not be the best person to judge any significant evolution in Lara's condition, for I see her the whole day, every day. But I need to tell you, dear friends, that things are not looking up. I glance over from where I am sitting writing, and if I take away her quiet breathing, it is not difficult to imagine what she will look like before long, the poor thing.

It struck me this morning, over breakfast, as she sat across from me at the table. Shrunken, hollow eyed, tired, her body slightly shaking under a restive tremor in her right foot - 'Igor'. A shadow of what she once was: a radiant, vibrant, thriving woman. Now she concentrates on eating her soya yoghurt and apple for breakfast, and there is no energy to spare on conversation. She is trying to keep her food down, and manages to empty both her plate and her coffee cup. But she does find the time to verify if I have made the hospice a cup as well. I have. Always an eye out for other people.

Give me a smile, I said, for I really need one from you. The corners of her mouth lightly twitch, her eyes narrowing. You have done better, I tell her in a mock complaint. But the intention is none the less, she defends herself. I know, I know.

Doctor Isabelle Willemot came by early this morning and was not unhappy. Pressure still 92 over 50. Nausea situation overall improved with the new medication. Lara can hold out for another week or two weeks, Isabelle tells me before disappearing in the elevator. I find that hard to believe - but I have been wrong before.

I think I will go out and go to a museum. It is not good for me to hang around too much in the house.