Over the past two months, I’ve had the “pleasure” of watching a man waste away before my eyes. My mother’s long-term partner was diagnosed with terminal cancer in August and being the person I am, we invited him to our home to pass away his last weeks.
In the past I never got on with him because his chronic alcoholism frightened me and turned him into a spiteful monster. I never really got to know the real person until my mother nearly died during the Winter 2007 and he came and lived with us and helped a great deal. By then the alcohol took second stage, he couldn’t drink anymore. If he did he’d fall over and another fall would finish him.
We joked he had more lives than a bus load of black cats – surviving falls, broken bones, near-fatal blood loss (he used to go into hospital regularly to have his blood “topped up”) and having more surgery then I’ve had kebabs for dinner. Logic said he should have died a decade ago – but he fought on. Someone up there wanted him here – probably to teach me a life lesson, I imagine.
But in the last three years, the booze subsided and the kind, generous man appeared. He died in August, but they injected his heart with adrenalin and brought him back for one last encore. So we bought him here and we’ve been keeping him comfortable and entertained. I’ve been gambling on the horses via the Internet for him and generally having a fun time.
Last night, we cooked him a dinner but he couldn’t eat it – suddenly violent stomach pains emerged, and it was revealed that he hadn’t taken his medication to keep him regular for about four days. Doctors were called, ambulances arrived and he was taken away in the early hours in agony, but still conscious. I thought he’d pull off another recovery, I really did, but it wasn’t to be.
At about 8.10am we got a call from the hospital to come quickly, but he died shortly after the call. His bowels were blocked, possibly ruptured and an infection had poisoned his bloodstream. Well that’s what the doctor said – though the real cause of death will never be known because his terminal condition means that they will just put “advanced cancer” on the death certificate.
It has affected me because I wanted to get us all back. I didn’t want to leave anyone behind, but I feel I failed. We were only days away from his birthday (and we were going to make it special) and our intention was to keep him alive for Christmas. I couldn’t even get that right.
The worst part was I completely fudged the situation with Verity. Jim and Verity were firm friends, he made a real impression on her and vice verse. She knew he was ill and knew about his hospital visits. She understood. But this morning when I told her nanny and mum were coming back from the hospital she asked: “With Jim?” and I tried my best to explain about his illness and him not coming back and she replied:
“Jim doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
And that broke my heart in two…
Good night Jim, wherever you are. I hope your horses come in for you.

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