The week so far: two visits from palliative care consultant, two visits from medical team, one visit from the GP, four friends at separate times, two bags of fluids, some test tubes of blood and a urine sample taken away, and two trips to the pharmacy. Kamalashila’s sojourn in hospital has shaken up the balance of his medications. In some ways it is back to square one. For instance: the newly prescribed anti-nausea tablets make him less nauseous but cause him to feel sedated. It is now removed from the battery of medications and another drug might be tried out instead. A new equilibrium needs to be found within all the different forces that are at play in his body. It is so peculiar how a body gets less private as soon as anything medical is going on. We talk extensively about the functions of the body. What works as it should, what doesn’t work quite so well. Let’s talk about something more interesting, we say. We are silent. He is very tired. Time is precious.
Late in the evening a mouse runs out of the old Victorian hearth. It is surprised to see me. I do a classical ‘eek’. We part. What remains is a memory of awareness, pink insides of ears, a lively face and two perceptive eyes. A bit later KS appears in the opening of the door, just giving me a wave, a bottle of sparkling water in his other hand. My heart contracts.
The next morning, as I take a walk in the park with a friend, my phone rings. The doctor phones and says KS’s calcium is high again. She is on her way with another bag of liquid. As the liquid slowly drips from the bag into his body, some tears roll over my cheeks. Straight into my blood, KS says.
