I was allowed to sleep in my bed last night. Robin began the night on a doggie bed on the floor. I don't know why. She just did.
So I made myself comfortable, and at some point during the night, she joined me. She didn't push me around. I was allowed to stay where I was.
Perhaps Robin read yesterday's message and realized that remaining a bed hog could make her unpopular.
In spite of the large tumor she has, I question the vet's prognosis of four months to live. She's so tough, I suspect she may decide to hang around awhile longer, especially now that she's living the good life.
In another life, I helped take care of a man who was dying from lung cancer. Oh, I adored him. Before the pain got really bad, every day I would take a fresh pitcher of water to him and he would tap his cheek and say, Gimme a kiss right here, baby doll.
I was happy to oblige.
But when he no longer asked for kisses and stayed in bed all day, the hospice nurse was called in. She said he had mere hours to live.
His family came to be with him. They gathered round his bed and cried, Daya-dee, don't leave us!
Daya-dee respected their wishes and lived about another six weeks.
So much for the hospice nurse and her prognosis of mere hours to live.
The man was the one who knew when it was the end. He told me he wanted his son to be called - his oldest son, not the rest of the family.
The son arrived at about 2 a.m. and the kindly man drifted away into lovely, soothing death. He knew when it was his time, and I think Robin will let us know when it is her time.
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