This is really an update for all those lovely gransnetters who supported me during difficult times in November and December. My husband moved into a Nursing Home on December 31, and with a few hiccups, settled in. I chose one near to home and visited him once or twice a day. Last Saturday morning I received a call while I was loading my shoping in Sainsbury's car park, to say that he had stopped breathing and was receiving CPR. I don't know how I managed the drive from Sainsbury's to the Home, but when I got there he was breathing but fairly unresponsive. However in the resus department on a huge dose of oxygen, he started to come round, smiled and said he was fine. The staff said they had only seen a recovery like this a few times. However he began to get worse, and I was prepared for his death. My daughters (his stepdaughters) and I spent the rest of the day with him, and I was given a campbed beside him for the night. He sank further the next day, but was so brave, the poor darling. His son managed to get to the hospital by late afternoon, and my darling husband died very peacefully not long after midnight with his so and I on either side of him stroking him. His poor lungs just couldn't cope any more. He has to have an autopsy to confirm that it was asbestos that caused his pulmonary fibrosis. I am glad that he did not live long enough for his dementia to progress any further. I have not really started grieving yet because I cannot really take it in he is actually gone, and it just feels like another step in his sad decline over the last couple of years, and particularly the last few months.
