What a great and supportive friend you are, Ron.  I had no-one like you during my worst days.  I was having to keep everyone else's head above water - and so it's been ever since.  Everyone relies on me always, which is probably why I went down like a ton of bricks afterwards.  It took me years to resurface as anything approaching the person I used to be.  I haven't got there even yet and probably never will now.  I've still managed to hold everyone else up though. 

Thank heavens this poor family has you to lean on.  You really are wonderful!

Two experiences in my life that have affected me quite considerably. Its not often I talk about them either.

In the year 2000, an uncle of mine whom I had a lot of respect for, died of Prostate Cancer. He was rather close as he acted as Guardian to my son, with whom, quite fortunately, provided my son with an education to die for at a public school in York. He was well respected everywhere he went, wether it be in his diamond business or when he was in the army. I missed the chance of pkayin g with the Yorkshire Volunteer Forces Band at his memorial Service at York Minster, in the Green Howards Chapel, which he founded!

It would be around 19 years ago now that my ex-wife, unfortunately experienced that terrible situation of a still born. We named the baby Daniel James. The sad thing is, he would've been a brother for my son, but alas no. His anniversary falls on my birthday, so ever since then, really, they havnt been the same. I try my best to try and go to his grave, but wuite honestly, even after all this time, its still really quite a difficult event to get round to.

BBM, I am truly sorry to hear that very sad story.

Milly, I had friends who helped me a lot when my husband died. One friend in particular, who is still my best friend, gave me a lot of practical help (essential) as well as emotional support - listening for hours (literally) on the phone. She was much better than my parents were at first. They were just so distraught - more so than I was in many ways - that I had to support them to some extent. I think they could never accept that life just wasn't fair, that you weren't rewarded for your own reasonably good behaviour by an easy, happy life. They adjusted though, and were a great help later. It must have been very hard for you if you really had no support. I have to admit that my neighbours were useless. We hadn't been in the house very long, and they kept out of the way, later saying thet hadn't wanted to intrude.

Ron, a good friend in these circumstances is the most valuable thing anyone can have, so you will be of incalculable importance.

I am sorry to hear all these things. Of course the older one gets, if one, and one's friends and relatives, are lucky enough to do so, the more immediate this kind of situation becomes. Many people are afraid to be confronted by such things. I certainly am, but I remember from helping (with many others) a friend in his final illness back in 1986 that when they happen you just have to get on with what needs doing and saying, and not get self-absorbed with thoughts of your own mortality (as I for example have an unfortunate tendency to do). Stay with it, Ron. I know you will.

As I've said, it's a switchback experience. Yesterday was not a good day, and last night Dode, who gave up smoking for about the eighth time two years ago, chain-smoked his way through the evening having accepted that his lassie had just given in. There wasn't that much that I could fasten on that was positive, though I tried until the second bottle of wine got the better of him and he dropped off.

I drove him in this morning so that he could replace Mrs D, who'd done the night shift: her sister, the ex-nurse, was already there, and the girl was scrunched up at a very strange angle in the bed, although at least her colour was better than yesterday. Her mum and aunt decided they'd go to the canteen (right the other end of this very large hospital) for a cup of tea, and about five minutes after they'd gone, she suddenly announced that she wanted a biscuit. We went through the whole palaver of getting her out of bed and into her wheelchair - not easy, for although she weighs next to nothing and we're both big strong lads, she's in a lot of pain with a crushed vertebra (another story in itself) and any move that jars her back in any way is met with banshee howling and language which would embarrass your average navvy. There are also in and out catheters to be manipulated and secured...palaver's definitely the word.

So we finally get her ensconced and do the big trip to the canteen, which involves two lifts and a hike down a long corridor with wonderful views up the Tay - the hospital is in a stunning location, which certainly helps to raise the spirits when you get the right view. Yesterday she was so high on pain killers that she was talking absolute mince (standard Scottish variation of verbal garbage): today, however, she was making considerably more sense.

When we got her to the canteen there was soup out, and sandwiches, well as tea, coffee and biscuits. "So which biscuit do you want?" - "Eh'm wantin' soup and a prawn sangwidge" (She's very Dundee) "And a tea and a drink o'milk an' a." So we humoured her...

For someone who's hardly eaten at all in the last five weeks, it was really good to see. Not much of the soup, but a whole half of the 'sangwidge', half of the tea and half of the milk as well. Nobody was forcing her, let alone feeding her: she just helped herself. This may seem pretty mundane in itself, but it's probably the biggest change we've seen in weeks: if she can keep this up, then the hope that we might get as far as the next stage is a bit less pie in the sky. She's stayed awake all day, although she was really tied by the time Mrs D and I left about an hour ago, and we've managed all of it without the pain-killing injections which zonk her.

So we've had another 24 hours in which moods have swung round again. Tomorrow might be totally different, but at least folk may be able to go to their beds tonight without feeling that it's all over and there's no hope left....

Ron, my  6' husband was paralysed from the waist down with spinal tumours and was in a lot of pain above the waist also - but I managed to get him in and out of bed single-handedly and into a wheelchair with the minimum of problems due to the use of a "banana board".  The hospital should have one or the physios at least if you ask.   What you do is put half of it on the bed and the other half on the chair and the patient can then take their time to literally slide across from one to the other with the minimum of pain and effort, with you giving whatever support is needed via arms and shoulders if required.

Hi Ron Dough,

I can not add much to what had been said here. I marvel at people and at their courage when faced with traumatic events. Many people here are not strangers to the most tragic events of life. 
I just want you to know that your and your friend and her family are in my prayers too.

brassbandmaestro, your story is also very painful even after so many years. I hope our support and understanding will make it easier.