Again

    Dad is again saying he wants to stop dialysis. We've at least still got a commitment for him to try at least one more time tomorrow. It's possible that between the painkillers and the pillow to sit on, he'll be willing to continue. But we're starting (or Margaret and I at least are) to accept the idea that this is the end. Poor Anne needs to get back to work and also to get back to get her insulin, and is horribly torn. At the moment she's planning to stay at least a few more days.
    We all know it's near the end. We just don't want him to give up while there's any chance he can get better. But I'm not sure he's going to give us that chance. And maybe he's right; it isn't much of a life for him in bed all the time, almost blind, almost deaf, having to go to dialysis three times a week. I only wish he had told us sooner how painful dialysis is for him.