A trudge over this morning, another visit to the pharmacy to pick up stuff she forget to tell me about.
She looked so ill and grey I thought she might actually die.
Her breathing was shallow and she couldn't raise her head from the pillow.
I did the washing, the dishwasher and paid more bills and sat down while she slept.
At l o'clock she woke up with no memory whatsoever of anything that happened this morning.
She didn't remember the meals on wheels lady giving her a gift.
She didn't remember giving me the menu or asking me to fill it out because she couldn't lift a pencil.
She didn't remember me arriving at all.
She didn't remember me writing on the calendar who was coming to do the cleaning and what time.
She was so confused about all the housework being done that she stood in the middle of the kitchen and didn't know where to go or what to do.
So she decided to move the electric frypan, with one hand because she can't take both off the walker.
By the time my sister went across to check her tonight, she was back in rotten old bitch mode.
Hating everyone because she's not going to have the Christmas she wants.
I feel like Ingrid Bergman in 'Gaslight'.