Margaret had stopped whimpering and was staring into space with her mouth open. That morning, David had called the surgery and asked if someone would drop in and take a look at her. Around two o’clock, Doctor Bennet arrived. He did some tests and asked the same questions David had answered two dozen times before.
At the end, Cooper said, ‘She’s deteriorating, isn’t she?’
The doctor wouldn’t commit himself. ‘I don’t detect any major change since my last visit.’
‘But there is. I can tell. Sometimes she can hardly breathe.’
‘It may be Margaret’s body hasn’t yet found the level it will operate on, given what has happened. There may be some settling which can sometimes even look like improvements in the condition. Your wife may be experiencing stabilisation, in that sense.’
‘Is that a medical term for sinking?’
‘Every organ in the body gets instructions from the brain. Not just signals. Commands. If they aren’t being sent…’
The doctor glanced at Margaret Cooper and, from force of habit, lowered his voice.
‘I’m sorry to sound blunt. I don’t mean to be. But you have to accept she isn’t going to get better.’
‘I do accept it. I have accepted it. My question is: is she getting worse?’
‘There will come a time when it’s no longer practical for you to look after your wife by yourself. She’ll need more care than you’ll be able to give. More than any one person could give. That time may be far away, or it may be soon. You understand what I’m saying, Mr Cooper?’
David Cooper understood.