DAY 11,992

All Saints’ Day

Next morning, Friday, one week after our drive to Gweedore, Bo stayed in bed. I gave him some tea and dry toast, which he ate. He told me he felt a bit queasy – that word again – but not too bad. It did not occur me to call the doctor – when do you call the doctor? When someone is at death’s door? Who do you call when someone is not well enough to go to the doctor but not sick enough to go to hospital?

Neither Bo nor I wanted to go to the A&E in our local hospital, Loughlinstown, or in Vincent’s. We hate Loughlinstown but it’s just down the road. It’s handy. And everyone hates the thought of the alternative, which is Vincent’s A&E: huge, crowded, you’d be on a trolley for days. How many Irish people die because they can’t stand the thought of the A&E?

I went into Belfield where I had a workshop at eleven. It went on till one, and I planned to stay on for a few hours, but I felt anxious and decided to go home.

Bo was very tired, still in bed, still nauseated. The diarrhoea that had started the day before continued and he said there was nothing left in him, he felt drained. He ate a little toast and tea, however, and that stayed down. I went to the local shop and bought some natural yoghurt, which is supposed to be good for upset stomachs. I dropped into the pharmacy, bought some Imodium, to counteract the diarrhoea, and some anti-inflammatories for Bo’s gout, since he would no longer be taking the tablets that had been originally prescribed for him.

The diarrhoea stopped. Bo had a little food – scrambled egg, toast – and felt a bit better. Did he get up that night? I think so. I think he may have come downstairs for a while. But I can’t remember.