Christobel

Christobel Part 10

 

Chapter 10

They visited Dieter again the following weekend. He looked even worse now, lying listless in his bed, wearing the oxygen mask when they entered the room, although, ever-polite, he feebly motioned Frieda to remove it. It was as though the sand in the hourglass of his life was running away ever-faster, accelerating towards his end.

Frieda knew her question sounded absurd, but she had to ask it, had to show concern. 'How are you, Opa?'

Even a faint smile seemed beyond him now. His eyes were empty. He spoke in German. 'Hallo Liebling. Thank you for coming. You are a good girl. How am I? I am ready to go. That is how I am. Yes, I am ready.'

He hadn't really answered the question. Well, he'd answered the question he wanted to. Frieda bit her lip, blinked her smarting eyes. 'No, don't say that, Opa. You must not say that.'

'Well yes I can, if I want to,' Dieter said quietly, in puny defiance, but there was no belligerence in the words.

Frieda sat down, taking his hand in both of hers. Chris sat too. Dieter's eyes shifted to him. He switched to English. 'Hello Chris. How are you?'

'Hello Dieter. I'm fine, thank you.'

'Good. That is good.'

'Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do for you?'

'No, not very. And no, there's nothing really, thank you. I wish I could have more morphine. But the doctor won't increase my dose.'

'It's better not to have any more than you really need,' Chris said gently. 'Or you'll become too dependent and it'll be less effective. Best to manage it carefully.'

'Nonsense.' Dieter said, but without the energy to be vehement. 'Only I know how much I need, as you put it. It is not for anyone else to say.'

'No; right. Are you having it orally or injected?'

'Injected, now. It's quicker acting that way, and it's getting too difficult to swallow the liquid. I wish I could just have a beaker-full and a straw, or something, so that I could take as much as I wanted, as often as I wanted.'

'Well, I'm sure the doctor has the dose about right,' Chris said, although without a great deal of conviction. After all, Dieter was probably right. Only he knew, really, the extent of his discomfort. And his tolerance of pain. No, it wasn't for anyone else to judge.

'Whereabouts does it hurt, Opa?' Frieda asked.

'Where does it not?' Dieter said miserably. 'Arms, legs, shoulders, back, neck. Nearly everywhere.'

'Yes, it is perhaps musculoskeletal pain due to lack of mobility.'

'I know that!' Dieter replied petulantly. 'I would exercise them if I could. But they do not work anymore.'

'No, Opa. I know. I am sorry. Do the carers give you any massage?'

'Sometimes, although they have to do so much else for me now; they do not really have the time. I am as helpless as a baby. Hans does it now and then, if I get really uncomfortable.'

'Would you like us to get you onto your stomach so that I can massage your back? Would that help?'

'Yes, all right, Liebling. It might,' Dieter said wearily. 'Thank you; you are a good girl.'

Chris and Frieda stood. He removed the mound of pillows, dropping them onto the floor, she pulled back the bedcovers and unbuttoned his pyjamas, and together they got Dieter's poor thin wasted body onto its front. It wasn't difficult; he was feather-light. Frieda sat on the edge of the bed and, leaving it on in case he got cold and to preserve his dignity, put her hands inside the loose pyjama top, and began to gently massage. Chris put a pillow back for his head and in an impulsive desire to show affection, stroked the scrawny neck.