Always, they wrote him down as divorced, while simultaneously writing "Next of Kin, Mrs Stormes" - hey, that's wrong too, I was never Mrs Stormes.. Somehow, now, I wish I had been. And pancreatitis? Every time? When questioned "Oh, it was on his notes". There was a lot wrong with my Lovely Man, but definitely not that..
Mostly we just got evasions, imprecision, no help unless demanded (and then perfectly happily applied, but some offers would have been fun), equipment badly installed; people arriving on the wrong days; idiotic appointments made and then grudgingly cancelled.
About a month before he died, we got a blood form. He rang up to ask what it was for. "Oh, it's a PSA" (prostate specific antigen, used to detect cancers of the prostate) - on finding out, he asked why "Oh, it's routine" - "Will you offer treatment for this?" he asked. Well, possibly chemotherapy, or radiotherapy. "But you aren't offering those for all my other cancers, so I won't bother asking for an ambulance ride to do this blood test"
We did laugh, but now it all seems so hollow...
Here he is with his friend Dave, from Devon. Dave's widow sent this lovely picture, from their wedding, John was an usher. He looks so young, and so lovely... He was always lovely
And ridiculously smart..
