We went to bed as usual last night, Chris was propped up on his pillows. I read him a chapter of Jayne Hawking's book 'Travelling to infinity', he was nicely relaxed and ready to sleep.
I then heard him gulp suddenly, he swallowed a build up of saliva and had one of the worst choking attacks he has ever had. I slapped his back, I got him to sit on the edge of the bed, still no joy. I ran to the kitchen to get him a Lorazepam to relax him. In my panic I couldn't see them and then when I did I had to cut one in two. I ran back and stuck it under his tongue, Chris was still gasping and trying to breath. It was the look of wide eyed fear on his face that scared me the most. Gradually he started to relax and the spasm faded and he started to take a breath.
He then looked at me and said, "I need the toilet, that literally scare the s**t out of me." so I then helped a slightly more wobbly Chris to the bathroom.
Bloody hell.....this disease throws so much crap at you, (excuse the pun), there is so much inconsistency in the consistency. We know Chris might choke, or might have a breathing spasm or might fall at anytime, you just don't know when and most definitely know it will progress and get worse. It is like living with a time bomb, it ticks away, waiting to explode.
The exhaustion and fear it leaves in it's wake is heartbreaking to watch. I hate this damn disease so very much.
