Pat had always been such an enthusiastic traveller, the first one to pull out the box of creased maps, the first one to dream of wending and clambering. It broke Eric’s heart to see her reduced to this. The trip from London had been horrendous, with her constant inability to catch breath.
And the medical profession had been less than forthcoming.
‘We think there are flakes of muscle which are dislodging and flying around the lung blocking the alveoli.’
Her quality of life was bordering on non-existent, and all this in less than six months. How can thirty four years boil down to this - pushing a wheel c hair across Castlereagh Street when just last Christmas they had planned to travel by four wheel drive to the Red Centre? And the camels, yet again Pat’s idea.
The awareness in Pat’s otherwise dull eyes, brought him down with a thud.
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