I wasn't ready. I had been warned, but it didn't sink in. A picture IS worth quite a few words. Upon occasion.
He fell within the first week of my being in Paris. My daughter did not just act in my stead. She thought more widely, and deeply. Not dispassionately, but with a firm sense of process. This is the new normal.
He does not know who I am. There is no cognition. Very little, or none. Tomorrow he will undergo an ACAT assessment with the view to be classified High Care. If he were to be assessed on the Mini-Mental scale, he would struggle to register. At all. Less than 10 shows significant dementia. The great bulk of the population scores between 20 and 30.
On Wednesday possibly, he will return to his nursing home, but to the dreaded Second Floor - God's waiting room. Not that he will know. He still has a taste for chocolate.