I have (oh so politely "Um... excuse me... my wife's finding it difficult to breath, do you mind if we push in here? Thank you so much") jumped triage queues to get my wife in front of the A&E resus people who saved her after she suffered a respiratory arrest while they were…

checking in "Her fingers are blue..." ... "Her husband's just outside." "For christ's sake! Get him out of here!" and then, after a long time sat in a small room with a kettle and teabags, a consultant telling me that "your wife's heart stopped, we resuscitated her...

"... then we found her DNR order" and I've never been happier that those to events happened in that particular order.
Gill tells me that dying like that was pretty peaceful… she was short of breath, then she wasn't there, and then, thankfully she was coming to on a ventilator…

… not exactly conscious, but not exactly unconscious either.

Well, it might be peaceful in the end, but it's FUCKING TERRIFYING if you're the one watching it happen, and the moments leading up to it as your breath fails you were damned scary too. It's no way to die. …

… both in isolation because of assorted comorbidities, but otherwise fine. I was just melting down about Boris's admission to ICU and feeling so devastated for Carrie.