My rage against the dying of the light
Dec 15, 2021
3 minutes
My husband died at home in London on Friday 3rd September, aged 76.
His breathing became erratic and laboured in the night and, at 5am, he vomited a large gush of blood. At 10am, I heard the death rattle. So I told him I was going to ring for an ambulance.
The 999 operator asked me to describe his breathing with more accuracy. I returned to his room and found him lying dead: a terrible sight – red-faced, eyes and mouth open.
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