Dear Alex,

Thank you for your letter with its description of your gait
across the parking lot. Were I to lapse into confessional mode,
there would be no end to the story.

It's 11:45 a.m. and Margaret is just waking up. Janet is trying
to take possession by sitting next to the bed; but I refuse to be
expelled from the room. I sit at my lap-top on the other side, 
and assert my presence by vocal reassurances, as soon as Margaret
mentions my name.  Get the picture?

Margaret slept most of the day yesterday, if I remember correctly
until about 4 p.m. When I changed her, I thought of your question
about weight loss. Her legs and thighs are becoming spindly. I can
see no breakdown of the skin, but I am worried. If this goes on
Margaret will look like a concentration camp survivor, confirming 
Janet's opinion of - and statement to - me that all Germans are Nazis.
After the toiletry, Margaret wanted to get up, which means having me 
hoist her with the hydraulic lift into the rocking chair, a maneuvre 
at which I am getting more and more proficient. Once there, she ate 
about six oz. of yogurt with strawberries and several thin slices of 
ham, turkey and cheese. She asked for wine; I went downstairs to get 
it for her, but then she took only two sips, - and I finished the glass.

Then unexpectedly and for no apparent reason, Margaret began to
weep. I tried to comfort her as I always do, by kissing her,
stroking her forehead and telling her that I love her. This
time to little avail. I felt her pulse. It was irregular in rate
and pressure, about 120 beats/min. I thought she was fibrillating.
She wanted to go to bed, and I lifted her. Once there, her pulse
became normal, her tears dried, and she fell asleep.

That's all the news that's fit to print. I plan to resume answering
the telephone. Please feel free to call, if you think it would help.

Love, Jochen

(Please send me Anne Bingham's e-mail address, if you have it.)