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Mum has been on some new medication to help her deal with the pain from her shingles. The pain, it seems, is reluctant to take its leave and her doctor has prescribed something very powerful. It seems to knock her out for a good deal of time and leave her exhausted for the rest. Remarkably she deals with this, and all her other problems, largely uncomplainingly. When she does complain it's obviously in some sense necessary for her to do so.

For quite some time now I've been ringing on an almost daily basis. I suppose I'm trying to comfort her, in some shape or form. Curiously, though, I think it's me who takes the greater comfort from the calls. It's strange how talking about almost nothing takes on a deep and poignant meaning.