My computer closes down every twenty minutes, everyone says it is a virus but that doesn't help. I switched it off for a couple of days, I simply couldn't deal with it. I need it as a lifeline to the outside world, to my friends here, to my email pals, just to stay sane!. I am frustrated when it does not work.

After three weeks without a seizure Ray has had two seizure days in a row. Last night the aides dealt with it, the night before they called me in and I was there for two hours working on him, talking to him, crying over him before he roused. It is breaking my heart.

In a way it is like Ray is dying inch by inch. Ray goes into the semi coma state, then comes back out again hours later, quieter, more locked in, then gradually he comes good again and I can deceive myself by denying that it ever happened. I want life to be normal so I pretend it is. I will go in and we will spend time in the courtyard and maybe he will talk to me and we will have some laughs and.... I know, it is just a dream.

I tiptoed into the facility today hoping that Ray will be in the lounge room or the courtyard only to find him in bed - "resting" the nurses say. I can see it from their point of view. Ray has a seizure, he is finally out of it, he is tired but does not have a good night's sleep, therefore he needs bedrest. But bedrest means no time in the sun, no meal in the dining room where there is company and some socialising takes place. Bedrest is isolating, for him and for me.

Today I stayed two hours, on Friday I stayed two hours in the noontime and another two hours at night trying to get him out of the semi consciousness after the seizure. I massaged his feet, that seems to stimulate something in him and he rises to consciousness, then i sit him up in the bed and if there is food or drink close by I give him slow mouthfuls until he is fully conscious and capable of interacting again. So then the nurses can give him his medication. I asked if the nurses could massage his feet but apparently they cannot, only physiotherapists can use massage!

In between worrying about Ray I do live a life of sorts. Last night I went to a lovely house a bit further up the coast and joined our Apex40 club for a seafood night. I just adore prawns and oysters and don't mind smoked salmon so i was in semi Paradise. It was the first night of its kind I had attended since 2006, the year when Ray could no longer climb stairs. I thought how much he used to enjoy "Seafood Night" and felt sad that he was not there with me.

I had a really good visit with Ray on Saturday, as I called to see how he was earlier in the morning he was out in his chair waiting for me, I went with him to the dining room, he had lunch and then we went out into the grounds. I was feeling energetic so took him for a long walk down to the lake. Probably a bit ambitious as I then pushed him along to the next street and had to push him up a long hill to get back to the nursing home grounds. Still it was a good feeling, to be doing something normal, enjoying the sun for a change.

When we finally got back, about half an hour or so later Trev had been looking for us everywhere as he had come to visit his Dad. He said next time he will drive around the neighbourhood looking for us! What a problem wandering parents are! He took Ray over to the pharmacy to buy his ice cream cup and we went down under the trees and spent a pleasant half an hour there before Ray decided he had had enough time in the sun and we went back to his room. I am so glad Trevor came, it makes such a difference to the mood when other visitors come and it is not just me.

I pray fervently that Ray, in his present condition, will be spared a few more days, weeks, months...it is what we all do as caregivers, partners, spouses and children of stroke survivors. We love our special people and want to be close to them, to have a good relationship, to help and support and care for them. It is so frustrating when the time we spend with them is so limited by their condition that it is not possible to sustain that so special relationship we once shared.