Sunday 8th October 1989   Sunday morning 09.07 

“Have we run out of marmalade?” My Dad looked bedraggled after being on call. Mum passed him some hot toast and coffee.
“I had to go to see poor Mrs Austin, last night. She was in acute, heart failure. She was very breathless.”
Mum looked concerned. “Did you send her into hospital, Desmond?”
“She refused.”
“I hope you made sure that she understood the consequences.”
“The consequences?”
“Yes, the consequences of not going into hospital.”
“At 3 o’clock in the morning?”
“Yes, of course, Desmond.”
“I explained the diagnosis to Mrs Austin and said that we ought to get her into hospital. I am not going in, Dr Dennis. Those were her exact words.”
“Well, what did you say?”
“I said, Oh!”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, that was all I said. Anyway, after that I suggested a frusemide injection to get rid of the fluid.”
“Did it work?”
“I don’t know. It takes about 30 minutes.”
“Didn’t you wait?”
“No, it was 3 o’clock. I came home.”
“What if she fell, rushing to the toilet?”
Dad took a deep, irritated breath. “She didn’t fall. I’ll phone her later . . . Daphne, have we run out of marmalade?”

Have we run out of marmalade?
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