Endal: How one extraordinary dog brought a family back from the brink

‘He’ll be fine,’ I told people who asked. ‘We just need to get him back in this country for some proper TLC.’ If I said it often enough, I could try to believe it.

On 7 September I was told that he was at last being flown home to the UK. I was desperate to see him, and pleased that I would be able to do so soon, but deeply apprehensive about what condition he’d be in.

A random thought occurred to me: this might be a ruse on Allen’s part to get the home leave we’d requested and been denied after Valerie died. Could he have put his career on the line by faking injury in order to get back and support me? Allen was a bit of a comedian, with a taste for practical jokes. He’d say, ‘Do you think this smells funny?’ and you’d lean in and next thing whatever it was would be on your nose, and I used to fall for it every time. But I knew he was far too much of a professional to fake an injury. That couldn’t be it.

I so wanted for him to walk in the door and make my life better. I needed looking after since Valerie had died. I needed my husband.

Once again I was pacing the house, waiting for news. At last the call came to say that his plane had taken off and on arrival in the UK he would be admitted to Haslar, the military hospital in Gosport, where I could go in to see him the following day.

I tossed and turned, wide awake all night long, and my heart was in my mouth as I drove the few miles to the hospital. I couldn’t wait. I was as nervous as a teenage girl on a first date.

I found the ward and picked him out straight away, sitting up on top of his bed and wearing a neck brace. He saw me at the same time and watched as I walked across the room, but he didn’t smile at me or wave hello.

‘How are you?’ I asked, and kissed him on the lips. There was a big bump on his temple that looked more recent than three weeks old. ‘How did you get that bump?’

‘Fell,’ he said, and the word was oddly slurred.

‘When did you fall?’

He thought about this and shrugged.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Funny,’ he said, and I could hear it was an effort to get the word out. He was almost barking, forcing his throat to emit sound. Then he twitched compulsively, his right shoulder jerking and his face contorting.

I looked into his eyes but could see no spark of my husband, my rock, the man who always looked after me. He looked blank. There was something seriously wrong.

‘You’ve been on an overnight flight,’ I said soothingly. ‘You’re probably just tired.’

He twitched again, a kind of irrepressible shudder. I chatted a while longer then went to find a doctor. ‘What’s wrong with my husband?’ I demanded. ‘I’m a nurse and I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me straight.’

‘We don’t know exactly,’ he said. ‘There’s obviously been some trauma to the brain and we’re keeping him under observation and running tests.’

‘How did he get that bruise on his temple?’

‘I’m told he fell the day before yesterday. Have you seen him walking yet?’

I shook my head.

‘He’s having significant problems controlling his legs. We’ll just have to keep an eye on it all. Meanwhile, I see no reason why you can’t take him home for the weekend. With your nursing background, you should be able to care for him.’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, feeling hopeful. Surely he couldn’t be too bad if they were letting him out?

‘Why not? Just bring him back on Monday morning and he can see a consultant then. Have a nice family weekend together.’

The doctor smiled and I felt reassured. Everything was going to be all right. They wouldn’t let him home otherwise, would they?

A nurse and I helped Allen to get dressed and walk down to the car. On the way back to the house, I drove slowly and cautiously. I did all the talking, telling him about Valerie’s funeral and the children and everything that had been happening, but I got no response at all. He closed his eyes and I couldn’t even tell if he was listening, so after a while I stopped and drove in silence.

As we pulled into our street, I said, ‘The kids are really excited about seeing you. They’re at Julie’s but I said I’d go and get them as soon as we arrived.’ Julie was my wonderful next-door neighbour who had four kids of her own but was always happy to look after my two as well. ‘Two more don’t make any difference at all,’ she’d laugh.

Allen turned to look at me and I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes but he didn’t seem enthusiastic about seeing the kids. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well enough.

‘Why don’t we go in and get settled first?’ I suggested, and he nodded. He’d hardly spoken throughout the journey, and when he did his speech was very slow and indistinct and he was often lost for the most basic words.

We pulled into the driveway and I walked into the house behind him, noticing that he had an odd, rolling gait. He picked his right foot up high and flopped it down then pulled the other one through. It reminded me of the way the actor John Thaw walked. He’d had polio as a child and would pick his foot up and put it down with a strange precision. As a nurse, I’d always noticed that about him.

Allen plonked himself down on the sofa and sat looking around him.

‘Do you want something to drink?’ I asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you want tea or coffee?’

He screwed up his face, unable to think. ‘The stuff that comes in bags,’ he slurred.

Tea, then.

At that moment there was a burst of squealing and running feet and the children erupted into the house.

‘Daddy!’ they shrieked, over the moon to see him. Zoe leaped on to his knee and Liam snuggled on to the sofa beside him.

‘Get off me!’ he snapped loudly as he pushed Zoe away. The look of bewilderment on her little face was heartbreaking.

‘Kids, Daddy’s not feeling very well. Don’t climb all over him.’

‘I’ve got a new train, Daddy,’ Liam said excitedly. They used to play together with his Playmobil train set.

‘And I’ve started ballet,’ Zoe joined in, not wanting to be left out. ‘And I’ve got a new dolly as well.’

‘Go away!’ Allen snarled, putting his hands over his ears.

They were devastated. Whenever Allen had come back from postings in the past, he’d burst in the door bringing them presents, swinging them in the air and tickling them. They just didn’t have a clue what had happened.

‘Daddy’s got a bad headache,’ I said gently. ‘You know what it’s like when your head hurts. Just leave him in peace for a little while and maybe he’ll play later.’

I sent them over to Julie’s for the afternoon, just telling her briefly that Allen wasn’t very well. When I got back, he was examining two tubes of cream he’d been given on prescription. He had a nasty rash on his feet and another one on his groin and they’d given him a different cream for each rash, but he couldn’t remember which was which. There was nothing written on the boxes and he was very anxious about it.

‘Which cream is which?’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t know.’

The old Allen would have made a joke out of it. He’d have said, ‘I’ll start by putting them on my feet because if my feet fall off that will be fine, but I don’t want the other bits to fall off.’

But he was incapable of joking now.

‘I’ll go to the pharmacy and ask them,’ I offered. ‘Let me just get your tea first.’

Two minutes later, as if I hadn’t spoken, Allen asked, ‘What about this cream for my feet? What am I going to do?’

It was like being with an old person who had Alzheimer’s. When I worked in a nursing home, some of the residents would ask the same question over and over again – usually: ‘When is my daughter coming? Why’s she not here yet?’ That weekend Allen asked me about his creams at least twenty times a day and he never seemed to hear the answers I gave.

I showed him the photos I’d had developed from a holiday we’d had in Singapore and Penang just a couple of months earlier, but there was no spark of recognition. He didn’t seem to remember us being there and I thought that was very worrying. He just looked at each one and handed it back to me without comment.

He didn’t seem to remember where anything was in the house either. I had to show him where his clothes were kept, where his shaving stuff was and how to turn on the shower. My sense of alarm grew stronger by the minute.

It was a sunny weekend so I set up a chair for him in the back garden and he just sat there twitching and rubbing at his rash and fretting about his creams, and a knot tightened in my stomach. This wasn’t my Allen. It was as if a stranger had taken over Allen’s body. How long would this last? When could I have my intelligent, loving husband back?

I couldn’t wait to get him to Haslar on the Monday morning so that they could start treating him. Despite all my nursing training, I felt utterly helpless. I had no idea what I could do to help him. Whatever it took, I would do it – but I didn’t have a clue where to even start.

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