outside were busier than usual, and the sounds of life found their way into
the hospital that was otherwise so hushed. “Yes, that was what used to agree
with me so much,” Kierkegaard said. Sometime later—we do not know
exactly when—Boesen saw him for the last time. Kierkegaard was almost
unable to speak, and Boesen did not take any notes. Shortly thereafter he
returned to his wife and young son in Horsens, where, after all, he had a
pastoral position that wanted tending.
NOVEMBER1–11. During the first week of November a number of at-
tempts were made, shortly after nightfall, to electrify Kierkegaard’s lower
extremities. The effects on the patient, now in a state of complete collapse,
were very minor; the legs trembled a little, but Kierkegaard himself scarcely
noticed it. His general condition remained unchanged. Kierkegaard contin-
ued to cough. Urination was involuntary, and he had to have enemas on a
regular basis. On the other hand, the patient’s intellectual capacities were
undiminished. Perhaps this was why the daily dose of one hundred drops
ofvalerianewas replaced byinfusum tonico nervina, a powerful sedative and
anxiety-relieving medicine. Kierkegaard was given fifty grams a day.
During the final week, he lay without speaking a word. He was diagnosed
with bedsores; he was given wet dressings and his bed linen was changed
daily. The electric treatments continued, with a slight improvement in the
effect on his legs. The senna leaves were effective in alleviating his constipa-
tion. His appetite remained rather good, however. On Friday, November
9, the medical journal notes that Kierkegaard lay in a stupor. He did not
speak, nor did he eat or drink anything. Urine and excrement passed invol-
untarily. The bedsores remained, but looked cleaner. The pulse had in-
creased to 130 and was irregular. His face now had a certain lopsidedness
because the left corner of the mouth was pulled up a little. The next day,
the right side of the mouth followed suit, and the patient now had double
facial pareses that forced him into a stiff, straight-ahead smile, like a petrified
ironist. The disease had now progressed to the uppermost part of the brain
stem, and Kierkegaard was no longer capable of communicating with the
outside world. If his arms were lifted up and released, they fell heavily.
Kierkegaard could still blink his eyes and was breathing rapidly and sound-
lessly. He had lost the ability to cough, and the rapid pulse and breathing
were signs that he also had a fever, probably caused by the double pneumo-
nia brought on by the accumulation of secretions in his lungs. He was still
conscious but was totally paralyzed. Johan Christian Lund visited the hospi-
tal on November 9, and the next day he wrote to Peter Christian that it
would not be long: “I saw him yesterday, and unfortunately I must confirm
his nurse’s inauspicious prognosis.” Lund also had a quite blunt message: