Sunday, 8 November 2009

"Cut me open, Doc"

We went to see a surgeon yesterday, who shall be henceforth known as French Surgeon. He is French. He said that he would be more than willing to operate on my father's tumour, providing that on the 1st of December the tests show that the spot on his liver has either shrunk or not done anything. So, we are praying. The selfish bit of me quite fancies spending the second week of December in Paris!

However, he also says that there is no point in operating on it if the tumour keeps metastisising ("spreading", for us laypeople). It will not prolong his life and would be pointless.

For one optimistic and completely unrealistic moment, I thought, "well, that means that in December or January he can have the surgery. Potentially French Surgeon will get it all out and then our lives will be back to normal. How weird would that be?" Then my mother reminded me that he would have at least 6 months of further post-operative treatment, even in the best possible case.

Ah, whatever. I am fed up of not looking towards any future at all. So even if I make them up, I feel that I am entitled to, as no one can possibly tell me that I am mistaken.

London tomorrow.

As a side note, I have been reading some blogs of people I barely know and am currently feeling better about the rubbish I post on here. At least my grammar is up to scratch!

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