My dad is in theatre. If the operation goes well, he will end up with a colostomy bag. I think they will find that the reason he has a fistula is that the primary cancer is in the bowel (the previous operation just took out a mass of unexpected secondaries – they weren’t expecting it and couldn’t find the primary and he hasn’t been well enough to undergo more testing.)
I think it is about 50/50 whether he survives the operation; he is so weak and has been through so much. He will hate the bag. It will be unlikely that it will ever be removed. Part of me thinks it will be easier if he dies now; the rest of me thinks what an awful, awful person I am for thinking that.
It is raining. If it goes on raining, the snails will come out and I will make myself feel better by decorating them. I am a bit insulated at the moment because of the heavy duty painkillers I am taking, which worked well this morning but which are wearing off now – I feel spacey but the pain is creeping back. But the infection does appear to be receeding and I don’t look quite so much like a chipmunk.