Tired and somewhat emotional, so may delete what I write later, but it's been a hell of a day. Peter Ballocks and I saw a quite lovely GI surgeon this morning, who gently asked what PB understood of his diagnosis and laid out a contingent care plan.
The tumour is huge and may have infiltrated his stomach. They need to do a laparoscopy on Monday to better assess this, the results of which will determine whether he's still a candidate for chemo and/or surgery. And before this, they need to admit him- now- in order to get some fluids and nutrition into him.
Hearing this was an enormous relief, that finally the patient and not just the tumour is the focus. And Peter Bollocks consented and said 'whatever you think is best, doc'. I picked up a lot of other info between the lines, but am too tired to explain these. They're all bad prognostic indicators. Peter shouted at me at least twice during the consultation when I added more real history or asked practical questions. "Shut the fuck up! You're not my wife!", but it didn't stop me getting across some important information, like his absence of support in the Borders. Luckily, any treatment will now occur in Edinburgh. As we left the consultation the surgeon whispered in my ear that I had the patience of a saint. I wish it were true!
The surgeon wanted to admit PB there and then, but we talked him into letting us away for a half hour, ostensibly to pick up toiletries but really so Peter could have a last joint and see his Reekie-dog. He'd wanted to get pissed that afternoon, but in truth the alcohol wouldn't have gotten past the obstruction. While we packed, he swore furiously and continuously, and I made light of the situation.
When I dropped Peter back at the hossie for admission, I teased him that he must be nice to the nurses, and he teased me back that because nurses are nice, unlike me, he'll be nice. Then he gave me a kiss and told Reekie he hoped he's see him again. I think I held off crying until I pulled away to take Reekie for a long walk, as Peter had asked. After the walk I spent 3 hrs with H-etc. In the 4 years I've known her, I think it was the first time I've seen her cry. I am the worst cry-baby ever but I stayed dry-eyed for H.etc until I left.
It was the poor bloke in the offie who got it, by asking innocently how I was doing. I was trying for yer usual "Fine" but some other TMI stuff came out. "So he's on amicable terms with his ex?" he asks. I think he later regretted that question.
I'm sometimes good at practical stuff, and made some family calls for H-etc. I'll take the dug up to see his master tomorrow, which I hope will cheer them both up.
What else can you do?