On Tuesday - it will be 6 years since my operation that when I think about it, saved my life. In the old days I don't know what they would have been able to do. Anyway, yesterday was the 6th anniversary of finding out what I had and that was in itself a strange thing. You kind of know what you've got but you desperately hope that there is some other explanation. Of course that wasn't to be. Devastating news absolutely devastating but that's what you have to deal with.
It actually makes my day quite flat and I was a bit caught out this morning flashing back to my dad in his Hospital bed and how sad that was. The thought of lying their helplessly isn't one that I like much for him or for me. I'd hate it but perhaps, if you are weary by then, well maybe it isn't so bad? I don't know the answer to that. I felt that he hated being there, hated losing his ability to walk or to even lift himself out of bed. It wasn't right, it just wasn't but I suppose we all have to go somehow but that drifting away stuff and just losing weight all the time was just pitiful and upsetting for everyone.
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