More run on sentences. Because I'm rebelling.
On a day when your emotions are running high because you attend a hospital appointment to find out which strain of carcinoid your Dad has, hence finally getting concrete evidence of how long you have left with him, only to be told that the biopsy was 'inconclusive' and that he must go in tomorrow to be completely opened up this time to take another biopsy and that that operation will have a high risk considering his physical state but is necessarily in order to administer drugs to make him more 'comfortable and then you drive your parents home, firstly stopping off at your Grandads to put him in the picture, only your Dad suddenly doubles up in pain and starts to collapse in your Grandads front room, so your Grandad starts to cry and gets very distressed, but you all have to leave him like that because you have to get Dad home and Dad can't wait the 2 minute car journey to take his morphine because he is crippled with pain, so he tries to spoon measure it whilst in your car and deposits half of it on the floor, which now leaves you with a car smelling of a hospital ward
You drop them both off at home, where mum helps dad to bed and you turn around and go back to your Grandads to calm him down, but whilst doing that the phone rings and it's your mother in tears asking you to come back over to her when you are finished at Grandads, so you do and you try to support and console her, but knowing that nothing you can say or do changes the fact that her husband is upstairs with a sunken face and bulging eyes, his skin a ghostly grey and whimpering in pain and she has to see that all day everyday.
You make a telephone call to your brother, telling him that he should come and see his Dad the next morning, just in case he doesn't come around after the operation and your brother sounds strained and upset and all you want to do it reach through the phone and put your arms around him, because you know he is home alone and feeling helpless because he is too far away to pop down in the car and throughout this conversation you are acutely aware of your mothers soft sobs in the next room, so when you replace the receiver you go to comfort her, but just before she rests her head on your shoulder, the telephone rings, it's the hospital, they won't be doing the operation now, it's been decided the risk is too high, so he will be having an endoscopy instead, in which they will try to get another biopsy, which will take 7-10 days to gain results, but it may be inconclusive again and then there will be no other option but the operation and we will all have to wait, wait, wait.
You ring your brother back, to update him. Your mother wants you to go and explain the new course of action to your Grandad, but you don't want to leave her, she is so emotionally drained and will be on her own all day because your Dad ends up staying in bed, only moving momentarily to take morphine and wince in pain, but you do as she says, because that's what she needs you to do, but all you want to do is stay with her, support her, hold her, because leaving her alone feels cruel.
You finally get home and manage to eventually doze off, dreaming the whole time and are eventually awoken by the neighbours banging their doors an hour later. You are feeling a bit better, less uptight, in less pain and the lump in your throat has dissipated. You put a pizza in the oven because you know you should eat something today, you make a couple of quick phone calls to friends and then ring Sarah to catch up. You demand she gives you no sympathy because you can't deal with it, so you both take the piss out of certain acquaintances a little, banter with her husband whose a cheeky, but lovable bint, start to relax and laugh heartily. And then you smell burning.....
You finish your phone call, your strength and positivity restored, you chuckle at your cooking disaster and decide to be resourceful.
A virtual fiver for the first person to guess the added ingredients correctly.
You retire to bed, with a glass of milk, only to realise after 3 large gulps that it's as off and rancid as roadkill arse, which induces a swift sprint, (ok, drag) to the toilet bowl, after which you start to laugh inside at the irony of it all and then with a smile on your face, you do what you should have done hours ago, caused someone else grief for your own satisfaction, you slowly torture Mr (similar to a blow up dolly) Face with a pizza wheel. Satisfied smug bastard.
