Friday the fucking 13th of June!!!
Yesterday, however, was the worst day!
I'm saying that, but the day before was shit. On Thursday one of my brothers was admitted to James Cook Hospital after suffering a heavy 'bleed' from his mouth. He had been diagnosed with cancer of the mouth in December 2006, eventually having most of his tongue removed in September 2007.
He was readmitted on the May Day Bank Holiday earlier this year when he started having these heavy 'bleeds' from his mouth. He was discharged after a day or so, and he had a scan a couple of weeks later. When he was re-admitted to hospital a couple of days ago, the hospital staff confirmed that the results of the scan showed that the cancer had returned and he was 'a walking time bomb'. The doctor told me he our lad may go home the following day - or he might not make it to the following day.
He was very calm about his fate. He looked healthier than he had done for months, and dare I say it, happier than he had for a couple of years. He had asked to see a priest and he appeared relaxed. I visited him twice on Thursday. The first time with my Uncle Len (an absolute star throughout our lad's illness), the second time with Mam and Dad, when we were joined by my other brother.
When we left him at just after 8p.m. we said our goodbyes for the night and I had to convince myself not to be optimistic as he looked so well.
He did make it to Friday 13th, but died very quickly, and hopefully, very peacefully at around 1a.m.
My Spanish / English calendar's phrase for 13th June is ?Cuando vas a estar de vuelta? (When are you going to be back?)
7th November 1947 - 13th June 2008
R.I.P.
Cheers fella!
