Tubes and boots

Well, my mum's op to remove the tumour from her bowel went well, evidently. All the doctors and nurses seem very cheerful about it, though as my mother says, they might be a bit less cheerful if it were their middle that had been chopped about and sewn together again.

She's still a bit confused. Yesterday she had the fixed idea that the problem had been with her liver.

Various remarks through the day included:

"They've taken my liver out."
"It's sore where they took my liver out."
"They thought they might have to take my liver out but they didn't."
"The doctor took out - what was it? - my liver?"
"Why do I keep thinking that they took my liver out?"

So that shows progress, I suppose.

Though I've spent much of the week at her bedside in the high dependency unit, she doesn't really remember much about it. Which is just as well. I don't think it's been much fun. Being a squeamish person, I haven't found it much fun either (in a lesser way). I have to focus my attention on Mum's face rather than the various drips and drains going in and out of her. I'm particularly phobic about ... can't even type it, really... the pink stuff that we're all full of: bl--d. Gah. And she's needed some extra units of this, going down tubes (argh) into her.

Moving on... I had an afternoon off yesterday to accompany Daughter 1 and Grandson into town for her to buy a few things. These included boots. We were in a shoe shop when a girl came in wanting black boots. The shop had the right size in the ones she chose, but only in tan, so she tried them on. She liked the fit.

"We could order them in black," offered the assistant.

"Hmm," mused the girl. "I'm not sure what they'd look like in black, though."

I'd have thought... much the same but... black. But I'm not known for my stylish dressing so maybe I was missing the point.

The girl bought the tan boots. Daughter 1 got her boots too. And I got to hold the baby, who is much more interesting than footwear of any colour.