It didn’t kill him. I am not sure it made him stronger but it didn’t kill him.
After many days of unexplained pain, puzzled faces and sleepless nights Terence went back to theater today to have the iatrogenic problem removed. It seems to have worked, but the last solution seemed to have worked too.
When I brought the good news home this evening all the 9 year old wanted to know was what the colour of the offending substance was. He appeared delighted to hear that it was “only” red but I suspect he was secretly hoping for the alternative because it sounded more exciting.
A some point in the last few days, our relationship changed from romantic partners to “one man and his therapist”. After I forced him from the bed, assuring him that the walk to the bathroom would be easier than he expected, he said “I am glad you are not a philatelist”. Sometimes it is handy to be involved with a physiotherapist, although I am sure both of us would happily have gone without that particular experience.
Perhaps I should take up stamp collecting…
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