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'When I am well...

...I am going to cure [G].' He said. And when he says it, I believe it. Sitting up, still looking terrible, but we can talk, we can laugh and we do.

Funny gossip about the gang; How one came and played with the button that makes the bed sit up/lie down repeatedly until he got cross with her, told her to fuck off and gave her the finger. How another limped to his bedside slowly and talked about his kidney stones for what seemed like days. How yet another turned up full of concern and kindness, and conversed for hours in a mellifluous Welsh/German accent that sounds like music and is totally incomprehensible. How the one who loves him is determined that with SUPERFOOD JUICES in capitals, asking questions of the nurses, drinking good water, eating organically, meditation and positivity he can still the cancer and heal his intestine. And how [G] has been there pretty much every day, lugubrious about how his mobile phone has suddenly stopped working, his calcified digits, and the way he may have dropped/forgotten to water friend's aloe vera plant...life everywhere, insane, absurd, irrepressible.

My friend is going back to his flat today he says. I find this hard to believe, but well enough. I shall go visit him next week, and take him a plant with a good chance at longevity - one of those orchids that only needs light and watering every two weeks.

Whimsy has decided to hold a MAKE HIM WELL! party with balloons and jelly and maybe some kind of barbeque. I would like to be there, but am supposed to be visiting very cherished mates in the north at the time, plus having been invited to a mighty do at the Gin Palace. But I will think about this later, because it makes me dizzy right now.

There is more to my life than this friend's plight; I have to remember that, and detach when I am not with him, or I'll just be carrying this around.

Edited to add; So, it transpires, not today. Tuesday. I don't know if they keep changing their minds or if he's getting confused.



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