" How could you tell them about my toenails!"
" Would you rather I told them all about your bowels then?"
"Yes, probably. I hate my feet."
In fact he's not looking quite as cheerful as in this picture, which Pascal took a while back. But he's better than he was, and calm and positive, and fortified with a barrage of extra medicaments, schedules for further blood tests, another appointment next week, and the final unappetising prospect of surgery in a few to take out the offending bits of his insides once the infection has cleared. The surgeon was presented to us yesterday and is about seven foot tall and wears alarmingly pointy shoes.
The gastro-enterology specialist, on the other hand, looks like he should have auditioned for the part of the angel in 'The Vintner's Luck'. How such a beautiful being should want to spend his time poking about the nastier parts of people's insides is a puzzle.
Fortunately the surgery can be done by laparoscopy - 'keyhole' surgery, so shouldn't be too invasively horrid. And he's been told to avoid green vegetable and too much fruit, so he's happy about that, not being one who's desperately eager to eat his five a day.
We are very fortunate overall to have such good treatment and such a good hospital. Everyone was marvellous, kind and patient, and it shines like a new pin.
So far so good, and thanks again to everyone here. This place, you people, matter, really, a lot.