I suppose it was always going to come to this. The doctor, turning over pages in his file. Test results good, except one... ultrasound.
My son has started to develop liver damage. It happens to people with cystic fibrosis, he tells us. Nothing unusual. We're going to see a specialist. Don't change anything in the meantime, just carry on. Here's a prescription for some new drugs.
It hit me like a soft blow. All this time saying how well he's doing, but there's been no miracle - just a delay before the inevitable. Stuff starts going wrong inside - first pancreas and lungs, then polyps, now liver. Next kidneys, bones, clubbed fingers, god knows what and god knows when. Life expectancy 38 years. You don't just drop down dead, you slowly deteriorate.
I didn't let him see how low I felt. We carried on with the clinic and came home. Made a joke of how he'll not be allowed to binge drink.
He rang his mum to ask about going to the cinema tonight, told her the news. I filled her in on some of the detail.
"Was Mum upset about the liver thing?" he asked, later.
"No," I replied. "It's just another thing to deal with."
God, I'm tired.
