Thursday 10th August 1989 Morning surgery 11:20
I thought Max looked really ill. He walked slowly and painfully down the corridor to Dad’s room, leaning heavily on his crutches. He wore dark glasses (even though it was a miserable day) and a soft collar to support his neck. When he sat down, his knee looked massively swollen but Dad said he was wearing a heavy duty brace.
Max sighed loudly.
“So the new tablets aren’t helping,” my Dad said.
“No, I’m no better at all. In fact, I think I feel worse.”