First a new word. Bolus. You never use it in your whole life and suddenly it is a major part of your day in two different contexts.
I have two of them that are fitted each day on the radiation table. One is a bit of moulded thin plastic that is taped to my neck so it it sits in precise position under the mask, the other one is taped to the outside of the mask. Me, them and the tattoo on my chest are lined up using lasers so the eight blasts of radiation are delivered to the exact same spot each time. The bolus (two them, what would that be, boli?) works to bring the beams closer to the surface of the skin.
Yesterday when the tape was peeled off gently, it took a patch of skin with it. I was sent around to the nurses and given a tube of honey to dab on the raw area. It is doing fine. Just sticky.
The other use of this word is as in bolus feeding. That is when you manually administer the 'food' (Fortisip it is) using a syringe to pour the feed down the tube. Which I try to do every 2 hours.
Just so you know.
I finished reading a book which I probably could have done without at the moment. I left kind old Major Pettigrew behind in Rotorua this week, so took up this by Evie Wyld. All the birds, singing.
The setting is a remote sheep farm on some windswept and desolate English island. Jake keeps to herself, running the farm with Dog, but things are getting strange, as in sheep being violently slaughtered and unwelcome presences that are malicious, senseless and threatening. Gradually the back-story of Jake's early life in the dusty heat of north-west Australia is revealed. The book is dark and at times terrifying, but it ends with a sense that even the worst scars heal in time. It is a good book, she's a very talented writer. I just feel pleased that I can get on to seeing dear Major Pettigrew build his friendship with the wise Mrs Ali.