Do you know my bruvva? Always been a problem. Oh no. That’s me. Sorry. Wrong bruvva. He’s never been a problem. Until 2 weeks ago. Then he became ‘a big problem’.

He felt ill. Feverish. Bit of a cold. Then, as far as our family’s concerned, ‘the symptom of symptoms!!. The absolute reddest of red warnings. No appetite. Holy shitttttt!!! Call an ambulance. Which my sister-in-law actually did a day later as he looked green (he’s usually purple with yellowy bits at the edges) and felt ill with a painful tum.

They whizzed him to Barnet General Hospital, left him milling around A&E for 2 days, as ya do, then delivered him to the Intensive Care Unit. With, horror-of-horrors, ‘nil by mouth!!!’ What, not even a curry? No, not even one single papadom. Because they reckoned he has a perforation in part of his stomach. And don’t know which part. Which is serious shit. They’d scanned him but couldn’t work out where the ‘leak’ was coming from. But leak there was. I suggested to blow him up and stick him into a bath of water to see where the bubbles came from. And can report that they failed to take this suggestion seriously.

At which point they decided NOT to operate straight away but instead treat ‘conservatively’ with drugs and antibiotics. Whether this was a good decision or the sort that Hugo Lloris was famous for remains to be seen.

As the days turned into two weeks, there was seemingly not much change, except he was getting worse. His kidneys started playing up due to the excessive workload required for the infection, so they put him on a ‘mild’ dialysis. That was Wednesday night.

He’s always had a liver problem, a congenital thing which, fortunately, he chose not to share with me. But now that pretty much ‘benign’ condition then becomes a factor. A big factor. Well it’s a big liver, that’s what the condition does. Because of that they wanted to move him to the Royal Free Hospital because is the nation’s number 1 liver centre. But there was no bed there.

I saw him yesterday and although he hasn’t moved an inch for 2 weeks, was ‘fine’. Joking, bullshitting, usual brotherly rubbish.

This morning he was put on a ventilator and is in multiple organ failure. And they suddenly managed to find him a bed at the Free. This morning. By this afternoon they’d decided to operate. I went again. Richard didn’t say much. But you can’t when you’ve got a fucking great tube down your throat and you’re unconscious on sedatives. But I’m sure he could hear me taking the piss. It’s what brothers do, as well as nurses.

So that’s about the (horrible, dire, terrible) story so far. He’s in surgery. His chances of survival are estimated at 20%, no more. But his chances of not having the operation are, as calculated by me, zero.

And I share this because… because I’m a sharer. And it’s how I cope.

Say a prayer for him. He’s been an atheist since he was 12 so the more Godless people praying for him the better. He would love the irony.

A xxxx