Dear diary,
Firstly and most importantly, father has not died yet. However I remain optimistic it will happen soon. His eyes remain yellow, despite the potions he treats himself with. He has spoken of attempting to cure his guts with a more experimental means, yet he refuses to speak of them in detail. I can only hope it is something utterly ridiculous and will lead to his quick death.
The amount of patients is slowly rising as father is focusing on his futile attempts to keep himself alive. Too busy to scare the ill away. I wouldn't say the patients like me either, but they do trust me more than father.
Today I treated:
- A row of broken toes. A smith's son had pushed an anvil accidentally on his sister's foot.
- A man who had lost a long key in his butt. He claimed the key was to his lover's house and he had hidden it into his butt from his furious wife. Something about his story didn't seem right, but I most certainly was not interested in the truth.
- A woman who is with child was uncertain who is the father of her child. I had borrowed her my Anatomy of Carrying A Child. Based on that, in some state of obsession and sorrow, she had made a two pages long equation about how to count the date of child's birth based on my findings. She seemed to know her numbers, but at the same time she seemed terribly unstable and emotional about the subject. I find it utterly difficult to take her seriously. Also the way she stares at me whenever she visits makes me feel uneasy. No one has ever looked at me like that and I'd prefer no one would.
- A man had hit himself in his leg with an axe. He had insisted on chopping firewood despite being drunk. His neighbours brought him in. I hope I was able to save his leg, but if not, I guess I'll have a new case for my study of detaching limbs. I am attempting to create a perfect bone saw with a local smith. We have studied it with pig flesh and pig bones. I must admit I would be somewhat excited to try it for the first time on an actual patient.
