We go off yesterday... the 50 mile round trip to the Main Hospital for The Old Man's skin thing... We get Big Sis to come and pick us up and take us there. The Old Man clocks in and Big Sis and me go off to spend (or waste, according how you look at it) some time wandering around - before we go back and see if the Bandaged One is ready for collection.
So an hour or more later, walking back to the Skin Department... we find The Old Man walking towards us.
"Good timing." say I.
Big Sis says... "He hasn't got a dressing on his mush."
And indeed he hasn't. Because they haven't cut anything out. Because the biopsy said "It's not that sort of thing." Instead he's got a prescription for some 'orrible cream which he has to smear on that bit of phizog... for six weeks.
So if we had known... then Big Sis needn't have done an even longer round trip for her, because The Old Man could have driven himself.
It does wear you down a bit. There's always some kind of mix-up.