Conceiving a title for today’s post was obviously rather difficult. Not wanting to sound like a broken record (I’ve included the link for anybody under thirty), I finally just gave in and resorted to the onomotopoetic word that kept passing my lips as I thought. But the situation is tantamount to a broken record. “Good day.” “Bad day.” “Good day.” “Bad day.” Though, as of late, the days are more bad than good. Of course we knew that would happen ...eventually.
He is better than yesterday and the day before. But ‘better’ is a comparative; it is relative. He is better, but just a bit. He is still weak. Still tired. Still dying.
We’re still waiting for the results of his second CAT scan. Initially we thought we’d have them today but my parents found out on Friday—and I found out yesterday—that Dr. Canin, my dad’s oncologist, would be out of the office for today’s observance of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday.
And so still we wait. Rather pessimistically.
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