Well, maybe not even that. Whatever ground he gained during the week post the addition of an anti-nausea drug to the increasingly ponderous collection he ingests daily seemingly has been lost. He is in bed, weak and unable to eat. His hand is swollen as much as it ever was. He is afraid to be left alone, leading to my mother to try to ensure that someone is there whenever she is not. (Upon arriving at his house today, I found his babysitter to be Elizabeth Agrilla, his longtime assistant. She was taking good care of him.)
Really, there isn’t anything else to say.
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