Brief up-date: Dennis is doing remarkable well, all things considered. He is enduring infusions of toxic spirits, venomous agents designed to annihilate unholy cancer cells while causing one to question the order of the universe. He also pops daily oral xeloda pills the size of Charlie Sheen’s delusions…both equally hard to swallow! And finally, he tolerates my constant presence inquiring how where he is on a scale of 1-10. Geez, the man should be canonized! Hercules himself would have failed that task.
We have a paper with a series of 24 faces whose expressions gauge how he’s feeling at the moment. I’m always trying to get him to point to the face with the most accurate reflection. Recently, he pointed to a face that looked shy and self-conscious. Underneath, it was labeled “Love-struck.” WINNING!
We continue our battle. Whatever it takes! There are no “if’s” in our household. However, there is a shocking lack of butts. Butt flab was the first casualty. So far, my efforts to remedy that situation with saturation bombing of the “no butt zone” with concentrated calories have been wildly successful…for one of us. Pity. But our confidence and optimism are robust.
With Dennis’ port, he now has greater chest dimensions than I do. It doesn’t take much these days. I try not to covet – bulk is bulk. We’re all coping as best we can.
Erin and Brodi provide comic relief with everything from self-deprecating monologues to unfiltered harsh language. Great strategy. These are brazen acts of defiance. It all serves to keep us focused on our goals. They continually inspire me with the same stubbornness and determination of their father.
I’ve heard it said how much more attention people pay to their fears than to their joys. We pledge not to be convicted of this crime.
No if’s, ands or butts. We are going to do this.