Anticipate sparse posting for a few days while I make a brief run back home to the City of Bodily Harm.
World Series celebration?
Good guess. But wrong.
Somebody getting married?
Getting warmer. My mom’s about to snuff it. Maybe a day or two, if she (and we) luck out. Hospice is already on the job, drugs at the ready.
Happened real quick. She felt weak, bad, tired, and the nurse at her apartment building looks at her, sees her legs are covered with what looks like bruises. Blood problem. Blood, as in klotz. I mean, clots.
Off to Jefferson Medical Center, where they run a bunch of tests that reveal less than they should. But after a second and third look, it’s like she has no platelets in her blood, indicating some kind of cancer that has spread to her bone marrow. At 90, she’s a goner because there’s no way she’s going through treatment for that, especially when the primary cancer hasn’t been located.
She’s leaving Jefferson tomorrow, going home for the last time. I’m heading up to say good-bye — assuming she’s coherent — and to deal with the usual End Game antics that make death and dying a living hell for survivors.
Be there Wednesday through Sunday. Guido will arrive later, t.b.d.
So if you’re in Philly maybe we can rendezvous. If not, well, wish us all the best.