The doctors in Detroit remain baffled by my father. They haven’t been able to figure out exactly what’s wrong with him. They had scheduled a lung biopsy for Monday but he spiked a fever so they held off. They gave him a blood transfusion (freudian typo: blood confusion) and changed his ventilator settings. maybe today they’ll go forward with the biopsy. Who knows? Right now it feels like they’re just trying to rule out every potential illness in the hopes that they might hit on what’s actually wrong with him.
It’s all pretty frustrating. To say the least.
Life in London is largely normal except for my new predilection towards crying while watching soap operas (although apparently Hollyoaks made lots of people cry yesterday SO IT’S NOT JUST ME OKAY??), actually we can probably expand that to my new prediliction towards crying at just about anything that involves emotions, which is most definitely atypical for me. I think I have cried at 5-6 films and tv shows ever in my life before this week and at least half of those we Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and that’s not my fault, that’s emotional manipulation of the highest order.
Happily, Oliver seems to remember who I am now and he is content with the return to our old cuddling schedule. Jeremy also remembers who I am, but I prefer not to discus our cuddling schedule, it would be vulgar.