Today was the first twenty-four hours after my dad's surgery, and the reality hasn't set in yet. In fact, I went to work today, and put in the only full day of work this week. Other than answering the requisite "So how did your dad's surgery go?" seventeen times, the day was, well, normal. I did the same work I always did, and my co-workers heaped more work upon me like they always do. Some things got done in my absence, many others did not. Such is the way of things.
I was jolted to reality somewhat when my brother and I went to the hospital to pick up our mother, who sat vigilant by our dad's side all day long. Because he is still tired from the surgery, he slept almost the entire time, so she told us. He only came to when his sister visited around noon, and again when the nurse came in while we were there. He recognized us, and understood us. Though my brother and I didn't see it, my mother said that his words are still muddled. His face was bruised and swollen, like he was mugged. But, I still hold out hope that he's going to beat this. The waiting for the biopsy results are what's torture; it now looks that next Thursday is the day the results should be ready. Is it cancer, or not?
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