Diary #7 (5-13-23)

The Cancer Diaries

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I’m whipped. Whipped. I keep trying to think my way into a better attitude, but I can’t do that; I have to act my way into a better ‘tude. What can I say? It’s Saturday, May 13, 2023. I came back from my folks’ house yesterday afternoon, after walking a client’s dog. (I’m still doing dog-walking a few times a week in Santa Barbara.) I’d gone down several days before that because my dad, around 9pm in the evening—I want to say this was Monday night?—had started violently coughing, sitting upright in bed, and that turned into vomiting…blood. It was blood and lung tissue, which evidently looked like coffee grounds. My mom called me. I was in bed with Britney. Mom was scared. She said she’d been in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when she heard my father throwing his guts up…almost literally.