Immunosuppressive infusions are in his future. Hopefully.
Crap luck. Especially in the age of COVID-19.
I drive my mask-wearing parents to meet the oncologist in Seattle.
I sit in the waiting room, my stomach an agonizing stone fist.
My parents emerge, overwhelmed, and relieved. I’m thankful.
On the drive home, Dad says, “Doctor said with this COVID thing I’m going to be a bubble boy. If I catch coronavirus while on chemo, I’m a dead duck.”
“Your dad needs an N95,” Mom says.
I call my wife. “Did the KN95s come today?”
The masks had. Thank Buddha.