I think, ironically, I want to be sick. As in vomit, not as in sick sick... I don't want that for me, or for someone very close to me. He's in the hospital now getting the latest scan results. In a fantasy world, the hitch-hiker is diminishing in size. In reality, I hope it's the same as last year: no change.
He's got the strength to cope with all of this. I hope I can match him.
It seems I do pray, after all.
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