Well, it looks like it’s time for another footnote. It’s the day after our visit to view the Bone Scan results. For me the consult was mostly upbeat. Still groggy from Oxycodone, I …

As the results from Dad’s tests roll in, I’ll update as I can. I throw in gems of humor because I can’t help myself, but on the whole it’s totally not fun. Get yourself a nice cocktail.

Living within mere feet of each other doesn’t make our experiences necessarily shared. Strange days at sea in the Moone-Fox clan. Or strange days in several different seas.

A somewhat stark evaluation of recent medical shenanigans, which reveals that Dad might be best served by hanging upside down by gravity boots like a Prosciutto di Parma.

No-one wants to be reduced to a “Work in Progress,” but sometimes by documenting an event, one renders the title inadvertently. It appears I may have done so by writing about my father’s cancer.

In this very special episode, my father Charles Moone reflects on the territorial claims of an underfunded but well-developed art department which is forced to share digs with a much wealthier bunch of weenies. Speaking of weenies…

The problem with theory is that it’s theoretical. I want the theory that will help me wash the dishes and pick up the slack during my Dad’s illness.

As Dad stepped into the car, he handed me an article from Atlantic Monthly called “Letting Go of My Father.”
“I’ve got nothing to say other than ‘Don’t let it get this bad,’” he said, as …

Dad has been politely nagging me to put this piece “Death Becomes Us” up on The Nervous Breakdown practically before I was a contributor there. In fact, I seem to recall that he also wanted …

I was too much a daughter to my father to know much about his career as a professor of the humanities, other than a few days I went to work with him as a kid.
But …

Dad is now six months into “managing cancer.” He got his third hormone shot, the last in the keister which is probably a relief. Although now they’ll be giving him a shot in the stomach …

“You have no idea what a pleasure it is to go to the bathroom,” Dad said. “A completely underrated experience.”
This is the sort of comment that peppers our conversations these days. We still talk about …

When my father was looking somewhat ghastly towards the beginning of his cancer adventure, it would have never occurred to me to take a picture of him. Not that photos are either bad or good–they …

Dad has a “Cancer Only” insurance policy. When the clinic submitted his biopsy for coverage, they didn’t pay because it wasn’t “cancer related.”
Apparently “biopsy” in insurance-speak means “went out for coffee and read the paper.”*
*They …