I explained to the kids that Harvey was going to heaven and Mallory was pretty broken up about it, but seems to have made a nice recovery. She and her brother have already decided that our next pet will be a dolphin. No doubt Mallory will want to name it Selena Gomez and Anthony will cry until we name it Michelangelo. Personally I'm not convinced that a dolphin will be able to fill Harvey's shoes. Especially since dolphins don't have any feet.
Part of me is hoping that I'll get to the vet and they look at him and be all, "Oops, we were wrong about that whole tumor thing." But I know they won't.
This post is a total downer.
How's this for a pick me up: My mom's cancer is killing itself. You may read that sentence again if it didn't make any sense. Without the use of any medications my mom's cancer appears to be dying off. Her doctor was so amazed that she sent my mom's medical reports to Beth Israel Hospital in NYC for review. There's no final word on it yet, but so far all the latest test results have supported this finding. This kind of news is so awesome that I believe that doctors should deliver it with jazz hands. And maybe they should sing a little too.
Perhaps a nice rock ballad or TV theme show. At times like this I always think of Alan Thicke and a little tune he penned for a show called The Facts of Life.
You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both and there you have: The Facts of Life.
Alan Thicke, your wisdom is unparalleled.
Except for that time you decided posing for the cover of PlayGirl was a good idea.
That decision was questionable at best.