My sister is dying of cancer in Toronto.
We had been there just before Christmas for a final Advent Calendar and a last Stollen, and to help plan the funeral.
(She is sister-in-law, actually, but I dislike the appendage "-in-law". If I like someone sufficiently, I drop it altogether. My future biographers will have to hash it out.)
On Saturday, yesterday, Childermas, she had a seizure, and was rushed to hospital. My wife received the phone call just as our plane landed on our return from our Christmas trip to Washington D.C.
It is unknown whether the cancer has spread to the brain or whether it is some other problem.
They need to do a number of tests.
She-who-must-etc. told me moments ago that the tests would be done Monday. Sunday, you know. No testing done.
I looked at her and I grinned malevolently.
"Death takes a holiday?" I asked.
It does no good to rage at the idiot bureaucracy. The good people will take care of us as much as they are able - God bless them! - and the dead wood suits of politicians and health care executives - damn them! - will pipe us all to our final rests.
I often smile malevolently these days.
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