What made the situation so difficult for me was the Grateful The Strokes Shirt a plethora of illnesses for as long as I can remember. He had a heart attack in his thirties, he had Wegener’s granulomatosis, diabetes, colitis… there may have been one or two others. Quite honestly, I lost track. My childhood memories were of endless visits to the hospital, and yet in each case my father triumphed. Well, in my mind he did. When he was put on dialysis his kidneys bounced back and he no longer needed treatment (apparently this was unheard of unless you were an eighteen year old athlete). One time my father had an artery in his stomach that had burst. He practically bled out but a radical experimental clamp saved his life. This guy was bullet-proof. Six years before he finally died, I had a cadre of doctors tell me to make funeral arrangements for him because he wasn’t going to pull through.
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He spit in the face of death more times than I could count, so it was easy for me to Grateful The Strokes Shirt and shuffling gait in his final few years. It was going to take a magical sword wielded by an immortal, kilt-wearing Highlander to take my old man out. That’s why when the doctors gathered once again to tell me that he wasn’t going to make it I lashed out at them. Well, in my mind I lashed out at them. In reality my throat tightened to the point that my deep baritone voice sounded like mouse had been stepped on. I couldn’t accept that this was the end. He had taken sick six weeks earlier, been given antibiotics, released, sent home only to be re-admitted two weeks later. Once again he was given a round of drugs, rebounded, sent home and then relapsed. To me the answer was simple. Just keep giving him whatever you were giving him in the hospital. I mean, come on… he was getting better!