Serves me right, showing up to work with wet hair and summer garb. Oh, my poor fingers! (Curses, curses, curses!)

P'fas gets out of the hospital today. I didn't get a chance to go see him today. Well, truth be told, I did have a chance. But the Dud said I needed to take a break from the daily hospital visits, and I didn't need too much convincing. So she and 'Ama went, and I stayed home with the kids. Once Dad gets out, he's moving in with us. (Damnations!) The social worker at the hospital told us that he can't live on his own anymore. This, of course, I already knew, but tell that to P'fas. He was bitchy, according to the Dud, when they went to see him this morning. Because he's on a protein restricted, no sugar, no sodium diet. Which means I think even lettuce might be dangerous. And of course he's cranky, because he wants to eat whatever the fuck he wants.

I estimate he has less than a month to live. God knows if he will see his birthday, even. And it kills me, because in his last moments, I know he's going to be angry with me, because I didn't let him "enjoy" his last moments by porking out on things he knows he can't have. Hell, he can't even have milk anymore. I'm not sure how we're gonna get through this, but I know we will. Get through it, I mean. Somehow.