The 14th marked one month since dad got terribly sick and was put on a ventilator. While I'm happy he is where he is now with his recovery, he has such a long way to go. A long, long way to go.

His weight last Friday was 126lbs. He was in the 150s when he first entered the hospital. He's lost all his muscle mass. He had already lost most of it by then from the chemo. I'm just so heartbroken that he's having to go through all of this. And then he asked the question I've been hoping he wouldn't think about a couple days ago.

He asked, "Do we know how the cancer is doing?" I said, "No, we're going to have to wait until you get better before they can test you again." Then he said, "If I still have cancer, then what's the point of all of this?"

That's the question that's been looming in my mind for a month. If he still has cancer, is he still a candidate for any treatment? Will he ever be a candidate for a bone marrow transplant again? Will he ever be able to live independently again? All of these have been heavy on my heart and mind. At this point we have to take every day as it comes and not look too far ahead of ourselves.

On Tuesday, Dad failed his swallow test... again. We were told that he did ok, but last night we were told that he really failed it. Imagine not having anything in your mouth for 4 weeks. Anything. No water, no food, nothing. He is desperate to have a drink of water. He needs to gain weight, which he can't do as well through a feeding tube.

I just want need something positive to happen. I feel so defeated. We have all been fighting this battle that seems like a losing one.

And tonight my work is hosting a party for cancer survivors. If I don't sob the whole night, it will be a miracle.