Dating During This Dang Disease

“Are you awake?” my husband asked me this morning at six.
“Well, I am now,” I replied groggily.
“What time is your heart appointment?”
“One forty-five.”
“I’ll pick you up around one.”
“Okay.”

This is what our dating has disintegrated to: going to the fifth echocardiogram together to see if the damage from the Herceptin was permanent or not. I can sure think of a lot more fun things to do than that.

 

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