"Well," he said slowly, "the doctor heard some rattling in my chest and thinks I've got the beginnings of congestive heart failure."
My thoughts stopped for a few moments with those three words.
When my brain eventually re-started, "Are you sure?"
"He seems to think so." My Dad spoke so nonchalantly about it, as if it were just par for the course. Here was my Dad, who'd survived four major heart attacks, prostate cancer, and an horrific head trauma, telling me that he has an incurable disease. Correction: he may have an incurable disease"You know how my ankles and feet are always swollen. Even the water pills don't seem to do much. He thinks that's a symptom, and the rattling pushed him closer to it."
"But he's not sure?"
"Well, I have to go in for more tests, but he's probably right." I heard him sigh. "Growing old is terrible."