The Cancer Code: Like Morse Code, but Completely Different

So, as I reported last week, Vic is getting pretty hoarse. If a butterfly flaps its wings between him and my ears, I can't hear what he says. So we've come up with a code. It goes something like this:

"Good morning, Love. Did you have a nice sleep?"

"Oh, good. I'm so glad. Can I get you anything?"

"Are you sure? Well, OK. So, how are you feeling today?"

"Oh, dear. Maybe you need to hydrate more."

"Or perhaps you are not feeding enough. I've been saying that all along, that you are not—"

(After this, we do not speak for a while. Like, hours. But after awhile, I have to speak. I am hardwired that way.)

"Oh, guess what? I was doing this row of beading, and then I got all the way through it and realized that at the beginning, I was supposed to use a teal bead but I used an aqua bead instead and I had to take it all out and do it over."

Then Wags decided she had to get into it, so here is some Wags code:

"I love you, Dad!"

"I love you, Da—does somebody have food?"

"I love you, Dad. May I please have some scratches?"

"I love you, Dad, but would you please ask Mom to get that camera off me? You know I hate having my picture taken."

"I said, would you please get that camera off me?"

"I love you, Mom—are you holding a ball?"

So off we go to play ball, and finally, it's time for bed and one last code between husband and wife:

"I love you, Sweetie."