But his is a slow journey back to complete recovery. Luckily, unlike last year's bout, I believe we got Dad into the hospital soon enough to nip the intruding virus in the bud; his lungs are nowhere near as fluid-filled and gurgly as last time (sorry for the vivid description, but it's an important fact). He's still needing lots of sleep, LOTS of sleep, but that's his healing process. It's slow and steady. We Turlows haven't been labelled with the epithet "Turtle" for nothing.
My dad is like the woman pictured in the 6 of Swords: hunched over, recovering from something that laid her low, moving from a scary or sad or somehow otherwise "not-so-fun" place, into calmer, clearer waters. And Mark (my dad's caregiver), Ben, Dad's doctors and nurses and therapists, and myself, are manning the oar, moving him steadily and purposefully ahead to safety and health.

In their own good, sweet time.
(Note: I was heartened when Dad's assisting physician referred to him as "a wonderful man". This after only meeting him for, oh, like 11 seconds. Such is his gift to the world.)
Both tortoise and hare have their place in the race. We can't have fast without slow...it all shines.
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