My Uncle Was More Than A Coronavirus Statistic

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

A little more than six and a half years ago my father was dying at the hospital. His cancer ridden body was perforated in half a dozen spots by tubes. One of those tubes was attached to a machine that had been depositing a clear liquid into his blood through a rapidly withering arm. My dad’s oncologist at the time gave the liquid a nickname: the nuclear bomb. The doctor hoped that the chemotherapy would kill…