My 86-year-old father has a 50-50 chance of having lung cancer, or so the doctor says. 

For the past three years, my father has resided in a Dallas nursing home not far from where I live after he sleepwalked in the middle of the night and smashed his skull against something. Subsequent  injuries meant he would never return home to live by himself. My mother—his wife—was in the hospital at the time after breaking her ankle, and she subsequently died in March 2005. 

This past Thursday, an x-way showed a “nodule” that wasn’t there 15 days ago. The doctor said it could be anything from calcification from his current battle with pneumonia to lung cancer.  A still, calm voice inside of me says it’s the latter.

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