When I did my list of medical issues yesterday, I left off my brother-in-law Dean. We got a (surprisingly legible) letter from him...uh...Thursday, I think. Remember, last winter (Jan-Mar), he was having all kinds of problems? (if not, and if you care, you can enter his name in the search box in the upper left of this page)
Turns out he's got an official diagnosis of polycythemia vera. There is a great deal of weirdness in that diagnosis, since my sister--his wife--nearly died of aplastic anemia.
In any case, it's not curable. As he says, "Oh well; such is life." He'll probably lose more of his extremities.
Seriously? I think this is why I'm not a doctor. There are just too many things that can go wrong in our bodies. I'm beginning to be quite amazed when things are actually functional; for instance, my tear ducts are working really well.
[My mom...who knows. We are in limbo, or more technically, purgatory. Waiting. And this is part of why I don't believe in (traditional) Hell.]