I got to talk to my dad last night. He's doing a lot better - much more coherent than when I spoke to him on Saturday (they think the stroke started about the time I called). He estimates that his right leg is operating at about 90% of the norm, but his right arm and hand are giving him trouble. He claims they're only 50% operational, but mom says he's exaggerating.
The most assuring part of the conversation - he half-dropped two F-bombs when talking about staying in the hospital (they're moving him to the physical therapy unit today or tomorrow) until he can make and fist and pick things up with his right hand again. Probably an extra week.
Cleo (the family dog who is really my dad's dog because she loves him with enthusiastic and unwavering devotion) must be absolutely depressed from missing her favorite person. She can usually sense him from blocks away and starts tearing around the house, pausing only occasionally to leap up on the couch to stare out the front window before repeating the circuit.
In any case, I feel much reassured today.