Sixty Steps to the microwave in the dining area next to the kitchen. Sixty Steps that I made ever few hours to keep the tea warm enough for my son to be able to swallow. His esophagus had been stretched twice and because of the cancer the doctors would not stretch it again fearing something worse. Therefore, I walked the Sixty Steps as many times as it was necessary so he could swallow his medicine, his food, his snacks, water…
As he became thinner, I became thinner. His day was filled with the T’s….OT, PT….and dialysis. The room was not large enough for my cot to be down during the day and there was not anyplace to sit to be out of the way, therefore, I walked some more. In the two and half months I lived there, I knew every inch of that hospital.
They had a player piano that kept an incessant sound going. As a pianist in the past, I could not discern what the tunes were. It was a mixture of something and nothing my mind comprehended. I spoke with the Patient Care Manager and they thought everyone enjoyed the music there above the overlook where one might could talk on the phone in private had it not been for the overwhelming music. At some point they turned it off at certain times of the day. It seems that a lot of people objected to the music while others loved it. I would like to think that my voicing my opinion in a logical fashion stopped the music playing every minute.
My son apologized that I had to walk so far to warm his mint tea for him. I told him I did not mind, however, what I should have said to him was that I would have walked forever to keep his tea warm if that helped him to live a another day.
I have to stop now. My mind is having a hard time knowing I will never walk another step to help him swallow.