But not too Deceiving

There are seventeen steps between the first and second floors of my parents’s home, where my parents and I just finished dinner with and brought by some dear family friends. I arrived while they were already eating and found my father sitting up, laughing, talking and eating. It was really nice to see. In an aside, one of our friends told me that you feel like s*** for the first week after chemotherapy, then you gradually feel better. It has been nine days since my dad’s first course.

But in spite of the evidence and our friend’s statement, I remained reserved. I know statistics. My feelings were justified as I later watched my father walk slowly through the halls of his home, cane in one hand and our friend supporting him at the other. My feelings were underscored witnessing the extraordinary effort my father expended in climbing those seventeen stairs up to his bedroom. He had to stop three times before reaching the top and was winded throughout his labors.