The Healing Trip (Part 10)

My brother was home. After three trips to the hospital for week-plus-long stays and a couple for outpatient procedures dealing with his J-tube (a jejuostomy tube is a soft, plastic tube that is placed through the abdomen and into the small intestine for the purpose of feeding the patient when the patient cannot eat by mouth), and several trips to chemo on Wednesdays (5 hours) and then back again on Friday to remove the pump ... we were home. And, miracle of miracles, he had a couple of days when he felt pretty well. "I'm feeling so good," he said one morning as I was heading out of the living room, "I may try to strip the floor in the hallway." I turned quickly. "Van, you need to be careful.

The Healing Trip (Part 9)

As children, my brother and I (along with every kid in the neighborhood) played outside from the time we woke up until the street lights flickered on. Even as little children, because our parents didn't worry; no parent worried. We were safe. Free to run and play and frolic. We hopped on our bikes and trikes and took off for wherever our wobbly little legs could take us. We were safe. The worst thing that could happen during the course of the day was a fall resulting in a bruised or scraped knee. Or palm . . . which was the most painful. Even the winter months couldn't stop us. We merely bundled up. Came in after we could no longer feel our feet and, once they thawed out, we pulled on a drie

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