Wobbly hiss-hum

We get personal attention every time a staff member walks through the door. Everyone at the hospital is super friendly, and solicitous. (Sorry, editors, but I can’t think of a more literary adverb to express my gratitude. Any suggestions?) Invariable, every time anyone enters or exits the room or even passes by, they ask each of us in turn, Are you doing okay? Can I get you anything? Call me if you need anything.

David’s elbow extension is much improved due to his stretching exercises. He had an appointment at the inpatient occupational therapy gym in this building. There’s an outpatient occupational therapy gym in the America building, but he’s not cleared to go out of the building with active chemo. Probably could be cited for carrying a weapon: chemo is ‘powerful medicine’ (The Kid). Couldn’t get nailed on “possession of a concealed weapon”: the chemo bag is clearly labeled and visible on his IV rack. About once a minute, as he walks laps around the ward, I hear the wobbly hiss-hum of the wheels past the door. Tsch-tsch-tsch-tsch-tsch-tsch-tsch. His pace is steady; each time I hear exactly seven cycles, a seven-second swoshy Sixty Minutes stopwatch.

I hear the tech hail him: Doing your laps already?