It’s not hard to empathize with others when you’ve experienced your own difficulties. I suffered from asthma as a child. Mom told me I nearly died at two years old. I remember many things, even at two, but I guess I blocked that near-death thing out. A combination of corticosteroid injections, suppositories, inhalers, and pills kept me breathing, and alive. And though wheezing and gasping for air was no fun, I did enjoy certain aspects of the disease. If an attack came in the middle of the night, Dad gave me piggyback rides in the dark. We traversed the living and dining rooms while I steered by tugging on his ears. Left, right. Right, left. My poor father kept this up until the medicine kicked in and I fell back asleep. But I fought hard to stay awake because I never wanted those rides to end.
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Wow! I didn’t know you went through that. I also remember Dad’s rides in the middle of the night when I had excruciating ear aches. He must have been exhausted the next day. He really did some behind the scenes caring things for us. You never told me about steering him. I missed out. Although I was in too much pain to probably reach up anyway.