Our room was small: a double bed pressed against a wall with my BiPAP machine, an oxygen concentrator,
and a dozen refillable oxygen tanks at the foot of the bed. Past the equipment,
there was a dusty old paisley chair with a sagging seat, a desk, and a bookshelf above the bed containing the collected works of Søren Kierkegaard.
On the desk we found a wicker basket full of presents from the Genies: wooden shoes, an orange Holland T-shirt,
chocolates, and various other goodies. The Filosoof was right next to the Vondelpark, Amsterdam’s most famous park.
Mom wanted to go on a walk, but I was supertired, so she got the BiPAP working and placed its snout on me.
I hated talking with that thing on, but I said, “Just go to the park and I’ll call you when I wake up.”
“Okay,” she said. “Sleep tight, honey.” But when I woke up some hours later,
she was sitting in the ancient little chair in the corner, reading a guidebook.
“Morning,” I said. “Actually late afternoon,” she answered, pushing herself out of the chair with a sigh.
She came to the bed, placed a tank in the cart, and connected it to the tube
while I took off the BiPAP snout and placed the nubbins into my nose.
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