Two Months and Three Days

There was only one time when Allen had to go to the hospital. It was a day in May. It was in 1995. I remember such mundane details now only because it was in the middle of the Apple World Wide Developer Conference that year.

Allen had become increasingly annoyed with my increasing mother-henning, as he’d put it. Which of course was, not insignificantly, an outlet for my increasing worry over his health.

It was two mornings after the first night that there was ever a problem with his overnight IV of TPN, no coincidence. A night of no nutrition and more importantly, of no hydration, had taken its toll. Only I didn’t know that before I left that morning to drive 50 miles to San Jose to the conference. I just knew that he was annoyed with me still, and that I, in turn, was pissed at him and then appalled at my ‘selfishness’ at being pissed off at such a sick man.

I snapped at him and he stood there, silent, glaring.

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