The harsh chemical smell of antiseptic floor cleaner hung heavy in the air of the pediatric ward.

I kept my head down, watching my own bare feet step across the gray linoleum tiles.

I counted the tiles to distract myself from the nausea.

Fourteen tiles past my door.

Dr.

Grant stood near a metal chart rack, talking to my father.

I stopped walking.

The wheels on my IV pole squeaked briefly and went still.