She is the healthiest person in the building.
Except for the dying part.
Her blood pressure is 132 over 80.
Her oxygen is at 99%.
Her temp is 98.6.
I am not this healthy.
The people taking care of her are not this healthy.
The nurses come back from two days off and stare dumbstruck at her bed. I don't even answer her room phone anymore, because whatever I say would end up sounding like, "not yet," and I don't want her to hear that.
One of her friends says, "she can't leave because there is too much love in the room." I don't know about too much, there can never be too much love.
But you know what there can be too much of?
This is half of the food in this room:
Since only one of us is consuming anything but narcotics, small wonder who will end up with diabetes and a root canal. Thank God for the baked spaghetti, artichoke dip and combos. Double thanks for PT being right across the hall and leaving me free acess to their theta bands and yoga balls.
There is just one glimmer of joy in this ordeal. It's knowing that if Gram were to wake up out of this tomorrow, she and I would laugh at the absurdity of it all. I can see her face now, "Lord love a duck, who in God's name thought you could eat 8 apple turnovers, 5 cupcakes, and 6 donuts a day?"