My Friend

[loracs]

She has knocked on death's door before.  She has run back to breath another day.  When everything going in and coming out of the body is contained in sterile plastic bags, when breath rushes in and out on the tick tock of a machine, when the body is just plain worn from the inside out, it may be time to knock on that damn door until someone answers.  

The doctors don't expect her to leave the hospital this time.  They've said this before.  It's different now.  More and more medical intervention to keep her breathing.  The number of places to get good lines in are rapidly decreasing.  And yet, when I saw her 2 weeks ago, she smiled, enjoyed my bad jokes, communicated in one word whispers, a little sign language, and lots of interpretation from her partner.  We talked of silly things; her adventure in learning to drive a power wheelchair, just before she entered the hospital.  Wheelchair- 1, her mother's antique coffee table - 0.  The fence that "jumped" in front of her, snaring her front wheels until helped arrived.  Future plans to get an accessible van and take road trips with their daughters.  

I'm tired for her.  At this moment, I'm too tired to cry. 

Comments

[loracs.livejournal.com]

Yes, and it's not good. I just got back from the hospital. L asked me to pick up B's wheelchair. They had fought to keep it in ICU, so it would be there when B felt better. Now, it was just in the way. Talk to you later about Gilly too.