This morning, Mar sends me a very chirpy text. She feels great and can’t wait to see us. This is followed by a smiley face. A couple of hours later another sms: “Bastards stuck a tube down my nose to my stomach in order to feed me…I’m not happy” A sad face ensues. Dad and I feel for her. I picture the scene before me. Mara kicking and screaming, resisting with unexpected force the 5 nurses holding her back. Of course, that wasn’t exactly how it went…When I go to see her, she is tensely staring out ahead with her big blue eyes. She hardly says a word. Her silence is deceiving and the lapidary look she casts leaves no doubt as to what she is feeling…ANGER. She is so very angry. The tube is extremely uncomfortable and she absolutely hates it. It’s hard to talk, to breathe, to move…I try distracting her with some stories but she remains impassive. Finally I shut up and content myself with holding her hand. She firmly holds on to it and after a while, losens her grip. She starts to relax again and soon we’re back on track.
My Grandfather, a very wise man, used to say: “It can never get any later than midnight”. He meant that just as each day must end at midnight, so must even the darkest of hours come to an end.
And so. This too shall pass (Yet another very wise, famous man whose name eludes me)
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