She lies there asleep, although my mind
plays cruel tricks on me.
Could the slow rise and fall
of her chest be an illusion?
She scoffs at us. She thinks it’s morning.
it’s bloody early to be up
Gran, it’s five at night
We walk to the dining room to eat
the treat in newspaper parcels
already beginning to sweat in the heat.
We thought we’d convinced her
it was late in the day.
well this is a first
what? eating in the dining room
no having fish n chips for breakfast
I know it’s wrong, but
we burst out laughing
in that manic hyena way of those
already practising grieving,
unsure if the television or Gran is funnier
i don’t get it why are you laughing
… don’t worry about it
By the time Hot Doctor arrives
I think we’ve got through to her.
For a second, I let myself enjoy
the salty grease on my lips,
the fatty scent permeating disinfected air.
are there any concerns from anyone at the table?
just confusion over the day, what time it is
she thinks it’s breakfast time
A chip dangles from her mouth
like an artery-clogging cigar.
She inhales it as she snores
through her “breakfast”.
We share wide-eyed panic
we can run some blood tests. any complaints from the patient?
my face hurts
We mean to stay longer
but she keeps falling asleep.
Wheels squeak over the linoleum
leading to her room.
We perch on unforgiving visitor chairs.
do you want us to stay?
yes
okay.
But she, again, falls asleep instantly;
we leave.
Waking her briefly for a quick goodbye.
She claims we just arrived,
the fish ‘n’ chips meal forgotten already.
we’ve been here for an hour and a half, Gran
really
We go.
Down the corridor,
down the elevator,
to the carpark
and drive away.
We’ll return again tomorrow
as we have been doing all summer.
do you think she’ll be better tomorrow?
or worse?
i don’t know …