Seattle 4

She had a fever of 102 today. When I spoke with her, she was trying so hard, so hard, to have a "normal" conversation (whatever the fuck that means) with me. I don't know whether it was the fever, or the morphine, or the liver failure, that made her incoherent at times. She mentioned music she was hearing. And then she also talked about how she would, every now and again, get scared because she thought her bedroom was a hospital room ... and then feel relieved again when she realized it was her bedroom. She mixed up words. She tried so hard to sound "normal." I tried so hard to respond patiently, with understanding, and without pain.

I told her that I would be arriving next Wednesday ... staying until the 26th. She said, "Well, if worse comes to worst, you can leave for England from here." It makes sense, in some ways (the sentiment, not the suggestion). For the last six years, I've prioritized my life and my career over her health. Now, she wants to do everything she can to ensure that I'm doing what, she's come to understand, makes me "happy." I'm not blaming anyone here. It's just the way life has gone forward. And, in many, many ways ... I've followed in her footsteps.

I have one more week, now, til I head back. It feels like a lifetime.

She keeps telling me about how frustrated she is that she's not comfortable anywhere except in her bed. And I keep telling her, "It doesn't matter. Who cares?" It sounds softer in Hindi, for some reason.