L drank the proverbial ‘Kool-Aid’ ® back then, and had fallen for another round, but that being water
under the dam, no one beside her was making a sound. The breathing in silence
was rhythmic; profound.
After a spell,
one of the attendant RN’s urged us to leave so the caregivers could wash L.
Interesting: was this a premonition of sure death, a pre-emptive washing ritual, or a manifestation of the rushed, impatient, harried state of affairs our collective lifestyles had become?
I mean, aren’t you supposed to wait until the patient is a cadaver before you wash her/him?