Last Thursday

If I had taken pictures and showed them to you, it seems unlikely you could have guessed the function of the building. The monotoned hallways simply looked utilitarian in a fashion that could have been a school or an office building. It's hard to explain why it felt so much like it could be nothing but a hospital.

By the time I got there, the prognosis had shifted. After a long, mostly sleepless night, word had come down that they finally thought they knew what was wrong with my grandmother, who had been admitted the previous afternoon bleeding into her abdomen from an unknown cause. It appeared, also, that her liver and kidneys were not working properly. And, of course, there was still the same problem with her heart that she had been admitted with earlier in the month: parts of it were vibrating rather than beating. They thought they could repair the new things, at least, with a minimum of fuss. We were all very relieved.

Walking down one of many identical corridors during my search for the intensive care unit, I knew I was getting close when I saw a woman talking into a cellphone. Her words were soft, and filled with medical jargon. She did not look good. She looked as though she was going to remember this day for the rest of her life.

Shortly after I left her behind, resisting my impulse to offer comfort, I found some of my family in the lounge near intensive care. My mother was there, with an uncle I like a good deal. After yet another status update, still good, we chatted amiably about nothing much at all for a while. I learned that my grandmother was getting a "procedure," and that I could not visit her until it had completed. I had only missed her by a few minutes.

Aunts and uncles came and went throughout the day, reaching a critical mass as afternoon became evening. For the most part, these are people I see infrequently enough that they can be excused for noticing all over again the fact that I am tall.

My grandmother's procedure went well. They couldn't find any source of bleeding, which they took as an indication that their treatment was working, and the bleeding had stopped on its own. When she was back in her room, we were permitted to go and see her.

The short walk from the lounge to her room seemed to take a very long time, partially due to the strides my mother takes, but mostly because I was really trepidatious about seeing my grandmother in a hospital. I am not a fan of hospitals.

I have read accounts of people seeing a parent or grandparent in a hospital room, and they almost always are stricken by how small the person seems. This has never meant all that much sense to me. I think I have always assumed that what they were really saying was that they noticed a diminishing that was other than physical, that they were simply saying that these people had always appeared large until that moment.

And maybe that is what they mean, but I couldn't avoid the shock at how small, how physically small, my grandmother appeared. She was still a little loopy from her procedure, and was hard to understand. My first impulse, which I am not at all proud of, was to flee the room. I did not, and instead concentrated on the appearance of breezy cheerfulness, which I thought she could maybe use.

She said several times how glad she was to see me. I informed her that she could always call and invite me over, rather than drumming up a huge, scary medical predicament to lure me to the suburbs. She said she would keep this in mind.

She extorted a promise that when she is well, I will come over and cook lasagna for her. I am, of course, happy to keep this promise, as it is contingent on her getting better and returning home.

I kept staring at her heart monitor which, due to the fluttering of her heart, was revving between 80 and 140 beats per minute while she lay there unable to move. It made me nervous, and I jumed a little whenever I heard a beep from one of the machines in the room.

I was glad I saw her. I was glad that she seemed glad I saw her.

Most of the day was spent among her offspring, my aunts and uncles. Most of them live within a mile or two of both her current home and the hospital. One had to fly in from Las Vegas.

My role in this group seems to have solidified about ten years ago, when Stan (my grandmother's second husband) died. At the wake and funeral, it seemed that my job was more or less that of a respectful jester. I am to bring levity, and I am to do this softly, without great appearance of effort on my part. I suppose it's nice to have a role, and to know what it is.

This was the general tone I tried to adopt while sitting in the waiting room with this collection of mostly strangers who are my aunts and uncles. I think and hope I was successful, but by the time I left I was exhausted.

We all went for dinner together in the cafeteria of the hospital. The food was unpleasant. At some point, I looked up from what the menu called "scod" in what I can only hope was a typographical error and noticed that the conversation had shifted to the subject of immigration.

There was a casualness to some of the vaguely racist comments I heard that was chilling. I thought to myself that it isn't so much that a racist will use different words, but maybe that they phrase things differently or something. There is a way of pronouncing the word "they" that I cannot replicate, which brings up an anger inside me.

I tried to remind myself that most of them still think of me as ten years old, and that we were assembled not so much by choice as by out of mutual concern for my grandmother. I tried to remain respectful to the occasion, and to my elders, and to those not participating in the conversation.

I remained silent. I could almost feel silence moving out from my body. I was no longer willing to entertain them. My mother tells me that at one point I leapt upright and grabbed my tray. I doubt anyone else noticed this. They all grabbed their trays, as we were mostly finished eating. I left almost immediately afterward.

Afterward, I felt very sad that they tarnished my day as they did with their thoughtless comments. It had been a reasonably nice time up until then, especially considering the circumstances.

Seeing my grandmother was lovely, and seemed to lift her spirits so much. I'm still glad for that part of the day, but I clearly should have left before dinner.