Chapter 11 - Sheer Curtains
Day four smelled like plastic and coffee gone cold.
Mom had gotten us into the ICU early, before visiting hours officially started, because the night nurse liked her. Or felt sorry for her. Dad carried two paper cups and my backpack and didn't complain when the strap kept slipping off his shoulder. The blinds in Grandma Rose's room were half open and the morning light came through in thin strips. It looked like our sheer curtains back home, the way they fluttered over the balcony doors.
That morning I told myself I wouldn't stare at the monitor.
My name is Lily and I was eleven and trying real hard not to hope for the wrong thing.
Grandma Rose looked smaller. Her hair had been brushed back and her hands were on top of the light blanket. Not her satin pajamas with the burgundy trim anymore. A hospital gown. I hated that. I kept my chair pulled close to the bed, close enough that my knees touched the metal rail. Mom sat on the other side, her thin gold necklaces catching the light every time she breathed. Dad stood by the window with his hands in his pockets.
For a long time nobody talked. The machine beeped. Someone's shoes squeaked out in the hall.
Then her fingers moved.
I felt it before I saw it. Just a twitch against my palm where I'd rested my hand next to hers. I went still. I didn't want to scare it away.
"Grandma?" I whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered. Once. Then again. Then they opened.
It wasn't like in movies. Her eyes were cloudy and slow and they didn't focus right away. She looked at the ceiling, then at Mom, then at me. And then she squeezed. A real squeeze. Weak, but I felt it all the way up my arm.
Mom made a sound and stood up so fast her chair scraped. "Mom? Mom, we're here."
Dad came over fast. "Rose? Can you hear us?"
Grandma Rose's mouth moved. Dry. Cracked. She swallowed and frowned. She tried to turn her head a little toward me.
"Wa..." she breathed. Barely a sound. "Wa-ter..."
I leaned in. "What? Say it again?"
"Water," Mom repeated. Her voice shook. She looked at Dad. "She wants water."
I already had tears in my eyes and I didn't even feel them come. My heart was pounding so loud I thought the nurse would hear it on the monitor. She was awake. She knew me. She was thirsty, which meant she was still in there.
Dad hit the call button. Mom stroked Grandma's forehead. "Hold on, Mom. Hold on."
The nurse came in quick, a woman with short gray hair and pink scrubs. She checked the numbers, leaned over Grandma, smiled real calm.
"Well hi there, Rose," she said. "You decided to visit with us?"
"She wants water," I said. "Can she have water? Please?"
The nurse glanced at Mom, then at me. Her smile didn't drop but it changed. "We can't do a full cup yet, honey. But we can do a swab. That'll feel good on her mouth."
She went to the sink and came back with a little sponge on a stick, dipped in water. She handed it to me. "You want to do it? Just gentle, along her lips."
My hand was shaking. I touched the wet sponge to Grandma's lower lip. She parted her lips a little. I dabbed the corner of her mouth. She made a small sound, almost a sigh.
"More?" I asked.
"Just a little," the nurse said.
I did it again. Grandma's eyes stayed on me. Clearer now. She squeezed my hand again.
Mom was crying quietly behind me. Dad had his hand on Mom's shoulder, and his other hand gripped the bed rail so tight his knuckles were white.
The nurse motioned for Mom and Dad to step back with her by the door. She kept her voice low, but the room was small and I heard.
"This happens," she said. "A little rally. Eyes open, a word or two. Families get hopeful. I don't want you to be blindsided if she gets tired again."
"What does that mean?" Dad asked.
"It means her body is working very hard," the nurse said. "Sometimes they surge before they decline. Doesn't mean you didn't see what you saw. Just... take it minute by minute. We'll call the doctor to reassess."
Mom nodded. She pressed her fingers to her mouth. Dad looked at the floor.
I didn't turn around. I kept looking at Grandma because I didn't want her to feel us talking about her like she wasn't there.
Her lips moved again. No sound this time. Just shape.
I bent closer. "What?"
She mouthed it again, slow. L... Lee...
"Lily?" I whispered.
May you like
She blinked once. Yes. And squeezed my hand one more time before her eyes drifted shut, like staying awake had cost too much.
I held the damp swab in my other hand and didn't move. The strips of light from the blinds laid across the blanket. For a second they looked exactly like sheer curtains moving, and I could almost smell our bedroom at home.
