Chapter 90

Ruthie pipes up again. “You’re sure not helping.”

I want Mom to shake her head, but she nods, and then she implores, “Ruthie, please.”

I say as loudly as I can toward the screen, “Mom, we’ll get you a private room.” Then, to her: “Nothing screams success like a boarder.”

I need her to exclaim “Touche!” but “I’m fine here” is all I get.

“Are they doing anything for pain?” I ask.

“Of course…oral…but not a drip, not yet. Your brain goes abroad and doesn’t want to come home.” As if on cue, she seems to lose her navigation. She repeats those last two words, “come home,” three times.

“We’ll get all of your scrips when you’re checked out of here and—”

My mother jumps back into coherence. “Be realistic.” She doesn’t hesitate. “I’m not leaving.” She closes her eyes. “Rub my feet. They sting. Chemo brought on neuropathy.”

Through the sheets, I squeeze her toes. “Remember me and Livvie doing this after you stood all day?”