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Mom
once
snuck
me
into
a
casino
.
We
were
going
on
vacation
to
Crater
Lake
and
we
stopped
at
a
resort
on
an
Indian
reservation
for
the
buffet
lunch
.
Mom
decided
to
do
a
bit
of
gambling
,
and
I
went
with
her
while
Dad
stayed
with
Teddy
,
who
was
napping
in
his
stroller
.
Mom
sat
down
at
the
dollar
blackjack
tables
.
The
dealer
looked
at
me
,
then
at
Mom
,
who
returned
his
mildly
suspicious
glance
with
a
look
sharp
enough
to
cut
diamonds
followed
by
a
smile
more
brilliant
that
any
gem
.
The
dealer
sheepishly
smiled
back
and
didn
’
t
say
a
word
.
I
watched
Mom
play
,
mesmerized
.
It
seemed
like
we
were
in
there
for
fifteen
minutes
but
then
Dad
and
Teddy
came
in
search
of
us
,
both
of
them
grumpy
.
It
turned
out
we
’
d
been
there
for
over
an
hour
.
The
ICU
is
like
that
.
You
can
’
t
tell
what
time
of
day
it
is
or
how
much
time
has
passed
.
There
’
s
no
natural
light
.
And
there
’
s
a
constant
soundtrack
of
noise
,
only
instead
of
the
electronic
beeping
of
slot
machines
and
the
satisfying
jangle
of
quarters
,
it
’
s
the
hum
and
whir
of
all
the
medical
equipment
,
the
endless
muffled
pages
over
the
PA
,
and
the
steady
talk
of
the
nurses
.
I
’
m
not
entirely
sure
how
long
I
’
ve
been
in
here
.
A
while
ago
,
the
nurse
I
liked
with
the
lilting
accent
said
she
was
going
home
.
"
I
’
ll
be
back
tomorrow
,
but
I
want
to
see
you
here
,
sweetheart
,
"
she
said
.
I
thought
that
was
weird
at
first
.
Wouldn
’
t
she
want
me
to
be
home
,
or
moved
to
another
part
of
the
hospital
?
But
then
I
realized
that
she
meant
she
wanted
to
see
me
in
this
ward
,
as
opposed
to
dead
.
The
doctors
keep
coming
around
and
pulling
up
my
eyelids
and
waving
around
a
flashlight
.
They
are
rough
and
hurried
,
like
they
don
’
t
consider
eyelids
worthy
of
gentleness
.
It
makes
you
realize
how
little
in
life
we
touch
one
another
’
s
eyes
.
Maybe
your
parents
will
hold
an
eyelid
up
to
get
out
a
piece
of
dirt
,
or
maybe
your
boyfriend
will
kiss
your
eyelids
,
light
as
a
butterfly
,
just
before
you
drift
off
to
sleep
.
But
eyelids
are
not
like
elbows
or
knees
or
shoulders
,
parts
of
the
body
accustomed
to
being
jostled
.
The
social
worker
is
at
my
bedside
now
.
She
is
looking
through
my
chart
and
talking
to
one
of
the
nurses
who
normally
sits
at
the
big
desk
in
the
middle
of
the
room
.
It
is
amazing
the
ways
they
watch
you
here
.
If
they
’
re
not
waving
penlights
in
your
eyes
or
reading
the
printouts
that
come
tumbling
out
from
the
bedside
printers
,
then
they
are
watching
your
vitals
from
a
central
computer
screen
.
If
anything
goes
slightly
amiss
,
one
of
the
monitors
starts
bleeping
.
There
is
always
an
alarm
going
off
somewhere
.
At
first
,
it
scared
me
,
but
now
I
realize
that
half
the
time
,
when
the
alarms
go
off
,
it
’
s
the
machines
that
are
malfunctioning
,
not
the
people
.
The
social
worker
looks
exhausted
,
as
if
she
wouldn
’
t
mind
crawling
into
one
of
the
open
beds
.
I
am
not
her
only
sick
person
.
She
has
been
shuttling
back
and
forth
between
patients
and
families
all
afternoon
.
She
’
s
the
bridge
between
the
doctors
and
the
people
,
and
you
can
see
the
strain
of
balancing
between
those
two
worlds
.
After
she
reads
my
chart
and
talks
to
the
nurses
,
she
goes
back
downstairs
to
my
family
,
who
have
stopped
talking
in
hushed
tones
and
are
now
all
engaged
in
solitary
activities
.
Gran
is
knitting
.
Gramps
is
pretending
to
nap
.
Aunt
Diane
playing
sudoku
.
My
cousins
are
taking
turns
on
a
Game
Boy
,
the
sound
turned
to
mute
.
Kim
has
left
.
When
she
came
back
to
the
waiting
room
after
visiting
the
chapel
,
she
found
Mrs
.
Schein
a
total
wreck
.
She
seemed
so
embarrassed
and
she
hustled
her
mother
out
.
Actually
,
I
think
having
Mrs
.
Schein
there
probably
helped
.
Comforting
her
gave
everyone
else
something
to
do
,
a
way
to
feel
useful
.
Now
they
’
re
back
to
feeling
useless
,
back
to
the
endless
wait
.
When
the
social
worker
walks
into
the
waiting
room
,
everyone
stands
up
,
like
they
’
re
greeting
royalty
.
She
gives
a
half
smile
,
which
I
’
ve
seen
her
do
several
times
already
today
.
I
think
it
’
s
her
signal
that
everything
is
okay
,
or
status
quo
,
and
she
’
s
just
here
to
deliver
an
update
,
not
to
drop
a
bomb
.
"
Mia
is
still
unconscious
,
but
her
vital
signs
are
improving
,
"
she
tells
the
assembled
relatives
,
who
have
abandoned
their
distractions
haphazardly
on
the
chairs
.
"
She
’
s
in
with
the
respiratory
therapists
right
now
.
They
’
re
running
tests
to
see
how
her
lungs
are
functioning
and
whether
she
can
be
weaned
off
the
ventilator
.
"
