Well, this is not exactly comfortable, typing with a big plastic jigger sticking out of my arm. I am over the moment of queasiness, which was remarkably short.
My sister just went out to buy espresso pods on Newbury Street for her fancy espresso machine. I am glad she went out for a bit, so she isn't stuck in the hospital, and I don't feel guilty that she is trapped among wires and sealed windows, and I have a moment to write.
But I am grateful to tears that she came with me, and stayed with me, and came back from France. I am very lucky to have a wonderful sister. Not everyone has such a good hand dealt to them. She was there during the birth of each of my children, she was there for each of my graduations.
Oh, except the one from art school, where I cried even though I had been miserable while I was there. Perhaps I cried from relief. Nevertheless, it was embarrassing, up there on the stage, grabbing the diploma while grimacing with tears.
My body is full of toxins now. I've been hooked up to an I.V. for two hours.
The Haitian nurse, Andrea, is discomfitting the young man who is with his mother next door, by telling the woman what a handsome young man she has... Aside from making young men blush, Andrea is lovely and warm, with a beautiful talent for making people feel cared for.
I have promised to bring to her next week the name of the Haitian linguist who spoke at UMass last fall about education in Haiti.I must remember.
The queasiness is back, escorted by dimwittedness. Thank goodness my sister is driving us home.