Elle walked away with her bag in hand, leaving just the old man and me once again. I sighed, seeing no other option.
“Why don't you see me later on, after my shift? Then, we'll talk. Okay?”
He seemed to consider the offer for a moment, narrowing his eyes and continuing to scowl through his skepticism. But after a few moments of eerie stillness, sliced with the beeps and whooshes of hospital equipment, and the static I’d been plagued with my entire life, he nodded.
“Okay, good. Find something to do in the meantime. I have a patient to tend to.”
From the drawer marked Schreiber, I gathered my patient’s meds. Two extra strength Tylenol, a handful of vitamins, and a couple of blood pressure pills filled the little white cup, and with my trusty computer and cart, I rolled down the hall to Room 315.
“Hey, Mrs. Schreiber,” I said, turning into the room.
The old woman rolled her head against the pillow to face me. “Hi, honey,” she greeted with familiarity, but I saw the confusion glistening in her eyes.
“I’m Andrea,” I said cheerfully, never minding that I had given her my name five times already today. “Ready for your medicine?”
“Oh, I suppose,” she replied, feigning happiness while exhaustion dimmed the brightness of her smile.
The 87-year-old mother of five and grandmother of twelve had been in and out of the hospital six times in the past year. A stroke in September, a mild cardiac event in January, and a serious case of pneumonia in March, had all left her kids wondering if this was it for their mom. But the old woman’s body and spirit were tough. She had survived surgeries and broken bones. She had birthed children. She had been through more than her fair share of trauma in her time on this Earth. She had weathered the storm, but the soul can only take so much before it begins to let go, and I knew Mrs. Schreiber was losing her grip.
I placed the paper cup full of pills in her hand and grabbed the water bottle from her bedside table. “Have you seen the grandkids yet?” I asked as I uncapped the bottle and inserted a straw.
After swallowing the pills and a swig of water, she shook her head. “I don’t like them to see me like this,” she explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. “If I die here, I don’t want their last memory of me to be of this room.”
I nodded. “I totally understand.”
“At least someone does,” she grumbled under her breath. Then, her eyes met mine as she offered an apologetic smile. “My kids don't see any reason why they can't come down.”
I sat at the edge of her bed and laid a comforting hand on her knee. “It's hard for them to understand,” I replied softly. “But ultimately, you're the patient, and this is your life. You call the shots.”
Smiling gratefully, she placed her hand over mine. “Thank you, honey.” Then, with a quick glance around the room, she said, “I never thought it'd be like this, you know?”
“What?”
“Dying,” she whispered, as if it was a secret. “I never thought I'd want to be alone.”
“It's a very private thing for a lot of people,” I agreed, choosing not to divulge that she wasn't at all alone.
***
“I heard about this place online,” Elle said excitedly, as she opened the door. “It was ranked as like, the best pizza in the city or something like that.”
“Every pizza place says they have the best pizza,” I disputed.
“Yeah, but Devin O’Leary has been here,” she countered, knowing that the mention of my favorite singer would spark excitement.
We stepped inside and were shrouded with a blend of garlic and spice. It was pleasant enough, but it was also crowded. The dining area was completely packed with people, and above their racket was the familiar white noise that threatened to drive me crazy on a daily basis.
“But still, it's just pizza,” I said, resisting the urge to stuff my fingers in my ears. “We can get pizza anywhere. We could just order a pie and eat it in the breakroom.”
Elle knew I hated crowds, and with a glance around the room, her smile wilted. “I'm sorry,” she sighed. “I'm just dying to try this place, and after the night I had, I could really use it.”
Sighing and sucking down my groan, I nodded begrudgingly. “Fine. But I'm eating outside.”
The line was long, and the cacophony of voices and fuzzy static made