Calm.
This woman's enormity pranced along the bathroom slapping the floor with wet feet, her body completely covered in soap, since she refused the dirty bath tubs. I didn't even know that hospitals had bath tubs but the door next to this one read 'bath tubs' and such, whatever else it might've said. It seems odd that you could run the water and churn the bubbles to just sit back like it was home, but it probably wasn't even true. The woman was shameless in washing herself and between the rolls of soft dark flesh while taking over the little sinks. I tried to pay no mind as I helped my grandmother, but I felt the anxiety rise, from the old woman in the bed next to hers moaning and groaning with increasing volume, to loud obnoxious nurses, and the skinny woman in her hospital gown cursing up and down the hallways 'fuck this, fuck that, fuck you'. I cannot spend more than an hour or so in most hospitals or the various noises meld together to create one raging siren of fluorescently lit madness. I've only ever found comfort in the more private hospitals. The ones where the nurses and doctors actually take care to ease the pain and mend the heart just a little bit. She seems to be better and far more aware now; understanding that she actually slipped away for a moment there. I tried to soothe her as much as possible, but became so desperate to escape the bad odors and wailings of that dying place that I began to sweat. At home I brewed some chai tea, topped it off with whipped cream and ate strawberries which I dipped into it, cut a little block of chocolate, and indulged until I found myself luxurious and feeling relaxed. I made myself pretty for him in photographs and sent them as a little gift. I will be there tomorrow again and I've been up all night, sleeping most of the early day, but the good news is that soon I may just have more steady work. The unfortunate part is that it will just have to wait.