91: The Next Monday

Evelyn woke to the soft rap of the nurse on the door, then the woman entered to take her vital signs. Smiling, she dragged herself slowly to a sitting position to make things easier for her caregiver, and whispered a polite, “Hello.”

“Good morning.” She shook the mercury down in the thermometer and provided the tired instruction, “Under your tongue. Don’t bite the glass.”

Holding her wrist still, Evelyn let her head shift towards the hard chair where Andrew was still sleeping, slumped over uncomfortably to one side, his shoulder hunched to keep his head on the chairback.

Keeping her voice low so not to wake him, Evelyn asked the nurse, “What time is it, please?” since there was no clock in her room. Not having one had added exponentially to the sensation that she’d lost time and critical parts of her life. It didn’t help in the least that under morphine, her sleep schedule was erratic, leaving further gaps in her memory since she’d arrived at the hospital.

“Just after seven. I’m so