her left eye is artificial. i don’t know why.

she has been on isolation for a couple of weeks, as the docs were entertaining bacterial meningitis, on top of something terminal. when i took care of her last weekend, they cleared her. they completely ruled out meningitis.

she was in high spirits, and was eager to do things on her own, now that she felt she had the little strength. no matter how i convince her that i had a pretty good record in shampooing patients’ hair in bed, she wouldn’t have any of it and was determined to go to the restroom to have a full shower. i wasn’t very comfortable about it, since at 4 liters of oxygen, she still occasionally looks like she is short of breath, but i know exactly how she feels. no bed bath can beat the sound of water running to your hair.

so, that was the highlight of my encounter with her. the fact that she can’t thank me enough for letting her go to the restroom and have her full shower with the help of her friend.

last night, i see her being wheeled to be transferred to oncology. cervical cancer. on her final days.

it is amazing what a few days can do. her nurse told me she has been almost nonverbal since she found out. like she has given up talking, because really, what’s the point?

anyway, i can’t look at her. i don’t know why.

i always have this idealistic thought that people come to the hospital to be “fixed”, not to be told “we can’t fix it”.

“if the doctors can’t fix it, who can?” most patients have that unnerving, questioning look on their faces.

it is arrogant of me to think that i could have changed her diagnosis by being nicer, but i do have that moronic thought.

maybe, that’s why i can’t look at her.

she gave me a little nod on her way out, but all i can do was look through her, and look away.

i was too afraid to really see.

afraid that even her artificial eye will haunt me with that questioning look.