I led the way to the bedroom, feeling badly.
He didn’t know he wasn’t going to enjoy this ride with Jeff.
I guess I went in first. I stood beside Jeff on his side of the bed, in the same spot I’d been standing in. But, it felt different. Different from the moments before. It felt weird.
We’d recently slid the bed straight across from the inside wall to the bowed-window wall. I was thinking, if we’d flip-flopped the bed, he should have been on the other side.
Instead, when we’d moved it, he kept his spot closer to the door. I was closer to the bathroom, just as I had been, and was suddenly wondering why.
It wasn’t such a mystery. Not even worth calling a question. The answer was easily there before I finished asking myself.
That’s what he’d called it. He’d said just because he was awake didn’t mean I had to wake up. He’d said having to walk around the bed meant he’d bump into stuff and would wake me. As far as I was concerned, the bumping concern far outweighed my need for sleep and was scarier than me without enough.
Jeff’s legs were sensitive and easily bruised, A break in the skin could easily become an ulcer. Ulcers easily became infected. Fighting infection was getting harder and harder. Poor blood circulation, neuropathy, obesity, heart issues, stomach troubles – were all set in motion by his unconquerable diabetes monster.
The soft snap of a glove snapped me out of my pondering.
I tracked the sound: startled to find the medic had moved around to the other side of the room and the other side of the bed. I hadn’t noticed. I’d thought he was still behind me or beside me. Not so far away.
I tracked the source: finding it. I stared at the glove, followed it to his wrist, up the arm – eventually traveling to the responder’s face.
There must have been something more than the vacancy I felt in my expression because he seemed a bit surprised.
I don’t know what question I was wearing, but his stop-in-mid-motion answer was:
“You know I’m not going to try to revive him, right?”
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