The past few days have blurred together. I think today is Wednesday. My computer calendar agrees.
I remember that on Sunday night, I couldn't sleep. I stole catnaps here and there and kept the music on. (Please keep sending music.) And since Sunday night, I've done nothing but sleep. Why? Well...my bed is safe. My bed is warm. No one dies in this safe, warm bed.
On Sunday night, I caught a few of my cousins on Skype, and we chatted some. (They live all over the world, so someone was always online.) The conversations weren't exactly cheery, obviously, but it still felt good to connect with them. I know they love me. I'm jealous that they got to fly to Bangalore from all over while I lay in bed on my left side and typed with my right hand...as if that might be enough.
I had to stay here. I should have been there. See the conflict? I considered it on Sunday night and decided that the only logical solution was to hide in bed. So that's exactly what I've been doing. And if you're judging me for that...don't you dare. I don't think I've ever slept this much in my life. I wonder if it's normal to be this tired...and queasy, too. I've been drinking water, but even that doesn't sit well. Nausea - what a weird reaction.
"Respiratory cardiac arrest" - what does that even mean? How do organs just fail like that? How do lungs just quit? How does a heart decide that it's time to stop? She's had so many heart attacks, so many close calls...and every time, she fought - hard. One of my cousins said it simply on Sunday night: "She's a fighter." Every time, she came back home and we all exhaled and believed that God was good.
If God is good, how does this make any sense?
Oh, and every time, we also had some advance notice...there would be a call from my aunt or my uncle saying she wasn't well, and my mama would be worried but not overly so (as far as I could tell, anyway). After all, she's good at fighting. No advance notice this time.
And I'd worry, too, but I trusted the doctors who had been keeping her safe since that first heart attack so many years ago. I trusted my dad, who always made sure she was taken care of. My dad talked to her three days before Sunday and according to him, she sounded fine. Yes, my daddy...who's just brilliant and can spot a medical problem brewing from miles away. He may not be a cardiologist, but my daddy always knew how to make sure she got everything she needed. I don't blame him, though. I couldn't blame him. I blame doctors. I blame every single doctor who wasn't there in time.
To those of you who have been asking me to get out of bed: for what it's worth, I gave it a shot. Yesterday, one of my friends at home asked me to text someone asking them to "come pull me out of bed and take me for a walk". That didn't sound unreasonable, so I sent the message and another friend came by later that evening with fair-trade coffee and a hug. We wandered around the apartment complex for a while, and it was exhausting. I think we may have gone to the store afterwards, because I remember that there was soup on the table later on and she stood in the living room asking me to eat it. I'm not sure she understood that I didn't want it.
I looked at it for a little while, felt sick, curled up on the couch and cried a bit. And then I went back to bed.
Another friend from home suggested that I let myself stay in this house until tomorrow, and then go back to class. I have to go back eventually, I guess, since no one is letting me go home. The last class trip is this weekend (to northern Ireland), so it'll just be one day and then I won't have to think about school again until Sunday night. One day. That sounds doable, so I'm going to try and go back tomorrow. I wonder if my brain will come along for the ride.