I stand outside her room, with a knot forming in my throat and my eye beginning to swell with tears. I stare at her. Her body is severely deformed. Her pudgy figure has been transformed into an overweight, shell. My baby girl is gone. A river of tears streams down my face as the doctor approaches me.
“Doctor, why is she like that?” Why did she swell up?” I ask with my voice cracking.
“Well,” he begins, “yesterday we ran the catheter, tested her heart and found that she had a blood infection. Early this morning her kidneys began to fail. Her body is now retaining the fluids we are feeding her intravenously. We will keep her on life support for as long as needed, however I would suggest that the family begin preparing for the worst.”
My heart pauses.
“Thank you doctor, I will speak to my family. May I have moment with her?” I ask as I stare at my grandmother.
“Of course,” he replies. “I will be around. Let me know when your family is here and we can discuss her condition and I can answer any questions you may have”
“Thank you. I will.”
I walk in. It is only her and I. I hold her plumped hand and begin singing,
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Ti-Ti-lie” my voice cracks and I start crying like a little boy. My only birthday wish would be to hear her voice right now, singing to me.
“Happy Birthday to you” I finish singing with a lump in my throat and in a high-pitched voice.
“I love you my baby girl. I’m sorry that you are suffering. Please rest now baby,” I say crying. My tears were now dripping on her hands. I lean over and kiss her and then her forehead and walk out the door.
I overhear the nurse explaining to the receptionist that room 2514 has special privileges and can come in at anytime.
I gather my composure while I walk down the hallway and begin thinking of a method to break the news to the rest of the family. Once again I wait for the elevator, and once again I enter it alone. I press the 1st floor button, although I might as well press the “H” button, “H” for hell because what lies ahead is the most traumatic and painful experience of my life.
I call Ismenia first, J second and my mother last. D and her friends stayed overnight with my mother so the message will be relayed. “The time has come. You need to get down here NOW. I don’t believe that grandma will survive the rest of the day. The situation has worsened, she is now suffering from kidney failure,” I say with a calm and controlling voice.
“We are on our way,” everyone says.