Friday, 1211h A man collapses at lunch and his vitals spin away like marbles: pulse, breath, pallor rolling about on the floor out of reach of the heroes who shout his name, flash their pagers like the batman symbol. Someone get a doctor in here, now. The old Vets shuffle out of the room comment blearily on the poor guy I guess after the War things do not phase you the same but perhaps they didn't notice the hue of his lips. And then he stabilizes, and I fall apart aghast, aback, there is still tuna sandwich in my mouth ground by my teeth into a diamond to monument the recovery. The gurney rolls by, I know him. My stomach falls to Ground Floor in relief and despair.
That's the thing about long term care these men are clever, they teach you so well how to live that you forget they're supposed to die.