Having just moved here, she wasn’t used to the quiet busyness of Craig Hospital. Lying in her bed, the shuffling hospital sounds reminded her of rats scurrying around the house in the middle of the night. Her earliest childhood memory. She took sniff. When they didn’t stink of rot, the flowers on her bedside table yielded a distinctive fresh odor. Nope just fresh flowers. Today. She liked Swedish Hospital. She had floated on a wave of blissful medications. Here at Craig, someone woke her, took her vitals, chatted with irritating cheer, then cruelly made her move. The movement was awful, painful, and more than anything, humiliating. She wanted the blissful, drug induced dark. Today, the cheerful bitch told her she had evaluations and physical therapy and occupational therapy and tests and... She was grateful for her private room. She would never admit it but she cried. A lot. Especially at night. Her mother came every afternoon at two. She loved her mother. She was enjoying watching her mother blossom as a person, not someone’s wife, mother or girlfriend.
