Tuesdays at the Nursing Home- Stage Notes

Bertha is dying. Full-on, Hospice dying or as she calls it, "Transitioning."
“Whenever I call one of my relatives to tell them I got lung cancer, they want to know what stage am I in.” She shakes her head softly and waits  for the small, portable tank at her side to pump enough super-oxygenated air into her lungs to make another sentence. “Finally, I got so sick of it, when the next one asked I said, ‘What stage am I in? Why, all the world’s a stage, honey. We’re all just a playin’ on it!'” 
She chuckles at her own joke, then lifts her tiny, bird bone shoulders in an understanding shrug. “I shouldn't a done that. They only want to know so they can plan when to take off work to come to my funeral, that’s all.  And I can't tell them that answer. Nobody can. All I know is, it’s not time yet.”


LBDDiaries said...

Your posts are so descriptive that I feel like I'm sitting by her bed listening to her. I bet she was a total hoot in her younger years, too. And transitioning is a good word for leaving earth for heaven - moving from one place to another. What an attitude she has. You tell Bertha she is an inspiration to me. Totally. So why does my heart hurt?

Nancy said...

Thanks for still being there, LBD!

LBDDiaries said...

How can I not be? Your writing is addictive!! Nan