My grandmother was rushed to the hospital. Again. This time to the intensive care unit.
I stood over her bed.
IV lines were in her arms and neck. Her hands and feet were swollen.
She mumbled words.
“It’s a warning.”
“Fix my feet.”
Her head shook. Every few seconds her eyelids opened and closed.
Her eyes wandered, as if she was watching angels hovering over her bed.
I wondered if she was talking with the angels, because it was clear that she wasn't speaking to us.
The doctor entered the room, and pulled me aside. “Your grandmother has a fungus in her blood.” She explained the seriousness of the disease. “I recommend that we stop the dialysis and give her morphine to make her as comfortable as possible. There isn’t anything else we can do for your grandmother. I'm sorry.”
I returned to her bedside. A tear ran down my grandmother’s face as she uttered, "Jesus, have mercy."