You really cannot do better than my company when it comes to sickbeds. Especially if you are low on glue or have extra socks or are tired of uncomplaining, brave patients.
Me, I lie on my back, under all those blankets and one flannel sheet and possibly a towel and maybe even the shower curtain, and deliver myself across the centuries.
"I shan't make it through the night, Michael."
"Oh honey."
"The coldness, it lingers. It slows my blood and fetters the bones."
"I think I saw a washcloth in the laundry room? How about a cough drop?"
"Snorre... you will see that he attends a good college? He doesn't need to finish, I just... the opportunity..."
"He'll go on a Softness scholarship."
"And tell Pepper... tell her that is unseemly to use my wasted body as another place to store seeds. Particularly under the arms. Try to get her some help. Tell her it's what I would've wanted."
"She's a good hamster."
(turn gaze to the middle distance) "But no, she won't listen." (flail arm weakly) "So much undone, so much undone."
"How about some juice?"
"The socks." (grab his hand) "Thank you.I would not have lasted the hour with my feet so bare. It was unspeakably generous of you. Not even a hole. Oh yes, I noticed. Oh my heart. Pray, keep them, when I am gone, as a remembrance."
(Someone has to provide a little balance when the other person is spraying the sheets with Lysol.)
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