4:47 P.M.

           Momoncesnuckmeintoacasino.WeweregoingonvacationtoCraterLakeandwestoppedataresortonanIndianreservationforthebuffetlunch.Momdecidedtodoabitofgambling,andIwentwithherwhileDadstayedwithTeddy,whowasnappinginhisstroller.Momsatdownatthedollarblackjacktables.Thedealerlookedatme,thenatMom,whoreturnedhismildlysuspiciousglancewithalooksharpenoughtocutdiamondsfollowedbyasmilemorebrilliantthatanygem.Thedealersheepishlysmiledbackanddidn’tsayaword.IwatchedMomplay,mesmerized.ItseemedlikewewereinthereforfifteenminutesbutthenDadandTeddycameinsearchofus,bothofthemgrumpy.Itturnedoutwe’dbeenthereforoveranhour.

           TheICUislikethat.Youcan’ttellwhattimeofdayitisorhowmuchtimehaspassed.There’snonaturallight.Andthere’saconstantsoundtrackofnoise,onlyinsteadoftheelectronicbeepingofslotmachinesandthesatisfyingjangleofquarters,it’sthehumandwhirofallthemedicalequipment,theendlessmuffledpagesoverthePA,andthesteadytalkofthenurses.

           I’mnotentirelysurehowlongI’vebeeninhere.Awhileago,thenurseIlikedwiththeliltingaccentsaidshewasgoinghome."I’llbebacktomorrow,butIwanttoseeyouhere,sweetheart,"shesaid.Ithoughtthatwasweirdatfirst.Wouldn’tshewantmetobehome,ormovedtoanotherpartofthehospital?ButthenIrealizedthatshemeantshewantedtoseemeinthisward,asopposedtodead.