It really hurt to visit with Virginia. She is such a friend to me, and seeing her in the hospital bed, drooling from the side of her mouth, unresponsive . . . . I miss her, and I miss her comments, her company, her opinions.
Visiting hours yesterday were from 4pm to 6pm.
Previously, after church yesterday I invited Carlos and Virginia's kids over to play with us so the plan was for me to meet Carlos at the hospital at 4pm with the kids, and I'd be able to go visit Virginia.
There were 14 people (mostly deaf) who were waiting to visit Virginia.
They only let one person go at a time. We had to wear a mask. The place smelled of sicknesses, and her room was all colorless white and beige. She is alone in the room with it's too bright white lights, and it feels cold. The too-worn-thin hospital gown was slipping off one shoulder, and her lips had sores on them. Her hair needed washing and her hands smelled sweaty.
I only had moments, but after touching and rubbing her feet through the very thin sheet that half covered her, I took her hand and tried to sign into her hand.
They say that sometimes people in comas still hear what's going on. Well . . then, couldn't she be able to feel and understand that I'm trying to communicate with her???
Her eyes would open and close slowly but they looked around blindly.
I want to go back on a day when so many are not waiting for me to get their turn to see her. I want to go and wash the sweat from her hands and cover them in fragrant lotion. I want to spritz her with some sweet smelling body spray like the kind I know she loves. And perhaps bring a scented candle, not to light, I doubt they'd allow that, but let her room be fragrant.
I want to try to sign into her hand some more, even if it is to pour out my heart to her. I know she will be so upset to not know that our mutual friends Mario and Rita are expecting again! This will be their third baby . . . Virginia must know!
I want my friend back.