Instead, my mind fixated on another area of concern—I might not be granted permission to see Kit because I was neither a blood relative nor his legal spouse (if such things had been legal then), a prospect that brought my blood to a low simmer. I was fully prepared to go to war with the hospital staff if necessary. The image of an unglued Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment screaming at the nurses to “give my daughter the shotttttttttt!” popped in my head. Come hell or high water, I was going to be at Kit’s side. And if it meant delivering an Oscar-worthy breakdown scene in the lobby of
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