Glitter and Glue

by Kelly Corrigan

My mom’s behavior in the hospital astonished me, the way a seasoned newscaster, usually so stern and unflappable, can shock you with a show of emotion. She begged me to make them stop all the poking. Just getting the needle into her vein made her weep. Look! Look at the bruises. There was a nurse she thought wasn’t listening to her. The original doctor, who she liked, had not come by again, and she wanted to make sure her case had not been transferred. A new doctor, who did not shake her hand or look her in the eye, said that if they were unable to get control of the infection, they would have to “at least consider” amputation. I could see, and damn near feel, the terror coursing through her. I stood close to her and agreed with everything she said. Those nurses are rough. That bruising is crazy. This food could not be more disgusting. Whatever she felt, I felt with her. I did not try to dissuade her; I had learned that from my own Pigeon, Betsy. It’s our job to be on their side, she told me, referring to both our children and our parents.