again and again

Mom is lying on her back, her mouth open. Her stomach pulls with each breath. Her skin is gray around her mouth, and filmed with sweat. Her arms and legs are swollen to twice their normal size, dotted with purple and red. Her forearms feel like ice as I touch them with my gloved hand.

"Hi Mommy," I say, she mmmmmms and smiles a little. I know she knows I'm here.

She lifts her left hand to her mouth slowly, as if eating an imaginary popsicle. I get the white styrofoam cup full of ice chips and find the smallest one, scoop it into the white plastic spoon and lift it to her mouth. I touch her right shoulder with my other hand and lightly brush the spoon to her lips. She opens her mouth. "Do you want an ice chip?" I ask. She chews the chip and opens her mouth again. "Do you want another ice chip?" I ask. Again and again. And again. And again. 20 or 30 ice chips. So thirsty and yet so full of fluid, just in the wrong places.

Her gown is sticking to her right elbow where they couldn't get an IV in. I run the water until it is warm and soak a washcloth, then wring it out. I gently pull away a flap of her gown until it sticks, then lay the washcloth over the spot until the gown comes away a little. Again and again. Until the gown pulls free from her loose skin. Dad lifts up the gown and gently blows the spot dry. There.

I caress her head as I love to do, and tell her how much I love her. Dad says, "Your baby Susie is here," but Mom can't hear him because she's coughing. It's almost time.