Chapter 12Two days, and there was still no discernible change in our sister’s condition. She had been transferred from recovery to a private hospital room on the sixth floor. She looked so tiny and frail in that bed.
Vases of flowers were on every flat surface of the room, including the floor. Bunches of helium-filled balloons floated against the ceiling. The cards indicated they were from friends, colleagues, and the organizations to which Portia belonged. So many people called that I’d made arrangements for an answering service to field the calls.
“We can’t expect the hospital to deal with them,” I told my nephew and my brothers.
Tony and I sat at our sister’s bedside. The doctors, who were optimistic, suggested we talk to her, and so that was what we did—talked of our experiences whe
