CHAPTER 16
It’s like kicking off your sneakers and unsnapping your bra after an eight-hour shift at the old-people’s home. That’s how I feel when Patricia takes her once-a-week nap. She’s not religious or anything. I’m sure that woman would find fault with Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus if she got the chance. But every Sunday, she sets her timer and takes an hour-long nap. Not fifty-nine minutes. Not sixty-one.
It’s the most relaxing hour of my entire week.
Natalie’s had her formula and is quiet for the most part. She’s got her apnea monitor on, and I don’t expect her to need anything for another thirty minutes or so. That’s usually when she has to be suctioned out after a tube feed. The doctors think she has some reflux, which is bad for her long-term lung health, but there’s not muc
