There's something about the weekend, apparently, that causes my sick grandmother to first hover near death and then miraculously and for no discernible reason recover, at least somewhat. Last Saturday? Internal bleeding. The doctors could not figure out from where, nor why it was happening. Panic ensued, then all was well-ish: the internal bleeding stopped. Whew.
This Saturday, today, dad calls: reports are dire, it was just a matter of time. Her IV line post became infected, and then the feeding tube they tried to insert failed. The doctor had cried in front of my aunt the day before, saying they just couldn't get her to wake up. Hope was forgotten; my aunt was making phone calls to let people know. She hung up the phone after speaking with my dad (who then called Jen and I) and then looked down and there was Grandma, wide awake. And hungry. And wanted to get up. I can't help but smile when as I type this. Funny stuff, that.