“He pushed the access button and waited for a nurse in pink scrubs to open the double metal doors and admit him.“I’m here to see Isabel Turner.”“I’m Nina,” said the coffee-skinned woman with tiny doll-like features. “Are you Paul Madsen?”“Yes. How is she?”“There’s been no change. But your mother is conscious at the moment.” Paul didn’t correct her. As far as he was concerned, Isabel was his mother, even though he’d never called her that. He was grateful she was old enough to have a med card, but... she was enrolled in the new Medicare and her voucher only afforded a skimpy coinsurance policy.They moved past several rooms, all with elderly patients who looked near death. Paul’s fear deepened. “Will she recover?”“We don’t know.”The nurse stepped through the doorway to room 302 and said, “Isabel, your son is here.”Paul moved to the bed and reached for Isabel’s hand. Her eyes were closed and it scared him. The hospital gown, the tube in her nose, the slack grayish skin—for the first time he saw his foster mother as an old woman.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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