Eventually, my sister was wheeled through the twisting hallways and into a room. Four beds: the one next to her was curtained off, and held a young woman with a respirator. Her breath rasped back and forth in an oddly hypnotic rhythm. Across from her was an older woman, asleep. Next to her was Ernest C., an older man with white hair and a thick white goatee, who was, it appeared, asleep. I took a seat in the wheelchair while we waited for the nurse to return, and Ernest tossed and turned and then sat up and began pushing one of his blankets down.
Once he had finished, he looked at me and said, "Sometimes life can just be so tedious."
