breakfastthat day. Cereal anda banana, shesaid. She
hatedbananas,butshe’d heardtheywere goodforher
potassium, so she was afraid to stop. After breakfast,
she’dtakeherdogforalittlewalkintheyard.Shedid
chores—laundry, cleaning, and the like. In the late
morning,shetookabreaktowatchThePriceIsRight.At
lunchtime,shehada sandwichandorangejuice.Ifthe
weather wasnice, she’d sit out in the yard afterward.
She’d loved working in her garden, but she could no
longerdothat.Theafternoonswereslow.Shemightdo
somemorechores.Shemightnaportalkonthephone.
Eventually,shewouldmakedinner—asaladandmaybea
bakedpotatoorascrambledegg.Atnight,shewatched
theRed Soxor thePatriotsorcollegebasketball—she
loved sports. She usually went to bed at about midnight.
Bludauasked hertositontheexaminingtable.Asshe
struggledtoclimbup,herbalanceteeteringonthestep,
thedoctorheldherarm.Hecheckedherbloodpressure,
whichwasnormal.Heexaminedher eyesandearsand
had her open her mouth.He listened to her heart and
lungs briskly, with his stethoscope. He beganto slow
downonlywhenhelookedatherhands.Thenailswere
neatly trimmed.
“Who cuts your nails?” he asked.
“I do,” Gavrilles replied.
Itriedtothinkwhatcouldbeaccomplishedinthisvisit.
She wasin good condition for her age,but she faced
everythingfrom advancingarthritisand incontinenceto
whatmightbemetastaticcoloncancer.Itseemedtome
that, with just a forty-minute visit, Bludau needed to