Tuesdays with Barb

The home smelled of bandages, masked urine and microwave dinners. Walking down the hallway, I heard the muffled sound of static and the 5 o'clock news. I passed a wide window that let me see into a checker-tiled room full of padded tables and exercise equipment. A frail man with wiry, grey hair laid on one of the tables as a woman dressed in white moved his right leg in small, clockwise circles.

I continued walking, passing a few women in wheelchairs who wore pastel colored muumuus. It looked like it was painful for them to simply hold their heads above their necks. The nurses never made eye contact with me or anyone for that matter. Files were stacked high on the nurses' desks next to trays of pills. I turned a corner and headed to the end of another long hallway to the last door on the left. I was scared. I'd never met a person with multiple sclerosis. But when you keep putting one foot in front of the other, your feet make the uncomfortable decisions for you.

"Barbara" was on a shiny plaque outside of her room. I entered quietly and saw that the bed on the left was vacant while the one on the right was surrounded by curtains lined with paper poinsettias. I delicately lifted a curtain to the side and saw a long woman with high cheekbones wearing headphones. She looked up at me with her big eyes and reached up to me with her only mobile arm.

"Hi Barbara, I'm Catherine," I tried hard to pronounce each syllable perfectly so she could understand. I took her hand and said, "I'm going to read to you, is that OK?"

"Ow-ay," she nodded her head. It sounded like she was talking with marbles on her tongue.

The Book of Mormon sat next to her bed and I opened it to the book mark. Barb's bucket list is almost complete. This is the last thing that needs to be crossed off. But what happens when we get to the end of Moroni? Does her life end? What if we don't make it to the end of the book before God takes her back? I found myself beginning to read quickly.

She stopped me. I rolled my chair close to her and she held my hand. Her hand was so soft. She felt the ring on my hand and asked about my husband and if I had any kids. It took a little imagination on my part to string the sounds she made into sentences. She told me that as a younger woman the boys couldn't get enough of her. Yes, Barb told me about her enormous chest, her long, slender legs, and claims she never had to shave. Sure, Barb. She went on and on about the flawless genetics she acquired. I believed her for the most part, seeing as the hair on her head was still thick and a dull, dark brown. I loved her almost immediately.

I don't think I read all of three verses in 1 Nephi before the nurse came in with dinner--canned green beans and a pizza slice cut into square-inch pieces. And before I knew it I was leaving her to eat in the quietude of her dim room.

I've known Barb for 12 days now and I find myself thinking about her every day, wishing I could just sit with her and watch her silently laugh. And I vow to never again claim that I have bad genes.