Right now, in fact, my sister-in-law is something more of a worry to me than my grandad. When a 31-year-old marathon runner contracts pneumonia, people understandably ask what the hell is going on, and as you’d expect never really work out what the hell is in fact going on. It’s actually made her something of a celebrity on the ward, her comparative youth and fitness. Great.
It sounds like she’s turning around now, anyway. Family have of course been the last to know, because that’s how she tends to play it. According to K’s other sister she’s got an entire cupboard full of junk food and snacks from her friends who live nearby anyway, so I’m less worried than I would be if she were on her own.
If I were in that position, though (however hard work my parents have been in the past) I’d have told them first. And fully expected them (however much I’d have dreaded it) to descend on me like the w on the f. And bring junk food and snacks too, obviously: but more than that too.
But I have to accept that I’m not her, and I don’t play it like she does. I’m just me: worried old me. Maybe as a compromise I can send the cat over to keep her company in my stead. What’s the worst that could happen?