Panic

This is about my Grandma, who recently died due to complications of who-knows-what. She lived through a lot, poor woman, and God finally granted her the final release on December 15th. Though this is held close to heart, it doesn't mean I want people to go easy on me - rather, I would like meaningful and helpful reviews, like always!

She’s a polish woman, perhaps eighty years of age, though the strain of survival makes her appear even older than that. Wrinkles dig into her round, flattened face, and the eyes appear almost lifeless. She wears two rows of perfect teeth beneath a crooked half-smile. You can see her visibly brighten before you for a second before sinking back into the bed.
“My feet,” she says, accent stronger than usual. “They are too warm.”
You move to the bottom of the bed and tug at a white sheet, exposing her work-worn feet.
“Thank you,” she says, between breaths. Her thanks warm you, but the next words out of her mouth break your momentary ecstasy. “You know, I panic at night.”
“Why do you panic?” You ask, speaking loudly so that she may hear.
“I...” she hesitates. She always hesitates. “I feel... all alone. I’m lonely. It’s quiet. I feel all alone.”
The words break your heart in two. A frail old woman, all alone. Her husband refuses to believe the possibility that she is dying, and thus leaves her alone all day, visiting only when he is forced to by other family members. You stand away from her, feeling helpless. You can’t stay all night, and you visit often enough. But you have a life away from this hospital. Your life does not revolve around this elderly woman.
So you begin to feel guilty.
“The nurse is just the click of a button away,” you say, then repeat it because you don’t know if the woman heard.
She seems to ignore you, and she continues with her previous thoughts.
“But I panic at night. And the nurses – they took my dentures. They gave me the wrong ones.”
Her disillusions remind you of when her husband once sat in the very same hospital, having undergone open-heart surgery. He claimed that the doctors sent him to space with the man he shared a room with. “And that guy, he shit everywhere!” he would yell, “The doctors conducted experiments on us!”
You smile at the memories. He got out of that okay.
Then again, he had open-heart surgery without complications. His wife sits here with a two fractures – her wrist, and her spine. She has undergone two bowel surgeries, both of with have been so far unsuccessful. And the doctors haven’t even begun to think of treating the cancerous lump residing within her chest.
All of this is draining her of her life, and all she can think of is her loneliness.
Does she realize that being alone isn’t the only thing she should be worried about?
Doesn’t she know that she’s dying?

This is original. Not necessarily the story, but the way you write it. This is the first story I have seen on the site, and indeed for a long time before I even signed up, written in second-person. It is without doubt much more difficult than first or third, at least for me, but regardless you do a fairly good job of it.

Here are my critiques:

You can see her visibly brighten before you for a second before sinking back into the bed.

"Before you for a second" is both vague and in this context somewhat confusing. Change it to "as you enter."

Her thanks warm you, but the next words out of her mouth break your momentary ecstasy.

1) Change "thanks" to gratitude. 2) Get rid of "out of her mouth" (it is implied) and replace the "the" before "next" with a "her." 3) "Ecstasy" is too strong an emotion for a slight feeling of warmth.

His wife sits here with a two fractures – her wrist, and her spine.

Get rid of "a."

Again, extremely emotional, beautiful little piece of writing. Keep it up!

-Kafka

Hi!

This is quite an interesting short piece, but it seems, to me at least, that the emphasis is sort of in the wrong place.

As we read through this, most of it is about the narrators feelings and experiences, how helpless she is to do anything to help and how bad it makes her feel. I can understand these feelings, but I actually found it a little annoying -- I think it's one of the problems with writing in the second person, as a reader I don't particularly like being told how I feel about something, it's the sort of thing that I can decide for myself.

You stand away from her, feeling helpless. You can’t stay all night, and you visit often enough. But you have a life away from this hospital. Your life does not revolve around this elderly woman.

So you begin to feel guilty.

Such as this, it's all you you you (or me me me), when really I'd much rather be hearing about this old woman, rather than someone who we know nothing about other than how she feels. We're given little bits that help build up the story about the woman, the strong accent, the life-worn face, but the story seems much more focused on the feelings of the narrator, rather than the loneliness and panic of the woman itself.

His wife sits here with a two fractures – her wrist, and her spine. She has undergone two bowel surgeries, both of with have been so far unsuccessful. And the doctors haven’t even begun to think of treating the cancerous lump residing within her chest.

There's a lot wrong with her, the poor soul, but it seems like over-kill. She's got broken bones, needs further bowel surgery and has cancer? Sometimes, it's not the physical things that are the worst. Personally, I feel terrible after visiting one of my grandparents not because she's got broken bones, but because she's got severe dementia, and it's so upsetting when you realise that the woman lying in that bed is a complete stranger, and that the person that you loved is long gone, never to return. It's more distressing than the notion of her getting cancer could ever be.

I think I feel a bit conflicted at the end, are you trying to say that this woman should care more about dying than she should her loneliness? I think it could be really interesting here if you drew some comparisons between the narrator and her grandmother in the piece. It's not unheard of for the elderly to be quite accepting of death if they've had a long life, and I can see her being more upset that nobody is visiting her in her final days, rather than that her end is near. Death may be bad enough, but having to die alone? In comparison, the narrator is younger and will perhaps be more afraid of the notion of death when there's so much life in front of her she's yet to experience, rather than being alone.

This old polish woman just seems like there's so much more about her than is being told in the story as it is and it makes me a little sad to feel like maybe I'm missing out on something.

Hope I've been of some help to you! If you have any questions or want me to elaborate or explain anything, feel free to shoot me a PM!


-Tinny

Hello, Macs.

This was horribly sad. I like the way it was written, though. It takes a lot of courage to write about something dear to your heart and I congradulate you for that. It was very brave to post this.

I'm sorry for what happened to your grandmother. I've not had many people close to me die so I can not relate to your pain, I can only offer outside condolences that will probably mean nothing to you coming from a stranger anyway. In refrence to what you said prior to the actual story, my sympathy is most likely not needed or wanted. So, with that said, this is a great story.

Doesn’t she know that she’s dying?

I really liked this closing line. Not really a cliff hanger but more of a finial statement. I don't know, something about it is just amazing.

Anyway, I should leave before I start to get repetetive. Again, I really liked this.

Cosmic