Her fever spiked and plateaued, went down, then up again. Her cough was improving but remained painful in the night. She recorded her temperature daily. This was summarised in a nightly email that she sent her daughters and their families.
They responded in form: we’ll visit, bring food, bring books for you and keep you company.
No, no, she replied, I wouldn’t want to be any trouble, or infect you with my virus.
That evening’s missive contained a detailed description of the consistency of her turd, an account of her unbearable loneliness and an attached photograph of her long-deceased cat.