It had been a long hot summer. She had only stopped feeling sick three months ago, and had not stopped complaining about the heat. Poor thing. Five feet four inches tall and her tiny frame carrying twins, ready to give birth at any moment. Doctors had told her that she would go into labour early and to have our bags packed and ready. She carried them to thirty weeks gestation before blood pressure and other complications forced her admission into hospital.
I watched her closely as she put her feet up on the pillow and winced, her stomach bulging every which way as if she was ready to give birth to a baby elephant, the swelling incredible in her feet. I walked over silently and lifted her legs up, sat down at the end of the bed and placed them on my lap, rubbing her feet soothingly. She sighed and smiled, telling me how nice it felt, my thumbs rubbing the base of her foot, both of which were so swollen that she had no arches to speak of.
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