I was in the hospital for a while once – it was a tough time, and I barely survived it; at least it was pretty tense. I was in a double room. I was 14 and on the adult ward, and my bedmates changed all the time; they were all pensioners, and all of them were pretty exhausting. But for the first two weeks (one of which I spent in intensive care), I had a really charming old lady as my bedmate. She was over 80 and very small. So small that she had a cot, which she found very funny. She was always up for some jokes and a good mood – she really brought a good atmosphere to our room and sent me energy, even though she was very ill herself. I don't remember who gave it to me, but at some point I was given a tiny bouquet of wooden flowers. She really liked them and was always happy to see them. When I came down from the intensive care unit, she was no longer there; she had been transferred to another ward because she had been diagnosed with serious cancer. Somehow, Betsand and I remained friends, even though we were both very ill, 70 years apart, and barely knew each other because we spent most of our time sleeping in the same room. I was very upset when I heard that and had someone drive me to the ward to see her. It was a really lovely moment when I brought her the wooden bouquet of flowers. She didn't refuse out of politeness or anything, because I think she realized it was important to me, and she was just genuinely happy. I don't have the bouquet anymore, but the memory remains.
