My 94-year-old grandmother has always been spirited. Although tiny in stature, Por Por’s got a big personality, with chutzpah in spades. She loves colourful furry hats and bold lipstick. I’ve even seen her pop off to church in a leather jacket and gold chains.
Recently, Por Por’s usually robust health took a turn. She’d been feeling extremely tired and, after tests found internal bleeding, was rushed to hospital.
I made it through the labyrinth of fluorescent-lit hallways to visit her. Por Por looked very small, as people do in hospital beds. Mind you, she’s only five-foot-two.
“Who’s this?” she demanded, looking at me.
Por Por didn’t have her hearing aid in, so Mum shouted: “IT’S KELLY!”
“Ah, Kelly?! Why you too skinny?” And then: “Are you still working in the transport?”
Despite her condition, the interrogation regarding my BMI and employment status was reassuringly familiar.
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