[My Attorney] is sick. My daughter is sick. I'm sick. The only one who isn't sick is our family Typhoid Mary, the boy.
In days of yore, people who were confined to bed were allowed a little bell to ring. Some perky, healthy family member would walk dutifully upstairs and change their bedsheets or bring them tea or read quietly from the collected works of Walt Whitman.
In days of yours truly, there is no bell.
There's texting.
As [My Attorney] lay dying upstairs in the sick bed, she would find herself in need of a gatorade or a box of tissues or [insert 17,000 other things here].
Every five minutes: *ting!* [pls snd g-ade]; *ting!* [need tssues]; *ting!* [get the roof done].
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