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Doug I

He sits in an upright metal chair his wife has put up against the white kitchen wall she has cleared. Sunlight filters in from the balcony door. He is in his hospital gown, provided by members of hospice. He has in his feeding tube. His face is sagging and wrinkling, drooping like tea bags from his cheekbones. The whites have his eyes are a soft shade of grey. He is losing his hair, despite not using chemo. He does not realize he has lost close to a hundred pounds.
She has a video camera.
"Okay, baby, are you ready?"
"Ye-," he clears his throat. "Yeah, I guess."
"Okay, this is going to be good. It will really help kids out there or something."
"Yeah, ok, let's do this."
She nods and gives him a grim-lipped smile. "Alright."
She makes her adjustments and motions for him to begin when she is ready for him.
He is so cold.
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