The lymphoma is back. Few options for reprieve but a smile of recognition as she tries to rise from firmly tucked sheets. The woman by her side turns, a likeness in fair skin and hair— the patient’s kept short, her daughter’s neatly coiled. Uneasy with silence, the well ones inflate talk balloons, watched keenly from the bed. Another door. Cancer inside. Time’s shrunk to today and there’s a shortage of tomorrows. Seeing him, my words fall about in their rush to fill the void, no time to assume a decent sentiment. Hospitals should issue disposable muzzles to stop babble escaping…