I jinxed it, said that my Grandma is somehow holding her own, and whaddya know, she lands the hospital again.

When she was in there over Christmas, I knew I was a grownup when I met her physical therapist and realized that not only had I gone to high school with this therapist but she was younger than I was. That time in the hospital with Grandma also made me realize that I hated my job.

Every day we took her from the 7th floor down to the 2nd for therapy. We had to pass the 6th floor- maternity, aka the Happy Floor. In sharp contrast to the other floors, this one is decorated and most people are happy, hence the term Happy Floor.