Over the next three months, I learned how much of a day could disappear into things nobody would photograph.

Insurance forms.

Calls placed on hold.

A bag packed and repacked because I had forgotten something simple.

Milk labels.

Questions written before an update so I would not forget them once someone began speaking.

I slept in chairs that were not meant for sleep and woke with a stiff neck, then felt guilty for having slept at all.

The nurses told me rest mattered.