Funny when people are looking at you at close range. Our heads were practically touching, but what was inside hers and what was inside mine were a million miles apart. Or maybe not. We would never know. I shut my eyes. Light doesn’t help. But my grandmother’s presence does. I think it’s because when she sees me heaving into the bowl and falling back on the bed, moaning from my sore mouth, or bawling into my pillow, she is putting me into a larger picture she has in her mind. I like to think there is a larger picture. Even if it’s her scientifically dubious one of suffering people being rocked in the hands of God.

“Grandma?”

Cool hand on my forehead. “Yes, Punkin?”

She’s called me that forever. I kept my eyes tightly shut. I had to keep them shut in order to squeeze out such a question. “Have you always believed in God?”

It must be sad for my grandmother, living with heathens. She removed her hand and did not answer right away.

“No, not always,” she said at last. “Not genuinely.”

“So when did you start?”

“When your mother was born.”

“Why then?”

“Shall I tell you?”

“Well, yeah . . . ? I asked you, didn’t I?”

Grandma gave me one of her looks. She thinks sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.

“Yes please,” I said meekly.

“Your grandfather and I were so happy when we found out I was expecting. The pregnancy went fine, the usual morning sickness and so on. But as soon as I went into labor, we knew something was wrong. The contractions would start and then stop. This went on for more than a day. The baby was in distress. They couldn’t find the heartbeat at one point. It was very scary. Then I started bleeding. Turns out your mother had the cord, the umbilical cord—”

“I know what cord, Grandma!”

“Of course you do.” I heard the smile in her voice. “The cord was wrapped around her neck. She very nearly died. Actually, so did I, from the hemorrhage—that means losing a lot of blood all at once—”

“I know!”

“They rushed me to the operating room. I was out of it by then. And while I was out, I had this amazing experience . . .” She stopped.

“What kind of experience?”

She seemed hesitant to go on. “I’m not sure I can explain it to you.” My grandmother put her lips together. “It was like I was not inside myself anymore. I was looking down on the heads of the doctors and nurses, and while I watched them trying to save me and save the baby, there was this . . . presence isn’t quite the right word. Being? No. That sounds like it was all in one place. Anyway, there was something with me that was completely good and generous.”

“Must have been a dream.”