“Do you know you’re more likely to die from an infection due to them jamming that fucking thing down your throat?”

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s how they got my mother. I’m not going down that way.”

I told him I was sorry for his loss.

“She didn’t have to, that’s my point.”

I told him I was sorry again.

“Have you ever even seen a feeding tube being inserted?”

“No,” I said.

“Google it.”

He nodded at me like he wanted me to do it right there. Under so much pressure, I took out my phone and did. WebMD had a whole page about what it was like to have a feeding tube inserted. It was disturbing. He told me to google YouTube videos that illustrated the insertion techniques. I whispered that I would watch them later.

“What did he say?” Monica asked.

“My mother,” Richard said, before dropping off into silence. Perhaps he decided it wasn’t worth it.

Monica looked at me, expectant.

“He has an issue with feeding tubes.”

I said it as if Richard wasn’t listening to me minimize his catastrophe.

“My issue is with infection,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

Back on my chart, I saw my checkmark next to “feeding tube” and felt like an idiot. No one had told me they were bad. How could we make life decisions here without all the facts?

I raised my hand.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Bethanny looked up. “Yes?” she asked, lowering her glasses.

“What’s your opinion on feeding tubes?”

“They’re a personal preference, really.”

“But what about infection?” I asked.

“That’s always a possibility.”

Richard must have felt vindicated in some way. I shot glances at the others. They looked as if I’d somehow fucked up their decision-making process the same way Richard had done to mine. This was real, but in many ways it still felt like a game: we weren’t anticipating death for ourselves quite yet.

“What do you mean, infection?” a woman in the front row asked.

“It’s a violent operation,” Richard said.

“Have you ever seen a feeding tube inserted? It’s ghastly,” Bethanny said.

The word “ghastly” sounded luxurious when she said it.

Everyone looked down at their directives, suddenly concerned.

“But it really is a personal preference.”

She slid her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and went back to reading whatever she was reading.

I wanted to know what Nathan’s threshold was before I wanted to know anything else about him. Nathan was the only other person I’d met here who did not break into spontaneous tears. He wasn’t a notetaker, either; instead, he just nodded his head in infinite understanding. As if he’d remember it all, no problem. I knew there was something going on under the surface. That he was seeking something, too.