This morning I was sad to find that most of the patients at the Birch Street Nursing Home were sick in bed. Mrs. Kunkle wasn't feeling good enough to do even a single round of touching all the windows and light switches. When I was distributing the medicine, Mrs. Patterson shouted at me from her bed to close her door. She said that if the door was left open, Mrs. Shimshack could get in more easily and steal her away, like she did with Mr. Oliveras and Mrs. Lowe. I explained to her that Mrs. Shimshack has been dead for seven years, and now so are Mr. Oliveras and Mrs. Lowe. But I still closed the door on my way out of her room. I hope everyone is feeling better by Halloween.
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