Don't trust old women

I might have killed someone yesterday. I don't think I did.

Auntie Maud is in hospital. (Actually she's my cousin and her name is Elizabeth but I call her Auntie Maud.) I hate hospitals; I especially hate geriatric wards. (Auntie Maud is 86.)

I was there the same time as Auntie Maud's son and daughter-in-law. They sat on the bed while I sat on the chair next to the bed. So it was me that the lady in the next bed called out to. 'Excuse me, can you pass me my bottle of water?'
'Yes, of course.' I got up and handed her the bottle that was on the far side of her bedside table. Then I sat down again - to be greeted with an urgent whisper from Auntie Maud. 'I don't think she's supposed to drink anything!'
'Oh. Oh dear.'
I stood up again and suggested to the neighbour that I put her bottle back.
'No!'
'Are you allowed to have it?'
'Yes!'
'Should I go and ask the nurse?'
'No, don't tell the nurse! She'll take it off me.'
And during this brief conversation I was trying to wrench the bottle back out of her hand. She had a surprisingly firm grip for an invalid. I sat down again.
'It doesn't say she's not supposed to drink,' I said.
We all sat there and umm-ed and aah-ed for a minute then daughter-in-law Joyce said she'd go and ask the nurse.

Sure enough she returned a few minutes later with the nurse who scolded the lady and took her bottle away. 'You know the doctor said it's very important that you don't drink!'

So you see, I don't think it would have killed her exactly but what if she'd asked me for something else? Something that would have been bad for her? And I'd innocently handed it over?

These old ladies in hospital should have a warning above their beds: Beware Conwomen and Liars!