As I came in the back door, I asked E. if it was OK that we had come this way. "Of course," she said, kissing my cheek, "you're family." It was Saturday night and we were all gathered to celebrate Hanukkah with our friends. Friends I've known since sixth grade, friends I went to high school with, grandparents of friends and ex-stepmothers of friends.

As with most holiday celebrations, one of the focuses of the evening was the food, particulary the potato pancakes. And Uh Mah Gawd does my friend's mom make the most incredible ones I've ever had. (OK so they're the only ones I've ever had, but that's not really the point.)

Anyway, as was requested, I sat where I was. Turns out there were mostly kids at my table, but whatever. I also sat next to Pearl, an old friend's grandmother. She has trouble walking and is without most of her upper body strength, so she essentially sat where she was, too. My friend J. asked Pearl if she could make her a plate.

Pearl thought for a moment, her hand over her lips. She stumbled over her words and at first I didn't see anything out of the ordinary about her behavior. Until she said, "Oh, well I shouldn't. I'm a borderline diabetic." I was clearly sitting next to Pearl for a reason. I gathered that if she was being told that she was "borderline" diabetic she likely wasn't taking any medication and was advised to simply watch her diet.

As J. named off foods for Pearl, I sat out of Pearl's eyesight vigorously shaking my head yes or no, especially "no" when J. got to the potato pancakes. Pearl said she'd just have some salad for now. I feared what the fried potatoes would do to this elderly woman who was having issues with her pancreas.

However, as dinner progressed and salad was all Pearl had, I started to fear that she wasn't having enough carbs. Because that, actually, can be just as bad as too many carbs. And I wondered if she was scared about eating too many carbs, too. I suspect she'd been scared-intentionally or not-by her doctors. (She did indulge in dessert, so I stopped worrying.)

I held back from asking Pearl about her diagnosis, although I desperately wanted to know what her doctors had told her and what her diet was like. Really, I wanted to help, not be nosey. But with Pearl's hearing obviously fading, that was not a discussion I wanted to have at such a loud level. I did leave there wondering, though, who was helping her, who she had to lean on.