Dad remained with me until his supper hour, at which time he would again be transported into the functioning world, where normalcy, rather than malaise, reigned complete. Following supper, he again returned to the hospital; our evening was generally spent in front of the television, taking in what entertainment it had to offer, and then between the hours of 8:00 and 9:00 o'clock he kissed me good-night, and walked to his motel, located in the immediate proximity of the hospital.
On the eve of Labor Day weekend, Mom flew back to Rochester, and Dad left for the airport soon after eating his last meal of the day. He was always punctual, preferring to wait several hours at his destination rather than lounge about at the home base until the last minute lest one of a hundred mishaps occurred. Such was the scenario depicting that evening, and I felt I could look forward to a night bordering on the exact characteristics of the one before, distinguished only by the fact that my father was absent.
I had observed a fair amount of television when the nurse entered to read my vital statistics and administer the nightly shot to my thigh. Feeling also that I needed to utilize the facilities, she escorted me to the door of the bathroom, pushing the IV pole beside me. Suddenly the IV tube swung out before me, dangling crazily like a wind-blown vine; it had become detached from the "socket" which protruded from my skin. I saw no cause for alarm, yet the nurse wheeled and darted up the hall, leaving the muffled remnants of an explanatory reason for her flight, to the effect, "I'm going for a syringe. . ." I hadn't seen the tube touch the floor, although contamination was the cause of the nurse's anxiety; I decided to stand at the bathroom door and await her return.
No sooner had a minute passed when my body took on a strange weakness. My head felt heavy and my eyes were oddly rebelling toward my desire to focus clearly; I knew if I did not sit down, I would fall presently, so I leaned against the wall and slid slowly to the floor. I had gained a sitting position, yet, that too, was being drawn from my capabilities; a determined force beckoned me toward the floor and I sunk resignedly down, unafraid and rather indifferent, as a ship, torn and buffeted, would relinquish herself to the fathoms of a gaping sea. As my body was ushered to the tile, I glanced helplessly out into the hallway and caught the eye of a doctor, unknown to me, who was walking briskly past through the untouched silence of the ward. He stopped abruptly, eyeing me with marked curiosity and asked "Do you need some help?" "Uh, yeh" I said, thinking I could, indeed, use some assistance. It struck me as incredibly humorous, even though I was not fully able to exercise or convey the entirety of my comic faculty at the time. He asked what had happened and why the nurse had left me; I told him, for my mentality, though buffered, was intact. He wanted to know if the IV had touched the ground. As I did not believe that it had, he gave it a swift, cursory inspection and plugged it back into the socket. By then the nurse had returned and was instructed to round up several others; they had to carry me back to bed, as my legs were rubberized and altogether useless. I felt as if I had entertained a drunken stupor within the passage of minutes, and without having passed a glass to my lips.
The episode must have resulted from the rapid denial of the solution to my system; since the IV dripped steadily into my veins, my body reacted to the change as it would any shock. Moreover, the fact that the IV was so near to my heart, and the realization that I was standing when the incident occurred, both render the semi-faint more understandable. At any rate, the doctor and several nurses flitted about me until they felt quite satisfied that the better part of my siege had ended; I immediately reflected how fortunate it was that the stated occurrence happened during the absence of my father. "Well," I thought lazily, "miracles do happen; or, at least, my luck isn't all bad!" Dad, I knew, would not have reacted with the lack of agitation that I had portrayed toward my rendezvous with the hospital floor, and I was extremely grateful that he did not have to witness the affair. While I was musing upon the above thoughts, the telephone's harsh ring clamored to be received. I laid in bed, still awash in a sea of partial coherence, allowing the nurse to answer the call. It was my oldest brother, Todd; somewhat dazed, I grasped the phone and attempted to carry on an intelligent conversation, explaining that which had transpired directly preceding his call. Once I replaced the receiver, I collapsed again into the bed's rigidity, perceiving that my former energy, absorbed into another sphere of existence, had not been repleted. My strength was of no consequence however; it had grown late, the plane's arrival was delayed, and nothing was required of me except to wait for the appearance of my parents; waiting was something to which I was now accustomed.
It was good to see Mom again; Dad drove her to the hospital albeit the fact that visiting hours had long since elapsed; in the pediatrics ward, such rules were often relaxed or ignored for the benefit of the family, and it was not an uncommon sight to observe a parent slumped in a corner chair, stealing what replenishment the cramped, make shift bed would afford. My parents did not tarry in my room that night, as the minutes marched heedlessly onward and the night aged before us. I reviewed for them the main excitement of the evening, briefly filling their inquiries and in return receiving a small dose of chit-chat for my own reflectance. As they bid me goodnight, I knew that tomorrow would be merrier for everyone; the main family unit had been reunited.
Parents are the foot-holds and building blocks that sustain the growing youth; while other individuals may very well flavor the insights and spice the outlooks of a maturing mind, the parents yet possess the solid, nurturing ingredient… stability… to which he can, and will, turn in trying hours. I knew that I would forever be my parents' little girl; it was of no consequence that I would age into adulthood; I would always be a fruit of their existence, and while we all had possession of our senses and general mentality, I would, as would all of my siblings, return to their sheltering arms in fear, in pain, and in turmoil. Such was the nature of the bond of father and mother to their children, creating a debt which can seldom be repaid. I hoped that, in my small way, I could give them strength and answer their needs, and prove to be an enrichment to their lives.
The weekend passed rapidly, but it was appreciated by everyone. Mom, it was clear, had to return to her children; though they were, as yet, names without faces, her obligations as a kindergarten teacher existed with more prominence than my health situation; I was out of danger, and my recovery was ripening gradually; soon I would be released from the hospital and live once more.
Three weeks had elapsed, and still I had tasted no food, nor had I swallowed a mouthful of water. My yearning for the sensory delight of harboring various flavors and textures in the mouth and intermingling them with cool draughts of liquid refreshment had not abated; indeed, if the truth must reveal itself, I exalted the characteristics of mere sustenance to magnanimous proportions, certain that I would heartily enjoy food of the most modest preparation; dishes which had formerly sobered my features and impaired my appetite I fancied inviting and delicious.
My exuberant preoccupation with food was alien to no one. I would sit in bed, cutting recipes and their corresponding pictures from women's magazines then, in turn, would glue them to recipe cards, as the tasteless weeks began and ended. One might have thought that food would have been a vexation to my mind, yet dreams never inflicted pain upon my heart, and because they were figments of imagination, mere mental sketches, their failure in existence caused no dilemma; only, perhaps, mild disappointment.