Mother's Child, page 9
“Can we go in and see him now?” I practically pleaded. “Just for a minute? He might open his eyes again and see Tim, and…I can’t just leave him.”
Belinda smiled. “I can walk you back there. He has opened his eyes now and then so maybe…Come on, follow me. But only for a minute.”
Tim and I followed Belinda back to Ernie’s room. I was prepared for how Ernie would look but for Tim, this was his first taste of the seriousness of Ernie’s latest health episode and how it had manifested itself. I walked right up to Ernie’s bed while Tim stood at the doorway taking in the site of his son’s condition. He turned as pale as when he had entered the waiting area earlier.
I kissed Ernie’s forehead then sat on the edge of his bed and took hold of his little hand. “Momma’s here sweetheart. Are you awake? Daddy is here too.”
I looked at Tim, who had ventured to the foot of Ernie’s bed, and gestured with my head for him to come stand by my side. I rubbed Ernie’s hand gently while I spoke to him. “Hey Ernie. You’re doing fine. The doctor said you will be in a better room tomorrow and then we can spend more time with you.”
Tim joined me. “Hey big guy. Daddy’s here. You gave us quite a scare there, buddy. But you’re doing great now.”
As if on cue, Ernie opened his eyes. They were bigger now than the slits he had managed earlier, and I swore that I saw the same smile I had imagined earlier. Ernie looked at me and then his dad. He was definitely awake and cognizant and not just reacting to stimulation from one of his machines.
Tim and I gave Ernie the biggest smiles we could muster. I brought his hand to my face and kissed it and then caressed my cheek with it. Tim squeezed in between me and the head of Ernie’s bed. He leaned over and kissed his forehead, then moved back.
It was difficult to see that Ernie couldn’t respond with anything more than his eyes. As hard as it was for us, I imagined it must have been even more frustrating for Ernie. Even if he could muster the strength, he could not speak through the ventilator that had invaded his mouth.
We felt useless. We couldn’t even offer him a hospital sippy cup or bring him anything. All he could do was lie there and breathe–more on his own now than with the ventilator. All we could do was stand there and look at him with love in our eyes–and hope that was enough.
Ernie looked one more time from one of us to the other, then closed his eyes. The little guy needed sleep. Tim and I took that as our cue to depart.
I placed Ernie’s hand on his tummy and kissed his forehead again.
Then I stepped aside so Tim could add his kiss.
“I love you honey.” I don’t know if he heard me, but they were my last words to my son for the day. We headed for the doorway and out into the corridor.
It was after 5 pm now and I had not eaten since breakfast. I felt fatigued from the long day. But I wanted to remain at the hospital in case Ernie woke up again.
Tim convinced me that there was nothing we could do and that it was unlikely Ernie would wake up before morning. We should go home, eat, and sleep and come back early the next morning.
So, we left. Tim’s car was in the opposite direction as mine, so we parted ways just outside the hospital entrance. Tim headed for our favorite take-out pizza restaurant to get dinner. I made my way, a bit absent mindedly, to my car. I needed to go to Ginny’s house to pick up Elsie.
All I could think about was Ernie and his sad little face and all the machines attached to him and how much I loved him. My mind was not involved in the insignificant task at hand. When I reached my car, I removed my keys from my purse and unlocked the door, but I hesitated before getting in. Shoot. Ernie doesn’t have any balloons or cards or anything to brighten his room. I thought.
I turned back toward the hospital to get something at the gift shop and then stopped short when I remembered. “Ugh. You can’t have balloons and things in the ICU rooms. I’ll pick something up tomorrow when I know he’ll be in a regular room.” I didn’t care if anyone saw me talking to myself. I pivoted to return to my car.
I took one step forward and saw it. Or them. I had two flat tires. Both in the rear. In my initial slumbered walk toward the car, I had failed to see them. Now, there they were, as plain as day. I stood there in disbelief.
“Un-fucking believable!” I yelled. “That stupid…uggghhh…son of a bitch slit my tires! It must have been him. All because he went the wrong way and I got the parking spot! Un-freaking believable!” I kicked the flattened tires.
I was tired and stressed and pissed off as all get out, so kicking the tires wasn’t enough. I lifted my set of keys with the “Best Mom Ever” heart-shaped gold pendant attached and whipped them straight at my car.
It seemed like a good idea at the time–right up and until the keys hit the back of the car. The pendant scraped along the trunk, leaving a noticeable mark, before the keys bounced into the air and careened off the back windshield. They continued their journey onto the ground, then slid along the cement surface, and under the front of the pick-up truck parked next to me. They finally came to rest on the edge of a nearby water drain. Or at least I hoped they were on the edge and not in the drain. I couldn’t see because of the big truck tire wheel that blocked my view. I couldn’t believe what I had just done and witnessed. I was flabbergasted.
I stood there with my mouth open. I wondered, Is this what they mean by a message from God?
After taking a minute, to reflect upon my situation and to look around to see if anyone had witnessed my key-throwing, potty-mouthed diatribe, I took a deep breath and told myself everything would be okay. Just relax, June. You will find the keys, call Triple A, get the tires repaired and all will be fine. Probably be fixed before the pizza is even ready. Don’t let this a-hole guy get the best of you (as if it wasn’t a bit too late for that).
Re-fortified and determined to make that lemonade one hears so much about, I set to task one. I walked over to where I had seen the keys slide toward the drain, still hoping they might be on the edge, and that they hadn’t actually dropped into it. I discovered that the pick-up truck partially covered the drain. Obviously, the owner misread the Compact Cars Only sign thinking it said, Yeah Compact Cars for Everyone Else, But Your Big Ass Truck Will Fit.”
Breathe!
It was dark out and I couldn’t get a good view of the drain looking from the front of the truck. I would have to crawl behind the driver’s side massive front wheel, under the truck and look into the drain. I groaned. Luckily, I wore my “I might be going to the gym” outfit. I was dressed for just this occasion.
I crouched down and peered under the truck, hoping for a magical hand to jump out at me holding my keys–that was the type of “message from God” I hoped for. Of course, I realized that was not about to happen, so I slunk down to my belly and crawled under the truck toward the drain cover.
As I crawled along, my loose-fitting gym sweats began a trip of their own–off my waist and down my behind. The truck body was fairly high off the ground, compared to a car, but still did not allow enough room for my quick reaction. Startled, I reached for my waistband. I lifted and turned my head in that direction, banging my head on the undercarriage of the truck. “Shit!” I yelled. “Shitty, shit, shit, shit,” I mumbled as I rubbed the spot on my head–it really smarted.
I must be quite a sight, I thought as I continued to rub the bump on my head. My legs were sticking out from under a parked truck with sweatpants in a position to challenge any plumber, my face was down on the ground, and mumbling was emanating from my mostly motionless body. If my head didn’t hurt so much, I would have laughed at my own pitiful circumstances.
Lemonade, June. Lemonade. I crawled toward the drain cover, pants be damned.
I discovered that if l bent my knees, the little I could, and lifted up my bottom, then, as a partner to that motion, slid my top forward, I could complete one full crawl–sort of like an inchworm.
Keeping my arms folded under my breasts, while attempting this maneuver, kept me from scraping anything. I made the inchworm move, three or four times, before I made it to the edge of the drain.
I saw it! A shiny something sitting on the far side of the drain, between slats that stop large objects from sliding into the sewer system. Please let that be my keys I prayed.
I reached forward, gently cleared the leaf that partially hid the object, and…it was my keys. YES! YES! YES! I shouted inside my head, and then let one last “YES!” out of my mouth and into the fall air. “There is a God”, I loudly proclaimed.”
Unbeknownst to me, the man who owned the truck had finished his business in the hospital and had opened the driver’s side door about to climb in when he heard the proclamation, “Yes, there is a God!” coming from under his truck. Startled and confused, he cautiously closed his front door and bent down to get a look.
I heard his door click shut and froze. I thought the truck was about to pull out with me beneath it. “SHIT!” I panicked and grabbed at my keys. I knocked them into the drain. “SHIT!” I yelled louder.
The man got to his knees and peered under his truck. When he saw me and my slightly exposed derriere, he chuckled. “Lady. What the F are you doing under my truck?”
“I’m looking for my keys,” I said sheepishly. I began my crawl back out, reversing my inchworm technique, and emerged to the full view of the owner. He held out his hand and helped me to my feet.
I mumbled, “Thanks,” while hitching up my sweats. He was a 40-something guy, fairly average looking with a strong face and rugged hands, dressed in a uniform that suggested he worked in a trade.
I looked closer and realized that he was dressed like…like a plumber. I glanced at his truck again and noticed the sign Liquidator Plumbing –Sewers, Cesspools and Drainage Specialists. I just stared at it.
“Ma’am,” he said. I looked at him and wondered if he thought I was a lunatic escapee on the loose in the hospital parking lot. “How the heck did you lose your keys under my truck? And did you find them?”
I stared at the truck and the man a few seconds longer before I responded.
“Well,” I said. “It’s kind of a long story. And yeah, I found them. But when I heard your door shut, I got nervous because I thought you were going to run me over, and I knocked them into the storm drain. So…nope I don’t have them now.” I shrugged trying to pretend this was a no big deal kind of thing that just happens to people.
The plumber looked around to the front of the truck where he could see the part of the drain that his truck wasn’t hiding. I think he kind of felt sorry for me. There I was, standing in my workout outfit now covered in oil stains and street dirt and whatever else collected near that drain. My face was streaked with dirt and my hair had clumped where I banged it on the greasy undercarriage of the truck. I also looked like crying was an option I was considering.
“I’m gonna move my truck and then we can see where your keys ended up.” The man said looking at me pitifully. He jumped into his truck, backed out, and pulled into an empty spot that had opened up in the next aisle. After he backed out, I stepped over to the drain to take a look. I could see my keys on a cement ledge just below the drain slats. I was so relieved that they hadn’t fallen deeper into the drain and out of sight and reach. The plumber joined me at the drain and I pointed to where my keys sat.
“Ahh that’s lucky,” he said and headed straight back to his truck. I just stood there, feeling “lucky,” while I waited. He came back with a silver pen-like object in his hand. He took another look into the drain, assessed the situation, then pulled on one end of the “pen” and extended it to about three feet. He knelt next to the drain and inserted the tool between the slats toward my keys.
As he did so he explained, “It’s a magnet on the end that should be strong enough to snag the keys, so I can pull them out.” He was right. He hovered the magnetic end over the keys, then gently touched them and they clung to the tool. He slowly and deftly pulled the tool up and out of the drain, with the keys firmly attached. He grabbed my keys, stood up and handed them to me.
“There ya go,” He smiled.
“Thank you,” I fairly gushed. “Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” I was sincere in my compliment. At that moment he was my hero.
“I wish I had a couple’a extra tires for you. You got Triple A or someone to help with that?” He pointed out the flats.
“Oh Yeah. Yes, I have Triple A. I was in the hospital visiting my son and some jerk sliced my tires. I’m going to call my husband to come get me while Triple A tows the car.”
“Ahh that sucks. Had that happen to me once before. If it’s one tire, ya got a spare, ya know? But when they do that…it’s really lousy. They do that scratch on the side too?”
He leaned over and ran his finger over the fine scratch. I hadn’t thought it was that obvious but looking at it now, it was fairly long and noticeable.
“Um, no that was there before.” I lied, too embarrassed to reveal the truth.
He turned to me and asked, “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Oh yes. Thanks. Now that you got my keys for me I’ll be fine.” I suddenly felt conscious of how disheveled I was and how desperate I must have appeared, so I tried to make light of it all. “Nothing some clean clothes and a bath won’t fix…and maybe a glass of red wine.” I said with a forced chuckle.
“Oh yeah, I hear that. Headed to meet the crew for a beer myself. Well, you take care and good luck with everything. Oh and, don’t forget your purse over there.”
“I won’t,” and suddenly remembered that I had dropped my purse near one of my flat rear tires before I went looking for my keys. I shouted after him while I grabbed my purse. “Wait! Hang on a minute!”
He stopped and looked back at me just as he opened the front door of his truck. I jogged over and handed him a scrunched up $20 bill I retrieved from the bottom of my purse –mad money I threw in there in case I forgot to put my wallet inside.
“Let me at least buy the first round,” I offered.
“Oh no, that isn’t necessary,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “I was glad to help.”
“Please. I insist. It’s the least I can do, and it will make me feel better. It’s your Knight’s reward.” I smiled and forced the bill into his hand.
“Heh. Geez. Well, okay if you put it that way. I’ll tell the guys the first round is on a pretty damsel in distress I rescued.” He laughed, pleased at his wit. I liked his subtle compliment to me.
“You do that Sir Knight,” I gave a little curtsy. The Plumber Knight mounted his truck and drove off.
I felt a bit better about my situation now. I went from having two flat tires and no keys, back to just two flat tires–in a matter of minutes.
With some sort of twisted logic, I figured I’d gotten ahead of the game and that made me smile. I also realized that I still had to call Tim, to tell him that he now had to pick up Elsie, call Triple A to get the car towed, and then get me home.
It occurred to me that I would have been better off just staying in the ICU waiting area close to Ernie, like I wanted to do in the first place. Then I considered how this was all Tim’s fault.
After all, if he hadn’t insisted we should leave, I would…still have two flat tires…yes, but I wouldn’t have had the whole key-losing episode, my car trunk wouldn’t be scratched, my clothes would be clean, and I wouldn’t have a bump on my head. And, I wouldn’t know about the flat tires, so I wouldn’t be upset just sitting in the waiting area being blissfully ignorant.
Then again, if I hadn’t barged into that open space and cut off the guy who slit my tires, and if I didn’t fly off the handle and throw my keys, I wouldn’t have a scratch on the trunk of my car, dirty clothes, or a lump on my head…so I guessed blaming Tim wasn’t going to float.
I shrugged my shoulders and took inventory of myself. I decided that I would go back to the waiting area and make calls from there. Tim could bring me a slice of pizza after he got Elsie, and he could take care of my car situation when he got here.
I tried to rub the grease off of my top and pants but no luck. My sweats were dark blue though and they didn’t show the dirt too obviously, so I could make do there. I took off my sweatshirt top and tied it around my waist by the sleeves. It was a bit cold with just my baggy T, but I would soon be in the warm hospital. I headed for the entrance.
I remembered that there was a restroom just inside the lobby where I could wash my face and hands and comb the dirt from my hair. Maybe, with just a little lipstick touch-up, I would be presentable enough. I headed straight for the ladies’ restroom and cleaned up. Satisfied with my effort, I made my way back to the ICU waiting area. Even though it was empty again, I still chose to go back to my same yellow chair that I occupied earlier. I called Tim to explain the change in plans. He answered his phone on the first ring.
“Hi,” he said. “The pizza will be ready in about another five minutes so I’m almost on my way home. What’s up? Did you get Elsie?”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, twisting the arm of the sleeve around my waist. “You know the guy I told you about who tried to cut me off and take my parking space?”
“Um, noooo you never told me about that.”
“I didn’t? Oh. Well this guy tried to cut me off when I was parking at the hospital and he got mad because I got there first. And anyway he was going the wrong way. So, he flipped me off and said some nasty things, but I just ignored him.”
“Okay, babe. Is this leading somewhere? ’Cause I’m sensing another spilled coffee episode and I just don’t want to interrupt when my name is called to get the pizza.”
