Friday, October 2, 2009

In Recovery

We’re in recovery mode around here. Brad and I are sort of taking shifts shutting our eyes and resting and then looking in on Charley to make sure he’s okay. He seems to be resting okay for now.

Missy Cat is worried about Charley. She’s sitting outside his door waiting for any sign of movement. I don’t know why he won’t let her in his room, she’d be such good company for him, but he makes her wait outside the door, even though Missy Cat is his best friend.

I heard a popping sound coming from his room and wasn’t sure what it was until I reached over and picked up a water bottle from the table next to my bed. I heard the same crinkling noise when I squeezed it to take a sip and realized he was chugging the Crystal light orange drink I left beside his bed in case he woke up. I open the door and sure enough he’s sitting in the middle of his bed.

“Mom, who tookin’ my teeth?” he says.

“They removed some of them at the hospital, remember?”

“Oh yea,” he says. “Mom, my teeth hurt.”

“I know they do son, I’m so sorry. Do you want to come in my room with me?”

“No, I big boy. I no cryin’,” he says.

“It’s okay to cry if you want to, I know you are hurting,” I told him.

“That’s okay Mom,” I stay here.

He’s back asleep now so I’ve crawled back into bed hoping for a little more rest. I believe it’s been all of 5 minutes when I hear the door open. And we’re off to the kitchen in search of chicken. He must be starving. It’s been over 24 hours since he’s eaten anything, but I can’t allow him to chew so I offer him some Spaghetti O’s which he snubs, and some chocolate milk which he takes back to his room.

Its morning now and I’m sitting on the couch drinking a cup of coffee. Haven’t had much rest but can’t seems to sleep either, and I’m thinking about going back to bed again when I hear footsteps in the hall. They are very light, not making much noise, just sort of shuffling. Around the corner comes my son. He has his arms stretched out in front of him but his eyes are closed. Well, sort of. He’s walking in my direction, kind of like a mummy. It looks to me like he’s sleepwalking.

“Son, are you awake?” I say.

No response, just shuffling of the feet in my direction.
He stops when he’s right in front of me and just stands there with his arms extended.

Okay, now this is weird.

“Honey, you okay?” I say.

No response, just deep forced breathing.

Suddenly just as I’m about to stand up to see if he’s all right, he leans down and gets close to my ear.

“I a zombie,” he says.

You’re kidding, right?

“I are a zombie!” He starts to laugh.

Well someone appears to be feeling better.

Several hours have passed and Dianne has stopped by to see how the patient is doing and to tell him that he can come to her house real soon but that he has to recover first. Dianne leaves and he steps out onto the porch where he sees Jane who walks across the lawn to give him a hug and reassure him that she’ll come to his birthday party next weekend.

He seems to be doing pretty well, despite all he’s been through and manages some malarkey for her benefit. About 15 minutes has passed and he’s laid down on my bed. He’s up and down all over the place. One minute he’s doing fine and the next he’s in agony. I suppose this will go on for a few days but for now he says he’s hurting again and is calling my name.


I go check on him and he wants me to lie down on the bed beside him and hold his hand for a while. It’s storming and raining so hard that it’s knocked out the satellite on our TV. Charley doesn’t like thunder and says, “I scared Mom.”

I tell him its okay and that it’s just a little thunder boomer, and he starts playing with my face. He pinches my nose and then my cheek. Then he pinches my lips together. I make a fish face at him and he says, “Again!” So I make another fish face, this time like I’m a guppy.

This goes on for a while and he says, “Mom, stop bugging me.”

“Then stop playing with my face.”

“No not,” he says.

“Son, I hate to have to tell you this, but my face is not made out of silly putty.”

“Yes I are,” he says.

“Do you know what silly putty is?”

“Yes” he says.

“What is it?” I say.

“I don’t know.”

Now we both start to laugh.

“Stop bugging me,” he says again.

“I can’t, it’s my job to bug you, that’s what Moms are for,” I tell him.

Kaboom! Another crash of thunder and this time with lightening.

“I scared of storm!” He yells and puts his hands over his ears.

I say, “Then go under the covers and hide, it can’t find you under there.”

He pulls the covers over his head, so I put my head under the covers and talk to him. The rest of me is freezing because the fan is blowing on us and the only part of me under the blanket is my head.

We banter back and forth for a while and I notice that someone is getting sleepy and is starting to nod off.

The last thing I remember is Charley covering me with a blanket and turning out the light.

I manage to say, “Son, you okay?”

“Go back to sleep Mom,” he says and shuts the door.

It appears he’s not the only one in our house who needs to recover.


  1. What a gift your writing is. And what fun it must be to have you for a mom.

  2. Hi Charlie, glad you did so well at the hospital