Myra ’s POV
It’s April 8, 1998, and I’m thirteen years old. I’m back in the emergency room, and it is honestly not surprising. Mom is at it again, although this time it seems urgent.
I found her face down, covered in vomit. I called the emergency response and explained to them, the doctor and case worker.
I watched as the nurses rolled my mother off. My question “Is she going to be okay?” fell on deaf ears as they continuously worked on mom.
After much, a nurse whose badge read: Sara, said, “Come on Myra ”
Stretching her palm; out to me with a smile. I grabbed her hand, and she led me into the hospital, out from the room, my mom was pushed into.
“Is my mother going to be okay?” I asked again.
“Yes, you know she’s a fighter.” Nurse Sara said smiling at me, but in front of us was a social worker, who looked at me with soft eyes. She squatted and touched my hair
“Thank you Myra , you’ve been very helpful.”
I have a feeling that’s not in a good way. Mom hasn’t been able to keep a job. She receives benefits from the government from time to time. My father should support her but the truth is I don’t know who he is, though mom tells me every moment the nine o’clock broadcast comes up that the news anchor: Dean , Clark is my father.
I stare at the frail-looking woman lying on the bed. She has wires on her chest, connected to an ECG is meant to monitor mom’s heart rhythm. At least that is what I know so, heard the physician order the nurse to set it up for my mom.
She’s different from the mommy that I used to have nothing but adoration for, she was gone, but I’m not sure she ever existed because half of the time was her wails about my father leaving us. The machine is beeping; its noise is too loud.
Over it dances a white linen curtain; it flutters like a free bird, moving its wings along the evening breeze. From a distance comes the jarring sound of a siren. The sound still scares me, every time I hear it. Somewhere, there must be another mom who is sick.
I look out the window and from where I’m seated; I can see the night lights coming from buildings. They must be enjoying a nice evening dinner at this moment. Perhaps some are with their parent or some are alone like I am. The howling wind hits against the window and I stand up towards the window. I shut it close.
It’s evening already, and the light in mom’s room is dim. The room is cold.
Sara is a night shift nurse and Penny is her day shift nurse; they are mostly here as mom’s nursing when she is admitted into the hospital.
Mom has frequented the hospital more often, so I know what is about to happen, I’m soon going to lose my mom. I can feel my purse, beat fast. I sense impending doom. The way, the social worker said I was helpful, tucks uncomfortably in my heart. Her continuous visit to mom, with words, pleading for change which hasn’t happened means that she might soon say, that mom hasn’t helped her make a better decision.
Uncertainty lurks around me, in the future. I know that because mom hasn’t gotten better, the social worker will soon separate me from mom. My heart rapidly palpates at the thought.
Though I’m uncertain of the future, I know that it’s been five minutes since mom was moved into a room, and I know what follows next. Nurse Sara will be here with extra blankets, it’s usually cold here, especially at night. Maybe the thought of knowing that mom is here at a hospital, and I can’t do anything to help her when she is the only family I have.
I know that when Sara comes in to check on Mom, she will try to tell me stories about what happened during her shift; she usually sticks to heartfelt stories like a man who had an accident and was discharged. The most intriguing was the twenty-nine-year-old gymnast with a blood clot and heart attack. She never tells me any sad stories and for some reason, I think, is her way of telling me to hang in there.
All I have done is hang in there and be there for mom especially when I see her cry about my father, the man who left us, but what I wish is that she would be there more often for me I have only her.
Sara opens my door; in her hand is a stack of blankets which she places on the chair. She tells me a story about a patient who wouldn’t take his medication because he is afraid.
I sigh, chuckling in relief and shaking my head. “Adults get scared easily?”
I don’t know why, I say that but for some reason, I think Mom has been afraid of living her life without my father, so she has been holding on to the belief that he will someday come back to her, but every time the reality, sets in, she has been afraid to face the truth so drowns herself in alcohol, it’s like the alcohol makes her happier than anything else would.
“No, of course not, why would you think so Myra ?”
I walk towards the sofa sitting in a mom’s room, I take a seat. My hand touches the warm blanket, she brought with her “Because people disappear when they are sick or dead.”
“Hm,” Nurse Sara is thinking about it. She agrees with me because she doesn’t argue my point. I feel my fingers tingle- from the cold or the anxiety that sweeps over me. My life and mom will soon be different.
I reach for the hem of the blanket, that I have over my leg- and run my fingers along the fluffy edge to give them something to do. The silence that follows is deafening, so I forcefully change the topic
“Is Penny, your relief tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah” Sara stands up and I know it’s time for her to check on another patient. She says what I’m used to hearing “Myra , press the call light if you need anything”
I nod my head to her words as she walks out.
“Penny, that girl gets enough time off to a party,” she says with a chuckle
I chuckle along. “That’s nice, yet she always complains that she doesn’t get enough time to party.”
I reach for my feet, I rub it. Sara stares at me “You forgot to wear your socks”
I nod my head “Yeah; I was in a hurry help mum, I even forgot to bring my school bag with me”
“Isnt it, school break Myra”
I scratch my head “Oh, I nearly forgot; its school break”
“Okay Myra, let me know if you need me okay”
Sara walks out of the room,
I pick up a blanket from the new stack she brought me, and then spread it over my legs.
I soon lay down, and curled myself; it feels weird and lonely, here. I watch the monitor, and the vitals read, and I can tell mom is stable, like the nurses’ state.
I’m thirteen and with the frequent visits, I have come to learn what are the normal vitals and medical terminologies. I might become a nurse in the future, or maybe not. I don’t think I like the hospitals that much, though the nurses are very kind and caring.
From where I lay, I can hear the nurses at the nurse’s station. One of the nurses just asked the CNA if one of the patients had a BM. I understand that CNA is a term used for the caregiver and the word BM, means to excrete. As I said, the frequent visits are becoming, a part of me though I don’t like that fact, very much.
Minutes have gone by, and nurses and doctors keep walking around, none minding me as they do their duties. At the nurse’s station, one of the nurses says
“Poor boy
“God, I pity that boy.” Another Nurse says her voice sounding like she is on verge of crying, “His parents. Oh my gosh”
“Ian , he will be fine.” The voice of the first Nurse comes after
“How would he? He’s so young and he…” the second nurse pauses “He must be traumatized.”
I listen to the nurse gossip about a young boy who is at the hospital because he was traveling to a different city with his parent; they got into an accident which led to his parent’s death, though the boy survived.
“He’s alive, that’s honestly all that matters at times like this. He would need all the support he can get.” The first nurse continues, and I can identify their voice because her voice is like a singing bird: pitchy I would say
A smacking sound over the table, it must be Sara. She knows I’m listening and she does that more often, by hitting the table with her clip note, whenever the other nurses come over to her station to gossip
One of the nurses clears her throat, now silence……
I lay wondering who the boy is. I wonder if his life is worst than mine, always watching my mom’s tired and droopy eyes. Hear her screams every night.
Then I sit up, folding the blanket beside me, I stare through the window at the boy. I scratch my chin and I wondered how old he is.
Is he alone, in these hospital rooms, which are cold and lonely? I look around the hallway and it is empty except for Sara who is busy entering patients’ information into the computer. She calls it charting.
I think about the boy, if he is alone, then maybe we could keep each other’s company. I watch Sara, push something she calls a medication cart away from the station. I slowly open the door and walk down the hall. I need to find Ian .
I walk to one of the doors and look around again, it has an older man in there so I walk towards another door. I slowly open the door; I sigh in relief as I notice that the room is warm and on the bed lays a young boy. I know Sara will scold me if she finds me here but I walk closer to the bed. His body is curled on the bed, covered by a comforter.
What I would do to have such a warm comforter but here at the hospital, it is kept for only the patients, their families are given blankets. My eye catches the name over his bed
Ian Beck
He is sniffling, I know the room isn’t cold and he has a comforter. I stand silently; I don’t know what to say to him
I watch the telemetry beep “Is that you Jessica?” his voice pulls my attention from the monitor
I ask “Are you crying?”
I think he just gasps, reaching his hand into the air like he is mimicking. He can’t see me, of course, because the room is dark
“Sorry,” I mumble and he gasps again. His hand waves towards me. “Hold on Ian , let me get the light”
I reach for the switch without thinking of the nurse; I turn it “I won’t bite, I promise. Even though I’m so hungry,” I chuckled at my joke though; with the light on I can see his lips aren’t moving.
He sits up, he says nothing. He must be mad at me, for disturbing his peace, but who wouldn’t be? I run my eyes for the wall clock on the wall and its 1 am.
I have come this far, to make a friend or get him to talk to someone rather than be alone. “I’m Myra ”
He looks away, pulling his legs to his body and resting his head on his knees. I nod, understanding him.
For a second, I have wanted to say: if you want to be alone, tell me. I know some patients like it quiet, at least that’s what Penny tells me though I feel like she doesn’t like to talk unlike Sara, who takes the time to talk to me.
Every time I see Penny, she is always very self-absorb in her job. She loves her patient though.
She once told me
“It’s okay to cry. You’re strong if you cry’”
I wield myself to say, the same words to Ian , but it seems he wants to be left alone. If I count I to V in my head and he says nothing, I will walk away. I begin to count:
“I,” he doesn’t say anything, “II?” He doesn’t move or acknowledge it. I count through and when I reach V. I remember how the nurses gave me a lot of chances, though I didn’t say anything like him when I first got here. I had a lot of anger inside me, about my mom and dad. I give it another try.
“It must be your first time in the hospital,” I say, “I understand, what its like. When my mom first came here I was crying because I was scared, didn’t talk to anyone, and refused to even look away from my feet”
“Why were you looking at your feet? What’s wrong with it?” He asks
My heart skips a beat. Glad I could break the ice and he finally spoke to me.
I run my eyes for the wavy blond boy in a white hospital gown, his eyes wrapped with a bandage. He wasn’t mimicking or waving his hand into the air because he couldn’t see due to the dark room. He just can’t see me…
“Were you scared?” he asks
I can feel tears run down my chin but I resist the urge to cry, instead, I wipe my eyes and clear my throat “Yeah, I was”
I don’t know why I cry, is it for the boy and what he has gone through at such an age or because of my mom, her frequent visit to the hospital?
“Your leg must have been like mine,” he says
My eyes go wide but thankfully I don’t make a sound. I stay silent for some seconds, how did I not know? That he couldn’t see after all there is a bandage wrapped around his eyes. The nurses never mentioned that the boy was blind, but only talked about his parent and how he survived.
“Really?” He asks and I know, that haven’t replied to his question. I move closer until our legs almost touched the bed. “Does your leg hurt,” I ask
He looks toward me, and though he has a bandage over his eyes I can feel that he is staring at me or waiting for an answer to the question
“No. It was painful because it was the first time, my mom was brought to the hospital and this place was new and strange to me. I had no one to talk to”
The truth is I still hate this place. I wrinkle my nose, to the strong smell of medication and antiseptic. This place makes me sick. I watch him coax his neck towards the wall. He touches the stuffed dog on his bed.
“Is your mom sick?”
His voice sounds croaky like he is about to cry. Then I see the lower ends of the bandage around his eyes begin to have drips in them. He is crying.
“Yes, Ian ”
I move closer to him and cup his head with my right hand. I can feel his tears on my shirt. I touch his chin, wipe the tears