(Read Part 1 here)
After the gym incident things couldn’t possible get worse or could it?
There comes a time in life, a turning point, where everything innocent, everything normal, is lost. At age nine, in the month of May, that time arrived for me. The next three weeks the meaning of life would dramatically change.
Late that winter, one morning as I dressed, I noticed a bump just above my ankle. After mentioning it to Gramma, she wanted to see.
“It’s a double ankle,” she exclaimed.
“Double ankle, huh? Wow, with this maybe some day I can win a medal in the Olympics!” I gloated.
After all the poking and probing by several doctors, it had been decided the double ankle needs to be surgically removed because it’s a tumor. Clang! There goes my medal. I knew nothing about tumors. Why it decided to park itself above my ankle, or what planet it came from.
At first I was quite brave about the whole ordeal. That is, until it was finally time to leave for the hospital. The idea of being left in a hospital room with a bunch of strangers, me unable to hear very good, it terrified me.
We entered the Children’s Hospital that Sunday. Monday would be a prep day, with the surgery performed on Tuesday. The Children’s Hospital is the same location where my weekly speech lessons are held.
This very cool guy, Bob, he runs the switchboard at the nurse’s station on the second floor. The billing office is right next to Bob’s station. Since first attending speech lessons from the age of six, I would ascend the stairs to pay the bill, saving Mom the trip. Bob would always chat me up as I stood on my toes to peek over the front of his workstation. Always friendly, never complaining, forever cheerful, that was Bob.
My hospital room was located on the second floor too, so my folks thought it would be comfy for me, knowing that Bob worked there.
First I met my hospital cellmates, Joey, Donny and Ronny. We couldn’t escape. Joey was fourteen. Until I met Joey, no one ever told me I might awake from this operation minus one leg. He was like a big brother and showed me the ropes; the help button on the bedside, the bathroom, and the rec room.
We had a tv, and a concrete porch outside our room. Down the hall was a room full of adults, for some reason or other, all crippled. Kids were forbidden from entering their room unescorted.
My other two roomies, Donny and Ronny, were sixteen-year-old identical twins; both had become crippled and wheelchair bound. I don’t know the reason why, but some kind of pressure on their spine or something. They would have surgery that same week to release the pressure, restoring feeling into their legs, so they could possibly walk again.
On Monday, for the first time ever I got a glance behind Bob’s workstation. My eyes grew to the size of grapefruits. Bob didn’t have any legs! Not even stumps! Nothing!
For three years this guy’s been cheering me up?
Joey must be right, I thought. Are they gonna remove the tumor, or remove my leg?
The nurse entered our room late Monday evening, she handed me two sleeping pills with a glass of water. I couldn’t figure out why, never had trouble sleeping, so why were they forcing pills on me? They made me forgo supper, too!
A nurse shook me awake bright and early Tuesday morning. At first everything was groggy; in super slo-motion. The smell of bacon awoke my senses. I asked for something to eat, but was ignored. So what happened next?
“Here jimmy, take these two pills,”instructed the nurse. “They’re to help you sleep during the procedure.”
“Awe gee, I was already asleeping!” I bitched. “You woke me up in order to knock me out?”
I had to stay awake long enough to see my folks. It was brief. They walked alongside as I’m wheeled into surgery. Mom was fighting back the tears.
We pushed into this spic and span room, bright lights, and shiny stainless steel all around. There were people with gowns and masks, all going about their business. It was scary; all of these strangers.
This one masked man hovered over my face. He wanted to know how I’m feeling. “Are ya tired at all, son?”
“Not at all,” I lied. “How ’bout some breakfast while we’re waitin’? Cuz it might be awhile afore I’m sleepy. And I’m starving! Bacon, eggs, and toast will do.”
“Ahuh,” the masked man countered. “Why don’t you try counting backwards from one hundred to zero. That always works for me.”
“Then you’ll feed me? Okay, I’ll give it a try. Um, one hundred, ninety-nine, hey! I want my eggs scrambled, okay? You got that? Um, let’s see, oh yeah, ninety-eight, ninety... uh... um... seven, ninety uh... uh... zzzzzzz.”
I opened my eyes, the clock read three in the afternoon; the room, it started to spin, and spin, and spin, until I spilled my guts, then passed out until late evening.
Slowly my eyes came into focus, there on the nightstand was this small jar filled with fluid, and suspended in the fluid was this most beautiful light blue Robin's egg... the tumor.
And my leg? It was still attached to me!
But the worst was not meant for me. No!
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