Extended Stay

It is clear now, looking back across the years, that my five year old mind had no idea what was happening. The white and green room was cold. There were interesting machines on the wall, but I knew I wasn't supposed to touch them. There was a black boy, also named Jason in the bed beside mine, but I never felt well enough to play with him.

The needle of the IV in my arm always hurt, but it was making me better. I felt bad.

In the week beforehand I had been sick. I think it was the flu, but I don't really remember. What I do remember is the awful tasting medicine they gave to treat it, it had a putrid flavor which didn't wash out and tainted the taste of everything else. In addition to the foul flavor, it didn't seem to make me better.

At some point, everything was a whirlwind. I don't know what the trigger was, but my mom asked a nurse from next door to have a look at me. She directed us to go to the doctor. The doctor, after fighting with me to give me a shot in the butt, directed us to immediately go to the hospital.

As a parent, I look back and think about how worried my parents must have been. They had been told that I was having an allergic reaction to the medicine and my throat was closing. As the child, I was angry that they had forcibly pulled down my pants, as I fought to keep them up, to hurt me. They stuck a sharp needle in me. I was glad to be out of there and on to someplace different. I didn't know they would have needles, too.

I spent five days in the hospital. A long time in my memory. The highlight of my day was seeing my family. When they were not there I was surrounded by people, but very alone. I remember missing them. I remember wanting to be home. I remember thinking I wish they could stay. It was hard for me to comprehend that they would need to be anyplace else.

I had a desire to thank my parents for visiting. It is a strange feeling to remember, I know I wanted to please them, perhaps thinking they would stay longer, not knowing the hours were regulated. I was sad because I had nothing.

Breakfast was one of my highlights. I remember the light green trays, orange juice, and my favorite toast and jelly. I remember looking over this meal still chewing on the problem of having nothing to give. I ate the eggs.

I don't remember thinking how silly this was, though I can see that now. What I do remember was the feeling of solving a puzzle, finding the gift I had to give. I considered the items on the tray, they were mine. The orange juice could be OK, but it wasn't good enough. Today the bacon would be the obvious choice, but it too wasn't good enough. The eggs had been eaten, but they wouldn't have worked either. My parents, I reasoned, liked breakfast and If they approached it like I did, there was one item on that tray they couldn't resist.


I saved the toast and jelly. I don't even remember what my parents said or how I kept it from being taken away. What I remember was the feeling of great joy, just knowing I had selected the perfect gift.

They didn't stay any longer.

Two nights later I pulled the IV from my arm and they let me go home.