James was sleeping in the chair next to Ian's bed, his head resting near his son's. Annie stroked his hair the best she could, maneuvering past the straps around his head holding his tube in place. She sang softly to him, whispered stories and words of encouragement into his ear. Dr. Bullick knocked on the glass entrance and, this time, stayed standing. "Have you made a decision?"
Annie shook James harshly. He startled awake. "Dr. Bullick wants to know if we've decided on a code status yet." Still looking sleepy, James sat more upright in his chair.
"Sorry, Doc," he said, looking embarassed. "Uh, yeah, we have." His collected his thoughts, which became evident in his pained face. A lingering look at his son ended with, "We want what's best for Ian, or Tyler, even if we have to let him go."
Dr. Bullick could see the family was trying to be very brave. He respected them for making such a selfless decision. "Alright, I'll bring some paperwork in and we will stop life support immediately. We will keep him very comfortable, I assure you." He left the room. Annie looked at James, holding her breath, for fear of letting any pain out. The doctor returned very quickly with a pen and several papers. The beginning of the end would start with a single signature.
"You call back to that hospital right now!" an irrate Commissioner bellowed. "Do me a favor and notify our officers, then fire yourself!" he huffed. "I'm responsible for this division. My head is on the chopping block! Do you have no respect for me? To make a mistake like this is not only inexcusable, its downright moronic!" Steam could almost be seen coming from underneath his burly gray mustache. His pot-belly jiggled with each roar. Anger was something that had always come easy to him, but incompetency set it off faster than any trigger that his staff knew. This matter was going to be fixed immediately, even if he had to do it himself.
A phone call was made in urgency to St. Gregory's hospital.
Dr. Bullick instructed the nurses to extubate Ian and set up a morphine pain pump to deliver a continuous rate. Judy Miller was requested to assist with the procedure. Three nurses, including Judy, worked quietly and diligently to care for this boy. They did not want to be in the room any longer than they had to be so the family could have some privacy. After each task was completed, Judy placed oxygen via nasal cannula under Ian's nose. They all stepped back, allowing silent tears to fall on their own faces.
Annie held Ian's hand in a tight grip, willing him to open his eyes. She needed a miracle--one more chance to be his mother, one more chance to hold her son. James stepped out of the room, unable to watch his helpless son slip away. Ian stayed still, he looked ragged, but calm. The family watched his chest rise and fall inconsistently. He twitched every now and then, but mostly remained still.
For an hour, the family sat by his bedside. James paced the floor of the ICU, but returned frequently to check on Ian. Susan was motionless, staring at her brother, but seeing past him into her own thoughts. She wanted to cry, to shake him alive, but something held her back. She felt nothing for him. She knew she must be a terribly wicked person to feel so cold towards her brother.
Ian's breathing began to slow. Annie noticed he took a breath every fifteen seconds now. She thought watching him fade out of her life so peacefully would be easier than this. Her own breath began to speed, her heart followed. James noticed her distress, grabbing her from her chair in time to catch her first tear drop into his shirt. They cried together. What little life Ian Thomas had was now gone.
Judy heard the crying at the nurses station. She entered the room and checked his pulse. Her head hung sadly. At least he died with all who loved him, she thought. She knew Corey was sleeping in the next room, but she felt compelled to rouse him for a final farewell.
"Wait," Judy said aloud. "Corey needs to say good-bye." She slipped out of the room past the gaurd next door and shook him slightly. A sleepy young man awakened and knew instantly the truth. His own tears forced their way from his tired eyes, and he reached for Judy as a child would for their mother. She held him in her arms, returning the sentiment as a mother would. She held him for many minutes, until he pulled away from her. She steadied him out of bed and walked him timidly around the corner.
The Thomas's moved in close to their son. Annie held his hand for the last time and began singing,
"Hush-a bye, don't you cry. Go to sleepy little baby. Wen you wake--" but she couldnt finish her song.
Corey's heart began to race at the familiar sound.
"Mom," Susan said, tapping her mother's shoulder. The crying continued and Susan went unnoticed. "Mom," Susan said, a little more loudly. She was more forceful this time, catching her mother's attention
Annie looked at her daughter, who was looking towards the curtain.
"This isn't Ian." She looked back to her mother's eyes. "That's Ian." Susan could sense immediately the bond that they shared many years ago. No one would be able to convince her otherwise. Annie and James looked past their daughter into the face of a young man, standing quietly next to Judy with his arm in a sling. Tears streamed down his face, a mirror image of the family molded into one person.
"Ian!" Annie whispered.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
What's Left Behind
I had my children at my husband's lot today, running around in the warm WINTER sun. It was comforting to watch my kids interacting with my husband and to see how they truly love him so much. He's their dad, and they feel just like I do about mine. I wondered what they would remember years from now when they looked back on their childhood. Would they remember this run-down lot that my husband is working so hard to fix up and provide a living for his family? Will they remember the back room of the office trailor that he set up as a playroom for the kids? Will they remember the pot-holes and the giant pile of sand a dumtruck unloaded there when he broke down? These may seem like insignificant hoosier memories to some, but I remember my parents going through the same thing. They were just trying to make ends meet and do what they could to give us the best possible life.
I remember my own father wearing his cut-off jeans and his shaggy-red hair. Some of my best times were him teaching us how to ride our bikes on the dead-end road, or roasting marshmellows down by the creek bed. I remember spending lots of time in the woods with my father, in the shop with my father, running errands with my father, him teaching me constantly. I thought the world of him and still do. All the things that seemed like everyday life to me, I have come to learn were truly special. Not everyone had a father that played with them for hours in the snow, or built them a swingset, or taught them how to shoot soda cans off a saw-horse, but mine did. There are more memories than my fingers could ever write, and I know that we didnt have much but it always seemed like we were rich to me.
And now I watch my own kids and wonder if they'll remember how poor we are, or will they remember how much fun they had instead. My father works hard to make a comfortable life that we all enjoy and my husband does the same. I am so sure that Albert (husband) will be a great success and so my children might not remember this time. If they do, I hope they have the understanding that I do. Those memories of our early years are perhaps the most influential memories we have. They wont remember a run-down lot, but they will remember their dad running his son on his shoulders through the parking lot, and watching the train go by across the highway (afterall, we live on the Island of Sodor, as their dad likes to tell them). They'll remember their dad putting them on top of cars and racing them along the fence line.
I was lucky to have my father and now I am lucky to have married a man that invests in his children like mine did with me.
Thank you, Dad, for all you are to your children, and thank you, Albert, for all that you will be to yours.
I remember my own father wearing his cut-off jeans and his shaggy-red hair. Some of my best times were him teaching us how to ride our bikes on the dead-end road, or roasting marshmellows down by the creek bed. I remember spending lots of time in the woods with my father, in the shop with my father, running errands with my father, him teaching me constantly. I thought the world of him and still do. All the things that seemed like everyday life to me, I have come to learn were truly special. Not everyone had a father that played with them for hours in the snow, or built them a swingset, or taught them how to shoot soda cans off a saw-horse, but mine did. There are more memories than my fingers could ever write, and I know that we didnt have much but it always seemed like we were rich to me.
And now I watch my own kids and wonder if they'll remember how poor we are, or will they remember how much fun they had instead. My father works hard to make a comfortable life that we all enjoy and my husband does the same. I am so sure that Albert (husband) will be a great success and so my children might not remember this time. If they do, I hope they have the understanding that I do. Those memories of our early years are perhaps the most influential memories we have. They wont remember a run-down lot, but they will remember their dad running his son on his shoulders through the parking lot, and watching the train go by across the highway (afterall, we live on the Island of Sodor, as their dad likes to tell them). They'll remember their dad putting them on top of cars and racing them along the fence line.
I was lucky to have my father and now I am lucky to have married a man that invests in his children like mine did with me.
Thank you, Dad, for all you are to your children, and thank you, Albert, for all that you will be to yours.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
An Untitled Story: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Fourteen years later . . .
June 10th was just like every other night for Judy Miller, just like every other night of work, just like every other week, of every other month, of every other year. After 35 years as a nurse, most of which were in the Emergency Room, Judy Miller had seen it all. Ready to retire, but another 10 years to go to put her kids through college, she continued to pick up extra shifts to earn money. She worked in one of the poorest areas of Chicago which inspired the hospital to pay really well for employee retention and recruitment. Judy loved her job, but it was becoming just that--a job.
The ER was never predictable, but sometimes the patients were. Abdominal pain in bed 1, probably gas and then home soon. Flu symptoms in bed 2, isolation precautions, likely admission. A stab wound to the leg in bed 3, another "accident" which probably meant something illegal, and so on. She could read their stories in their faces before ever opening the chart. Very little shocked Judy Miller.
On June 10th, the night was very quiet, which made it quite hard to stay awake. Time ticked by very slowly and Judy found herself dreaming of her upcoming vacation. Two weeks off; one week in the bahamas, a present to herself after finalizing her divorce, and another week tending to her garden and tackling the belated spiring-cleaning she had been putting off for some time. Yes, it was a vacation quite deserved and she just had one week left of work, three 12 hour shifts and then freedom.
Judy's dreaming and planning was interrupted at 2:30 in the morning when another stretcher rolled into the ER, everyone flying around the victim in a flurry of urgency. Judy awoke from autopilot and jumped in to help. Another punk kid tyring to steal a car, probably without any idea of how to even drive one. Now, he was laying on a stretcher, bleeding after a near and potentially fatal wreck. Doctors and nurses were working around him trying to stabilize his blood pressure. He was intubated in the ambulance and a chest tube was inserted the moment he rolled through the door.
Judy could see he was young, a teenager close to her son's age. He was unconscious and covered in blood, a site she hoped, as a mother, she would never have to see. The clothes that were cut open to care for him were old and worn. She was searching his body for some identification. No wallet, no keys, no phone. How would she contact his family? She had seen so many troubled teens come into the Emergency Room with no family or a family that didn't care. She wondered what his story was.
"I can't find any identification, Dr. Abrahms."
"Check in bed 15. His friend was brought in with mild injuries."
Triaged by another nurse, Judy went to bed 15 to meet the friend that she hoped could give her some information. He was sitting on the edge of the stretcher, trying to see what was going on down the hall.
"Mr. Dean, please sit still. Your arm is dislocated and we need to set it," said the nurse, trying to coax him into compliance.
"What's going on? Is he OK? We weren't trying to hurt nobody. Oh God, please let him be OK!" He looked just as rough as the first boy, probably living on the streets, as was the norm with so many teens around there. Judy saw a scared little boy inside a teenage body, ridden with grief for his friend who may not make it. She grabbed his chart before entering the room.
"Corey? Hi, I'm Judy, one of the nurses here at St. Gregory's. I know you're worried about your friend, and so are we. We need to know his name so we can contact his family and let them know he's here." Corey looked apprehensive, torn between saving his friend from possible death or certain punishment. He looked down towards the floor, grimacing in pain, but afraid to say anything. Judy, having had to coax many a truth from her own kids, placed her hand on top of his.
"I know you're scared. I realize you're worried about getting in trouble, but saving a life is far more important. You are a young man with a bright future ahead of you. Make this the start of that future and save his life." He sighed.
"His name is Tyler Roe. He's my only friend. Please, save him." His voice was so tiny, so weak, so defeated. She knew this boy down the hall, fighting for his life, was special to someone. Maybe only one.
"Do you know how we can reach his family?"
"Nah, his mom's some kinda junkie and his old man ran off a long time ago. He ain't got nobody." Corey wiped tears from his eyes, fighting back emotions. Judy felt sadness flood her body thinking about Tyler and how alone he was. No boy should ever be alone. A knock on the glass door reminded her of the officer waiting outside.
"Now Corey, we're gonna take good care of Tyler. We'll do everything we can to save him. But you realize you're both in a lot of trouble."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There's an officer waiting outside. He's gonna ask you some questions. He'll also take fingerprints from you and Tyler. Who is an emergency contact for you that we can call?" He was hesitant. Who was responsible, or NOT very responsible, for this boy?
"Uhh, I have an aunt but I don't know her number. Her name's Carol. She works at that gas station on 5th and West Terra."
"What's her last name?"
"Don't know. She's been married so many times. I don't see her that often." Judy began to realize that neither of these boys had anyone. Where were they staying? When was the last time they ate? Did they even go to school?
The officer stepped in. "Hi Mr. Dean. I'm Officer Davis. I need to get your fingerprints and a statement. When the doctor releases you, you'll come down to the station with me."
Judy stepped out. Dr. Abrahms was still working on Tyler. He was ready to transfer him to the Intesive Care Unit in critical condition. The boy was alone, not even aware that he was near Death's door with only one person in the whole world to mourn for him. Judy saw Corey's doctor looking through his chart.
"Larry," they had worked together a long time, "the patient in room 15 really needs to be admitted. I know it's just a dislocated shoulder and some cuts and bruises, but you really need to keep him here over night.
Dr. Cook sighed. "Judy, you know the protocol. I'll keep him for a couple hours to make sure he's OK, but then I'm gonna have to discharge him."
"I know what usually happens, Larry, but he's got a special situation. His friend probably won't make it through the night. If that boy dies, he needs someone there that cares about him. Besides, this boy probably hasn't had a place to sleep in a long time. Can't you keep him here for something?" Judy pleaded.
"This isn't a homeless shelter. The hospital's already gonna eat this whole stay because I'm sure he doesn't have insurance. I'm working for free right now. And to top it all off, if we keep him here, that's one more bill his family won't be able to pay hanging over their heads. Nice try Judy." She felt her temper rising.
"Oh, come on! We've always worked together well. Do me a favor. Do this for ME, if not for any other reason. You've got kids. You've got grandkids." She glared at him with an intesity that he had seen far too many times. She was right about most things and usually got her way. He stared back but couldn't keep it for long.
Dr. Cook laid his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. He was close to retirement and had very little fight left in him. "Alright Judy. For you."
The sound of the ventilator became a rhythmic lullaby to Corey. He was no longer flooded with emotion, but numb, cold to his very bones. A nurse noticed him shivering as he stared blankly at his friend. He was admitted to the Medical Unit down the hall, but instead, sat loyally by Tyler's side with his right arm in a sling. No comfort from a family awaited him. There was no one longing for his return or safe keeping. How very alone he felt, knowing his fate was not a pleasant one. He could imagine what it would feel like, locked up with others who had true evil intentions in their hearts, not good kids who made dumb mistakes.
The nurses in the ICU hustled quietly around the unit, taking care of others in their most vulnerable state. A warm blanket was offered to him, but he refused it. Maybe when he got out of jail, or prison (he wasn't quite sure which it would be), he could do something productive with his life. He wasn't smart enough to go to college, wasn't talented enough to achieve an admired status, but maybe he could work in the kitchen, or housekeeping, or maintenance. Every department seemed to genuinely care for each patient, regardless of their role in care. Tyler couldn't ask for a better place to be, if only he could wake up and see how well everyone took care of him. Corey knew Tyler had a family somewhere, a family that should be right by their son's side.
Corey didn't feel sorry for himself. Even if he had stayed at home, his mother's abusive boyfriend would have just beat him senseless for getting in trouble. He recalled many nights, lying terrified in his "room" which was really a large closet in the apartment where his mother lived. He would pray for someone to find him, rescue him, before anyone came home. The people that would come in and out of the apartment were not the type of characters that children should ever be exposed to. His mother genuinely loved him, or so he thought, but was caught up in a life that she could not escape, to the point where she eventually shut him out, too. He was becoming a burden on her, always dragging him with her for another handout, another chance for drugs, another trick to turn to score money. He was left in the car many times, sometimes 20 degrees outside with a sheet to cover up with. He wondered how he survived. For all he hated his mother for, hated his life for, he had one memory of her from when he was very young. She was much younger then, too. Most of the memory was blurry now, but the song she sang him was not. He couldn't remember all of the song, but a line of it was forever imprinted in his mind, " . . . all the pretty little horses." In the moments he thought of that song, he remembered feeling so very loved. Even though those times gave way to the nightmare that became his life, he had one thing to hold on to. No, Corey didn't feel sorry for himself. He knew he was loved, even for just a moment, and he knew if his family were there, he would be wishing they weren't.
It was Monday morning, and as usual, James called Detective Ford at 08:00am, just like he did every week for the past fourteen years. "Anything?"
"No, James. Nothing over the weekend. But we'll keep looking. How's Susan doing? Starting her Junior year in High School this fall, isn't she?" He tried to ask about the family when he could muster the courage, but his guilt often imprisoned him. He had found Ian's clothes with blood on them years ago and was very sure the little boy was gone, but there was no hard evidence to support his assumption. Still, he searched the databases for missing persons, deceased persons, bodies found, people arrested, hoping a resolution would one day come.
"Yeah, Susan's going on her third year of high school. It seems like she just started kindergarten yesterday." He chuckled at the memory of her blonde pigtails and Toy Story lunch box.
"Well, that's good. She's a good girl," an awkward pause,"well, take care James."
"Alright, Ralph. Hopefully, I'll talk to you later today." It was the same ending every week. James hoped he would hear something any minute. He never would believe that Ian was gone, even though Annie had given up long ago. There was a feeling he couldn't shake, a yearning that wouldn't yield. His son was out there, and until there was a body, no one would convince him otherwise.
Judy Miller was back to work. She was relieved to find that Tyler was still alive and Corey actually did have a medical reason to stay, he had developed a high fever. He was no longer allowed to stay by Tyler's bedside, but was instructed to stay in his hospital room. Judy went to see him. She had brought clothes for him that her son no longer wanted, some magazines, a portable DVD player and some movies. She knew nothing would go missing since he had no visitors and would be escorted to the city jail on discharge to await the hearing for his crime. Still, even if he ran off with everything, she wouldn't be upset. An affection was growing in her heart for this boy she barely knew. The nurturing side of her had wild ideas of taking him home to live with her, raising him to be a responsible member of society. It must be the nurse in her that cares about total strangers so much that she would alter her life to help them. This story was not uncommon, yet unusual all the same. It gave new insight into her career, new life into her job.
Tyler was not doing well. There was swelling on the brain that the doctors were trying to relieve. He was still on the ventilator, although, that was to be expected after less than 24 hours of his critical admission. He was on multiple medications to support his blood pressure and had recieved a few units of blood already. Judy knew the only thing she could do for him was to comfort him, so brought a blanket that her mother had made for the Children's Home and layed it over his bed sheets. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Fight, Tyler," she whispered in his ear. She stared at him intently, looking for a sign, but there was none. He needed a miracle, one that Judy found herself praying for. Maybe there would be someone that could save this boy, maybe there was chance for him that he hadn't had before. Maybe.
It was midnight, late to be getting a visitor, but the news was much too urgent. The air was comfortable and cool after a long hot day. The wood paneling in his office could feel like prison bars, but he held himself captive in his cell until he was sure he had the answers. Now, it was off to deliver a rare gift that he was now responsible for. It was darker than usual outside, the moon hidden behind the overcast sky. The breeze was inconsistent, gusting around him, then settling into an eerie quiet. On most nights, this type of setting would have given him the creeps, but he hardly noticed.
He approached the front door of the large farmhouse. It was a beautifully renovated home that was lucky enough to be purchased by a man with lots of money. The front door was painted red, typical for this area. The wrap-around porch creeked as he ascended the stairs. He hoped that no one would greet him with a gun, or any type of hostility for that matter. The knock on the door was quiet at first, but he waited several minutes with no response. He tried to be patient, but this was no time for formailities, he decided. His fist pounded the front door until he saw a light turn on through the front window.
The homeowner opened the front door. It took nothing but a short silence for reality to set in. There was no time to waste. There may not be enough time at all.
Fourteen years later . . .
June 10th was just like every other night for Judy Miller, just like every other night of work, just like every other week, of every other month, of every other year. After 35 years as a nurse, most of which were in the Emergency Room, Judy Miller had seen it all. Ready to retire, but another 10 years to go to put her kids through college, she continued to pick up extra shifts to earn money. She worked in one of the poorest areas of Chicago which inspired the hospital to pay really well for employee retention and recruitment. Judy loved her job, but it was becoming just that--a job.
The ER was never predictable, but sometimes the patients were. Abdominal pain in bed 1, probably gas and then home soon. Flu symptoms in bed 2, isolation precautions, likely admission. A stab wound to the leg in bed 3, another "accident" which probably meant something illegal, and so on. She could read their stories in their faces before ever opening the chart. Very little shocked Judy Miller.
On June 10th, the night was very quiet, which made it quite hard to stay awake. Time ticked by very slowly and Judy found herself dreaming of her upcoming vacation. Two weeks off; one week in the bahamas, a present to herself after finalizing her divorce, and another week tending to her garden and tackling the belated spiring-cleaning she had been putting off for some time. Yes, it was a vacation quite deserved and she just had one week left of work, three 12 hour shifts and then freedom.
Judy's dreaming and planning was interrupted at 2:30 in the morning when another stretcher rolled into the ER, everyone flying around the victim in a flurry of urgency. Judy awoke from autopilot and jumped in to help. Another punk kid tyring to steal a car, probably without any idea of how to even drive one. Now, he was laying on a stretcher, bleeding after a near and potentially fatal wreck. Doctors and nurses were working around him trying to stabilize his blood pressure. He was intubated in the ambulance and a chest tube was inserted the moment he rolled through the door.
Judy could see he was young, a teenager close to her son's age. He was unconscious and covered in blood, a site she hoped, as a mother, she would never have to see. The clothes that were cut open to care for him were old and worn. She was searching his body for some identification. No wallet, no keys, no phone. How would she contact his family? She had seen so many troubled teens come into the Emergency Room with no family or a family that didn't care. She wondered what his story was.
"I can't find any identification, Dr. Abrahms."
"Check in bed 15. His friend was brought in with mild injuries."
Triaged by another nurse, Judy went to bed 15 to meet the friend that she hoped could give her some information. He was sitting on the edge of the stretcher, trying to see what was going on down the hall.
"Mr. Dean, please sit still. Your arm is dislocated and we need to set it," said the nurse, trying to coax him into compliance.
"What's going on? Is he OK? We weren't trying to hurt nobody. Oh God, please let him be OK!" He looked just as rough as the first boy, probably living on the streets, as was the norm with so many teens around there. Judy saw a scared little boy inside a teenage body, ridden with grief for his friend who may not make it. She grabbed his chart before entering the room.
"Corey? Hi, I'm Judy, one of the nurses here at St. Gregory's. I know you're worried about your friend, and so are we. We need to know his name so we can contact his family and let them know he's here." Corey looked apprehensive, torn between saving his friend from possible death or certain punishment. He looked down towards the floor, grimacing in pain, but afraid to say anything. Judy, having had to coax many a truth from her own kids, placed her hand on top of his.
"I know you're scared. I realize you're worried about getting in trouble, but saving a life is far more important. You are a young man with a bright future ahead of you. Make this the start of that future and save his life." He sighed.
"His name is Tyler Roe. He's my only friend. Please, save him." His voice was so tiny, so weak, so defeated. She knew this boy down the hall, fighting for his life, was special to someone. Maybe only one.
"Do you know how we can reach his family?"
"Nah, his mom's some kinda junkie and his old man ran off a long time ago. He ain't got nobody." Corey wiped tears from his eyes, fighting back emotions. Judy felt sadness flood her body thinking about Tyler and how alone he was. No boy should ever be alone. A knock on the glass door reminded her of the officer waiting outside.
"Now Corey, we're gonna take good care of Tyler. We'll do everything we can to save him. But you realize you're both in a lot of trouble."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There's an officer waiting outside. He's gonna ask you some questions. He'll also take fingerprints from you and Tyler. Who is an emergency contact for you that we can call?" He was hesitant. Who was responsible, or NOT very responsible, for this boy?
"Uhh, I have an aunt but I don't know her number. Her name's Carol. She works at that gas station on 5th and West Terra."
"What's her last name?"
"Don't know. She's been married so many times. I don't see her that often." Judy began to realize that neither of these boys had anyone. Where were they staying? When was the last time they ate? Did they even go to school?
The officer stepped in. "Hi Mr. Dean. I'm Officer Davis. I need to get your fingerprints and a statement. When the doctor releases you, you'll come down to the station with me."
Judy stepped out. Dr. Abrahms was still working on Tyler. He was ready to transfer him to the Intesive Care Unit in critical condition. The boy was alone, not even aware that he was near Death's door with only one person in the whole world to mourn for him. Judy saw Corey's doctor looking through his chart.
"Larry," they had worked together a long time, "the patient in room 15 really needs to be admitted. I know it's just a dislocated shoulder and some cuts and bruises, but you really need to keep him here over night.
Dr. Cook sighed. "Judy, you know the protocol. I'll keep him for a couple hours to make sure he's OK, but then I'm gonna have to discharge him."
"I know what usually happens, Larry, but he's got a special situation. His friend probably won't make it through the night. If that boy dies, he needs someone there that cares about him. Besides, this boy probably hasn't had a place to sleep in a long time. Can't you keep him here for something?" Judy pleaded.
"This isn't a homeless shelter. The hospital's already gonna eat this whole stay because I'm sure he doesn't have insurance. I'm working for free right now. And to top it all off, if we keep him here, that's one more bill his family won't be able to pay hanging over their heads. Nice try Judy." She felt her temper rising.
"Oh, come on! We've always worked together well. Do me a favor. Do this for ME, if not for any other reason. You've got kids. You've got grandkids." She glared at him with an intesity that he had seen far too many times. She was right about most things and usually got her way. He stared back but couldn't keep it for long.
Dr. Cook laid his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. He was close to retirement and had very little fight left in him. "Alright Judy. For you."
The sound of the ventilator became a rhythmic lullaby to Corey. He was no longer flooded with emotion, but numb, cold to his very bones. A nurse noticed him shivering as he stared blankly at his friend. He was admitted to the Medical Unit down the hall, but instead, sat loyally by Tyler's side with his right arm in a sling. No comfort from a family awaited him. There was no one longing for his return or safe keeping. How very alone he felt, knowing his fate was not a pleasant one. He could imagine what it would feel like, locked up with others who had true evil intentions in their hearts, not good kids who made dumb mistakes.
The nurses in the ICU hustled quietly around the unit, taking care of others in their most vulnerable state. A warm blanket was offered to him, but he refused it. Maybe when he got out of jail, or prison (he wasn't quite sure which it would be), he could do something productive with his life. He wasn't smart enough to go to college, wasn't talented enough to achieve an admired status, but maybe he could work in the kitchen, or housekeeping, or maintenance. Every department seemed to genuinely care for each patient, regardless of their role in care. Tyler couldn't ask for a better place to be, if only he could wake up and see how well everyone took care of him. Corey knew Tyler had a family somewhere, a family that should be right by their son's side.
Corey didn't feel sorry for himself. Even if he had stayed at home, his mother's abusive boyfriend would have just beat him senseless for getting in trouble. He recalled many nights, lying terrified in his "room" which was really a large closet in the apartment where his mother lived. He would pray for someone to find him, rescue him, before anyone came home. The people that would come in and out of the apartment were not the type of characters that children should ever be exposed to. His mother genuinely loved him, or so he thought, but was caught up in a life that she could not escape, to the point where she eventually shut him out, too. He was becoming a burden on her, always dragging him with her for another handout, another chance for drugs, another trick to turn to score money. He was left in the car many times, sometimes 20 degrees outside with a sheet to cover up with. He wondered how he survived. For all he hated his mother for, hated his life for, he had one memory of her from when he was very young. She was much younger then, too. Most of the memory was blurry now, but the song she sang him was not. He couldn't remember all of the song, but a line of it was forever imprinted in his mind, " . . . all the pretty little horses." In the moments he thought of that song, he remembered feeling so very loved. Even though those times gave way to the nightmare that became his life, he had one thing to hold on to. No, Corey didn't feel sorry for himself. He knew he was loved, even for just a moment, and he knew if his family were there, he would be wishing they weren't.
It was Monday morning, and as usual, James called Detective Ford at 08:00am, just like he did every week for the past fourteen years. "Anything?"
"No, James. Nothing over the weekend. But we'll keep looking. How's Susan doing? Starting her Junior year in High School this fall, isn't she?" He tried to ask about the family when he could muster the courage, but his guilt often imprisoned him. He had found Ian's clothes with blood on them years ago and was very sure the little boy was gone, but there was no hard evidence to support his assumption. Still, he searched the databases for missing persons, deceased persons, bodies found, people arrested, hoping a resolution would one day come.
"Yeah, Susan's going on her third year of high school. It seems like she just started kindergarten yesterday." He chuckled at the memory of her blonde pigtails and Toy Story lunch box.
"Well, that's good. She's a good girl," an awkward pause,"well, take care James."
"Alright, Ralph. Hopefully, I'll talk to you later today." It was the same ending every week. James hoped he would hear something any minute. He never would believe that Ian was gone, even though Annie had given up long ago. There was a feeling he couldn't shake, a yearning that wouldn't yield. His son was out there, and until there was a body, no one would convince him otherwise.
Judy Miller was back to work. She was relieved to find that Tyler was still alive and Corey actually did have a medical reason to stay, he had developed a high fever. He was no longer allowed to stay by Tyler's bedside, but was instructed to stay in his hospital room. Judy went to see him. She had brought clothes for him that her son no longer wanted, some magazines, a portable DVD player and some movies. She knew nothing would go missing since he had no visitors and would be escorted to the city jail on discharge to await the hearing for his crime. Still, even if he ran off with everything, she wouldn't be upset. An affection was growing in her heart for this boy she barely knew. The nurturing side of her had wild ideas of taking him home to live with her, raising him to be a responsible member of society. It must be the nurse in her that cares about total strangers so much that she would alter her life to help them. This story was not uncommon, yet unusual all the same. It gave new insight into her career, new life into her job.
Tyler was not doing well. There was swelling on the brain that the doctors were trying to relieve. He was still on the ventilator, although, that was to be expected after less than 24 hours of his critical admission. He was on multiple medications to support his blood pressure and had recieved a few units of blood already. Judy knew the only thing she could do for him was to comfort him, so brought a blanket that her mother had made for the Children's Home and layed it over his bed sheets. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Fight, Tyler," she whispered in his ear. She stared at him intently, looking for a sign, but there was none. He needed a miracle, one that Judy found herself praying for. Maybe there would be someone that could save this boy, maybe there was chance for him that he hadn't had before. Maybe.
It was midnight, late to be getting a visitor, but the news was much too urgent. The air was comfortable and cool after a long hot day. The wood paneling in his office could feel like prison bars, but he held himself captive in his cell until he was sure he had the answers. Now, it was off to deliver a rare gift that he was now responsible for. It was darker than usual outside, the moon hidden behind the overcast sky. The breeze was inconsistent, gusting around him, then settling into an eerie quiet. On most nights, this type of setting would have given him the creeps, but he hardly noticed.
He approached the front door of the large farmhouse. It was a beautifully renovated home that was lucky enough to be purchased by a man with lots of money. The front door was painted red, typical for this area. The wrap-around porch creeked as he ascended the stairs. He hoped that no one would greet him with a gun, or any type of hostility for that matter. The knock on the door was quiet at first, but he waited several minutes with no response. He tried to be patient, but this was no time for formailities, he decided. His fist pounded the front door until he saw a light turn on through the front window.
The homeowner opened the front door. It took nothing but a short silence for reality to set in. There was no time to waste. There may not be enough time at all.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
An Untitled Story: Chapter 1
[I am trying my hand at a story. I have written parts of stories before but have rarely finished one, so we shall see how long it takes me to complete it. I'll work on it one chapter at a time. Patience, please:)]
Chapter 1
"Ian! Time for bed! I told you no more coloring! Ahh!" Two year old Ian sat on the kitchen floor, his freshly showered little body now tattooed with purple marker that also made its mark on the borrowed kitchen table. Annie tucked strands of her dark brown hair behind her ears and smiled with surrender to his adorable face. Her frustration melted as he babbled to himself and smiled with each nonsensical word. She scooped him up into her arms and carried him into the living room.
James rocked Ian's twin sister, Susan, in his arms, resting his head against her blonde hair while she slept, peacefully cradled. He lifted her gently and carried her to her bed. She was the tamer of the two, but not a smidge less fun. He tucked her tiny body into her country, quilted, blanket that matched her brother's in the bed across the room. She sighed for a moment and opened her sleepy eyes. "Go back to sleep, Susie." She did just that, with the sweetest smile crossing her face.
Laughter erupted from the living room. James entered just in time for one of their favorite bed time routines--kissy sandwich. He barreled aross the living room and joined in the kissing. Annie gave quick kisses to the right side of Ian's neck, while James attacked on the left. Ian squeled with delight. His precious face was red and he panted with exhaustion when they finally stopped. Then, they all made the quiet trek into the twins' room and tucked Ian into bed. He didnt put up a fight, but grabbed his favorite two teddy bears and snuggled in. Annie kissed James on the cheek as they stood, adoring their children.
Annie remembered the long struggle to concieve. She remembered praying for a miracle nearly every night. She thought of the defeat each month as they realized their dreams of children were slipping through their fingers. Then the day came, after five years of trying, when her doctor told her that they would no longer have to suffer--their prayers were answered. Trusting in His divine intervention was long and arduous but ultimately fulfilling. Their sacrifice only made them cherish both children that much more.
"Let's go to bed," James whispered in her ear. They backed out slowly and quietly headed towards their room. They relished in each other's touch. They marveled at the blessing of each other. They fell asleep, uninhibited next to each other, drifting in and out of pleasant dreams.
The alarm clock went off entirley too early. Annie dragged herself out of bed, not wanting to get up, but knowing that getting to church on time, utilmately, depended on her. She shook James gently awake, reminding him that they had just an hour to get themselves and their two children ready. In just a matter of seconds, she was in the shower.
James rose slowly. He was not a morning person, but that didnt stop him from getting out of bed. He preferred his college days when he could sleep until noon and stay out late, but had settled into his domestic life very well. He loved the freedom of his youth, but was lured into his current life by the beauty he married and the blessings in the room next door. He was happy for another day off before he returned to work at the factory. It wasn't his dream job, but he hoped to one day open his own hardware store. He saved money much better than he spent it and they lived very humbly in a small two bedroom ranch house. His dream for his own business became even more appealing with the thought of his very own son to take over one day.
He pulled on his jeans and headed next door to get the kids ready for church. He opened the door slowly, trying not to wake them right away. He recalled the many mornings when he would crawl into bed with one of the children and shower them with kisses. His favorite mornings were when he found them snuggled together in the same bed.
Susie was sleeping, sprawled out on top of her covers. The only piece of clothing that managed to make it through the night was her diaper. Her blonde curls arranged around her head like a mane of gold. He smiled to himself. Ian, however, was not in his bed. Often, when James and Annie would check on the children, Ian would have crawled out of his bed and found an obscure place to sleep that could only be comfortable to a sleepwalker. James looked under the bed, he looked in the closet, he looked under Susan's bed with no success.
He woke Susan up. "Susie, where's Ian?" She sat up sleepily and looked around. She lifted her covers up and put them back down.
"Dun know. Gone."
James felt a twinge of panic, but was not one to over-react. He picked up Susie and went hurridly to the shower. "Annie, did you get Ian up this morning? Is he with you?" He heard the water shut off.
"What's that, babe? I didn't hear you."
"I asked if Ian was in the shower with you." She opened the door to the bathroom.
"No, Ian's not with me. He probably crawled under the bed last night, did you look there?" She was toweling off and grabbing for robe at the same time. Her long dark hair was dripping as she walked into the nursery. "Did you leave the window open last night?" Her breathe was now caught in her throat as she began to imagine the worst.
"No. You know I would never leave a window open at night with the kids in the house." Yet, the bedroom window was open and curtains moved ever so gently to the subtle breeze. "Ian! Ian!" He put Susan down and ran outside. "Ian! Ian!"
Annie continued looking inside. She picked up the phone and called her father who lived only a few miles from their house. Her arms and legs were shaking and numb at the same time. The vice-grip on her chest tightened, sqeezing the panic to the surface as she felt like she was hyperventilating. James ran in the house and grabbed the keys to his old truck. "Annie, call 9-1-1!
Eught hours later, Annie sat, numb on the couch with Susie playing within an arms reach of her. The search party was looking for Ian. The police, neighbors, a missing person's unit, family, and James were all out looking for her precious, two-year old son. The media had already descended on their house. Annie had pleaded for the safe return of her son without the presence of James who could not be torn away from the search.
"Mrs. Thomas, are you sure you don't want to send Susie to your mother's house for a while? I think all the stress of this situation isn't good for her," Detective Ford pushed. He was a father himself, with four children from the ages of 13 to five. He couldn't imagine losing a child and had been involved in many cases with very sad endings. He was determined to find this boy and re-unite him with his parents. His instincts were telling him that the parents were not involved, but he had to pursue every angle, a tactic which exhausted Annie for the last three hours.
" I just can't leave her. What if someone takes her from my mom's house? I can't lose her, too. No, she's gonna stay right here with me where I can keep her safe." Something I couldn't do for my own son, she thought to herself. She was tortured over and over again. How did I not hear anything? She always thought if someone were to break in, that she would hear them. She awoke to every noise, but could not understand why this one time was different. She felt like she had failed, like she was solely responsible for anything that happened to him. What's worse was, they were pretty sure he was kidnapped and had a suspicion of who it was.
Friday, Annie had taken both children to the store. They were sitting in the shopping cart, managing the groceries and playing very well together. Annie was in the produce section, checking out tomatoes, when a woman in her late thirties approached them. She was rough around the edges, the smell of cigarette smoke hung heavy on her clothes. "What cuties! How old are they?" she asked in her raspy voice.
"They're two and a half." Annie smiled back at the woman. She noticed her faded jean jacket, her worn, black t-shirt, and her unfixed dirty blonde hair that hung limply on her shoulders. Annie felt sorry for the woman who obviously had some rough times. Always tenderhearted, she was as pleasant as could be to most every stranger.
"Are the kids well-behaved?"
"Most times," Annie chuckled. "Susie listens very well, but Ian can be a real handful! There's never a dull moment, that's for sure."
"It must be nice to have two. I only had the one boy. I tell ya, though, sounds like the boy just needs a heavy hand to settle him straight. That's what I did with my boy." The woman eyed Ian curiously. She didn't pay much attention to Susan.
"Well, we're pretty strict with him. He just has the energy of my husband, that's all. He really is a good kid." The conversation was a little uncomfortable. Annie didn't want to ask what happened to the woman's son, but she had an uneasy feeling and began looking for an exit. "It was nice meeting you, but we really have to get home."
"And where's home?" the stranger asked.
"Just a little ways away. Have a nice day." Annie walked away quickly to another aisle. And through the store she noticed the woman following at a distance. Even when she was loading the groceries in the car, the woman was staring across the parking lot. Annie took the long way home, just as a protective instinct, and recalled the entire bizarre incident to James that evening. He shrugged it off, but Annie stored it in the back of her mind.
The detectives were investigating this woman, who had been remembered by the store clerks. Video cameras were present, but in this small town, they didnt actually record anything, more for looks. A sketch artist was brought in and Annie was able to give a description, but there were no pictures in the police database that matched the mysterious woman. They searched for local women who had lost a son within the last twenty years, but still, no match to this woman.
Annie's worst fear was that this woman took her son and beat him to death the moment he didn't listen. The woman's comment about a heavy hand rang over and over in her ears, like a song that gets stuck in a person's head. Of course, that wasn't her only fear. Her mind raced with worst-case-scenerios.
Twenty-four hours later. No new information. Annie did not sleep all night. Susie slept next to her mother on the couch, with Annie's arms around her. James was forced to return to the house by the detectives. He looked defeated and helpless, a side of James that Annie did not recognize. She wanted to cry and never stop, but the tears wouldn't come.
James felt dead inside. He sat next to Annie on the couch, touching, but not really. He was supposed to protect his family and now realized what an extreme failure he was. He vomitted more times than he could count. He couldn't stop imagining how scared Ian must be. Would he ever be able to give his son another "kissy-sandwich" again? Was his son crying and calling out his father's name? He ran to the bathroom again.
He was amazed that a total stranger could break into his house without him knowing. He thought his house was secure, a safe-haven for his beloved family. According to the detectives, the kidnapper was able to pry the old window open with a crowbar and sneak Ian out. He must have been heavily sleeping and not even noticed someone else was holding him. Poor Ian. James prayed himself to exhaustion and now felt only resentment.
He remembered just two days ago, when he took Ian for a ride in his truck. The little boy pointed out everything he saw, trying out the new words he seemed to learn every day. His smile was infectious and his laughter, irresistable. His blonde hair blew in the wind with the truck windows down. James tried to hold onto that moment as long as possible. It tethered him to sanity, but just barely. When would this nightmare end?
Day three. No signs of Ian, dead or alive. Annie tried to keep her composure. Her mother had taken Susie from Annie's arms and took her to her house. Annie didn't want to let her daughter go, but she recognized her inablility to parent her daughter in her present state. She was cleaning her house, frantically, preparing it for Ian's return home. She was sure they would find him, lost, starved in the woods, but alive. She was sure they would rescue him from a run-down shack, bruised and beaten, but alive. She just knew that she would hold him close to her chest once more and she wanted to be ready for him.
James was out looking for his son. Detective Ford had ordered him to stay in the house, but finally relented under the condition that they search together. He retraced every step, looked in every creek bed, every ramshackled house, every barn, every abandoned car. He couldn't get out of his head the thought that Ian was just right around the corner, searching for his father, counting on his father to rescue him.
It was funny how their prayer requests had changed over the last few days. First, it was bring Ian home safe. Please don't let anyone hurt him. But as day three rolled around, their requests became more basic. Please let them find him alive, no matter what torture he has faced. Please, don't let him be suffering. If he's dead, let it have been quick. Please don't let him suffer anymore. Don't let him be scared.
Week one. Ian was still missing. The camera crews had since left. Cadavar dogs had been brought in to search for his tiny body. Annie felt hope slipping through her fingers. A deep depression began to settle in her soul. The absence of everyone left her feeling hollow, alone. Did anyone care for her little boy anymore? She pleaded with the detective to speak to the media on last time. She hated the first press conference because she didnt know what to say without sounding cliche.` She wanted to be genuine, say something that would truly touch the heart of the kidnapper. Something that would bring that person to tears and remorse, offering over her son. But the news moved on to another story, another victim, another child, leaving her child forgotton. She re-submitted his photo to every newspaper in the state, every news station, every church bulletin. What more could she do?
James felt disconnected. His precious little boy that he had prayed for so long, was taken from him, ripped from his home. How could he heal from that? He searched every day. He prayed every day. He cried every day. He knew the dogs were a bad sign and he knew that meant that the detectives thought hope was lost as well. He couldn't give up on his little boy. He refused to believe that his answered prayer had been overcome by a nightmare.
Poor Susan asked several times a day, "Ian? Gone." She had lost her best friend and partner in crime. She knew her mommy and daddy were sad but could only understand in a two-year old capacity. She handled grief in her own way. She played quietly by herself and when she could, curled up on her parents' laps. She picked up a habit that she never before had--sucking her thumb. She was closely gaurded by both parents and no longer slept alone in her bed.
The community wept for the lost little boy. A local church offered the Thomas' a burial plot and a service for their son until his body was found. An offer to which Annie replied, "Don't call here again." The local grocery store now had tape in their survelience cameras, a little too late. The gas stations and stores and businesses kept Ian's picture up in their windows.
The time passed slowly. Annie and James grew further apart. Most people thought they blamed each other for Ian, but in fact they blamed themselves, so much so that they could hardly stand to look at each other. Both felt guilty and like they had let the othe down. They contemplated divorce, but felt like Susan had been through enough. So they stayed. They slept in the same bed, but not together. They lived in the same house, but only to keep a false image of a happy family for the daughter they adored most in the world. And time passed slowly.
James called Detective Ford every Monday morning asking for updates. The answer was always the same, but he had hope. As the weeks turned to months and then to years, different tips were called in that led to nowhere, bodies of children were found that weren't Ian. Other families lost their loved ones, other tragedies happened, and Ian was forgotten by most.
James threw himself into his work. Annie quit her job at the library and became the secretary and book keeper for James' business. They worked as often as possible to keep themselves distracted. Susan was always by their side. Never was the intention for her to be an only child. They wanted more children after the twins, but since Ian, could not bring themselves to come together. The silence and emptiness dragged on. The holes were temorarily fixed by different successes and of course, Susan.
Annie was sure that James blocked Ian out as much as possible. But she couldn't. She often thought of his contagious smile. She remembered him curled up in her arms. She remembered reading his favorite story to him and singing his favorite song. She didn't think he was alive anymore. She didn't feel his connection. She was his mother and surely would feel some glimmer of hope if he were out there. Of the many things she regretted, one opportunity she wished she would have had was to hold her child in her arms one more time. She wouldn't have cared that he was dead, lifeless as she held him, just so long as she got to hold him at all. But, like so many agonizing wishes, this one would not be granted either.
Time passed, years passed, but little Ian stayed suspended in time, forever a two-year old child.
Chapter 1
"Ian! Time for bed! I told you no more coloring! Ahh!" Two year old Ian sat on the kitchen floor, his freshly showered little body now tattooed with purple marker that also made its mark on the borrowed kitchen table. Annie tucked strands of her dark brown hair behind her ears and smiled with surrender to his adorable face. Her frustration melted as he babbled to himself and smiled with each nonsensical word. She scooped him up into her arms and carried him into the living room.
James rocked Ian's twin sister, Susan, in his arms, resting his head against her blonde hair while she slept, peacefully cradled. He lifted her gently and carried her to her bed. She was the tamer of the two, but not a smidge less fun. He tucked her tiny body into her country, quilted, blanket that matched her brother's in the bed across the room. She sighed for a moment and opened her sleepy eyes. "Go back to sleep, Susie." She did just that, with the sweetest smile crossing her face.
Laughter erupted from the living room. James entered just in time for one of their favorite bed time routines--kissy sandwich. He barreled aross the living room and joined in the kissing. Annie gave quick kisses to the right side of Ian's neck, while James attacked on the left. Ian squeled with delight. His precious face was red and he panted with exhaustion when they finally stopped. Then, they all made the quiet trek into the twins' room and tucked Ian into bed. He didnt put up a fight, but grabbed his favorite two teddy bears and snuggled in. Annie kissed James on the cheek as they stood, adoring their children.
Annie remembered the long struggle to concieve. She remembered praying for a miracle nearly every night. She thought of the defeat each month as they realized their dreams of children were slipping through their fingers. Then the day came, after five years of trying, when her doctor told her that they would no longer have to suffer--their prayers were answered. Trusting in His divine intervention was long and arduous but ultimately fulfilling. Their sacrifice only made them cherish both children that much more.
"Let's go to bed," James whispered in her ear. They backed out slowly and quietly headed towards their room. They relished in each other's touch. They marveled at the blessing of each other. They fell asleep, uninhibited next to each other, drifting in and out of pleasant dreams.
The alarm clock went off entirley too early. Annie dragged herself out of bed, not wanting to get up, but knowing that getting to church on time, utilmately, depended on her. She shook James gently awake, reminding him that they had just an hour to get themselves and their two children ready. In just a matter of seconds, she was in the shower.
James rose slowly. He was not a morning person, but that didnt stop him from getting out of bed. He preferred his college days when he could sleep until noon and stay out late, but had settled into his domestic life very well. He loved the freedom of his youth, but was lured into his current life by the beauty he married and the blessings in the room next door. He was happy for another day off before he returned to work at the factory. It wasn't his dream job, but he hoped to one day open his own hardware store. He saved money much better than he spent it and they lived very humbly in a small two bedroom ranch house. His dream for his own business became even more appealing with the thought of his very own son to take over one day.
He pulled on his jeans and headed next door to get the kids ready for church. He opened the door slowly, trying not to wake them right away. He recalled the many mornings when he would crawl into bed with one of the children and shower them with kisses. His favorite mornings were when he found them snuggled together in the same bed.
Susie was sleeping, sprawled out on top of her covers. The only piece of clothing that managed to make it through the night was her diaper. Her blonde curls arranged around her head like a mane of gold. He smiled to himself. Ian, however, was not in his bed. Often, when James and Annie would check on the children, Ian would have crawled out of his bed and found an obscure place to sleep that could only be comfortable to a sleepwalker. James looked under the bed, he looked in the closet, he looked under Susan's bed with no success.
He woke Susan up. "Susie, where's Ian?" She sat up sleepily and looked around. She lifted her covers up and put them back down.
"Dun know. Gone."
James felt a twinge of panic, but was not one to over-react. He picked up Susie and went hurridly to the shower. "Annie, did you get Ian up this morning? Is he with you?" He heard the water shut off.
"What's that, babe? I didn't hear you."
"I asked if Ian was in the shower with you." She opened the door to the bathroom.
"No, Ian's not with me. He probably crawled under the bed last night, did you look there?" She was toweling off and grabbing for robe at the same time. Her long dark hair was dripping as she walked into the nursery. "Did you leave the window open last night?" Her breathe was now caught in her throat as she began to imagine the worst.
"No. You know I would never leave a window open at night with the kids in the house." Yet, the bedroom window was open and curtains moved ever so gently to the subtle breeze. "Ian! Ian!" He put Susan down and ran outside. "Ian! Ian!"
Annie continued looking inside. She picked up the phone and called her father who lived only a few miles from their house. Her arms and legs were shaking and numb at the same time. The vice-grip on her chest tightened, sqeezing the panic to the surface as she felt like she was hyperventilating. James ran in the house and grabbed the keys to his old truck. "Annie, call 9-1-1!
Eught hours later, Annie sat, numb on the couch with Susie playing within an arms reach of her. The search party was looking for Ian. The police, neighbors, a missing person's unit, family, and James were all out looking for her precious, two-year old son. The media had already descended on their house. Annie had pleaded for the safe return of her son without the presence of James who could not be torn away from the search.
"Mrs. Thomas, are you sure you don't want to send Susie to your mother's house for a while? I think all the stress of this situation isn't good for her," Detective Ford pushed. He was a father himself, with four children from the ages of 13 to five. He couldn't imagine losing a child and had been involved in many cases with very sad endings. He was determined to find this boy and re-unite him with his parents. His instincts were telling him that the parents were not involved, but he had to pursue every angle, a tactic which exhausted Annie for the last three hours.
" I just can't leave her. What if someone takes her from my mom's house? I can't lose her, too. No, she's gonna stay right here with me where I can keep her safe." Something I couldn't do for my own son, she thought to herself. She was tortured over and over again. How did I not hear anything? She always thought if someone were to break in, that she would hear them. She awoke to every noise, but could not understand why this one time was different. She felt like she had failed, like she was solely responsible for anything that happened to him. What's worse was, they were pretty sure he was kidnapped and had a suspicion of who it was.
Friday, Annie had taken both children to the store. They were sitting in the shopping cart, managing the groceries and playing very well together. Annie was in the produce section, checking out tomatoes, when a woman in her late thirties approached them. She was rough around the edges, the smell of cigarette smoke hung heavy on her clothes. "What cuties! How old are they?" she asked in her raspy voice.
"They're two and a half." Annie smiled back at the woman. She noticed her faded jean jacket, her worn, black t-shirt, and her unfixed dirty blonde hair that hung limply on her shoulders. Annie felt sorry for the woman who obviously had some rough times. Always tenderhearted, she was as pleasant as could be to most every stranger.
"Are the kids well-behaved?"
"Most times," Annie chuckled. "Susie listens very well, but Ian can be a real handful! There's never a dull moment, that's for sure."
"It must be nice to have two. I only had the one boy. I tell ya, though, sounds like the boy just needs a heavy hand to settle him straight. That's what I did with my boy." The woman eyed Ian curiously. She didn't pay much attention to Susan.
"Well, we're pretty strict with him. He just has the energy of my husband, that's all. He really is a good kid." The conversation was a little uncomfortable. Annie didn't want to ask what happened to the woman's son, but she had an uneasy feeling and began looking for an exit. "It was nice meeting you, but we really have to get home."
"And where's home?" the stranger asked.
"Just a little ways away. Have a nice day." Annie walked away quickly to another aisle. And through the store she noticed the woman following at a distance. Even when she was loading the groceries in the car, the woman was staring across the parking lot. Annie took the long way home, just as a protective instinct, and recalled the entire bizarre incident to James that evening. He shrugged it off, but Annie stored it in the back of her mind.
The detectives were investigating this woman, who had been remembered by the store clerks. Video cameras were present, but in this small town, they didnt actually record anything, more for looks. A sketch artist was brought in and Annie was able to give a description, but there were no pictures in the police database that matched the mysterious woman. They searched for local women who had lost a son within the last twenty years, but still, no match to this woman.
Annie's worst fear was that this woman took her son and beat him to death the moment he didn't listen. The woman's comment about a heavy hand rang over and over in her ears, like a song that gets stuck in a person's head. Of course, that wasn't her only fear. Her mind raced with worst-case-scenerios.
Twenty-four hours later. No new information. Annie did not sleep all night. Susie slept next to her mother on the couch, with Annie's arms around her. James was forced to return to the house by the detectives. He looked defeated and helpless, a side of James that Annie did not recognize. She wanted to cry and never stop, but the tears wouldn't come.
James felt dead inside. He sat next to Annie on the couch, touching, but not really. He was supposed to protect his family and now realized what an extreme failure he was. He vomitted more times than he could count. He couldn't stop imagining how scared Ian must be. Would he ever be able to give his son another "kissy-sandwich" again? Was his son crying and calling out his father's name? He ran to the bathroom again.
He was amazed that a total stranger could break into his house without him knowing. He thought his house was secure, a safe-haven for his beloved family. According to the detectives, the kidnapper was able to pry the old window open with a crowbar and sneak Ian out. He must have been heavily sleeping and not even noticed someone else was holding him. Poor Ian. James prayed himself to exhaustion and now felt only resentment.
He remembered just two days ago, when he took Ian for a ride in his truck. The little boy pointed out everything he saw, trying out the new words he seemed to learn every day. His smile was infectious and his laughter, irresistable. His blonde hair blew in the wind with the truck windows down. James tried to hold onto that moment as long as possible. It tethered him to sanity, but just barely. When would this nightmare end?
Day three. No signs of Ian, dead or alive. Annie tried to keep her composure. Her mother had taken Susie from Annie's arms and took her to her house. Annie didn't want to let her daughter go, but she recognized her inablility to parent her daughter in her present state. She was cleaning her house, frantically, preparing it for Ian's return home. She was sure they would find him, lost, starved in the woods, but alive. She was sure they would rescue him from a run-down shack, bruised and beaten, but alive. She just knew that she would hold him close to her chest once more and she wanted to be ready for him.
James was out looking for his son. Detective Ford had ordered him to stay in the house, but finally relented under the condition that they search together. He retraced every step, looked in every creek bed, every ramshackled house, every barn, every abandoned car. He couldn't get out of his head the thought that Ian was just right around the corner, searching for his father, counting on his father to rescue him.
It was funny how their prayer requests had changed over the last few days. First, it was bring Ian home safe. Please don't let anyone hurt him. But as day three rolled around, their requests became more basic. Please let them find him alive, no matter what torture he has faced. Please, don't let him be suffering. If he's dead, let it have been quick. Please don't let him suffer anymore. Don't let him be scared.
Week one. Ian was still missing. The camera crews had since left. Cadavar dogs had been brought in to search for his tiny body. Annie felt hope slipping through her fingers. A deep depression began to settle in her soul. The absence of everyone left her feeling hollow, alone. Did anyone care for her little boy anymore? She pleaded with the detective to speak to the media on last time. She hated the first press conference because she didnt know what to say without sounding cliche.` She wanted to be genuine, say something that would truly touch the heart of the kidnapper. Something that would bring that person to tears and remorse, offering over her son. But the news moved on to another story, another victim, another child, leaving her child forgotton. She re-submitted his photo to every newspaper in the state, every news station, every church bulletin. What more could she do?
James felt disconnected. His precious little boy that he had prayed for so long, was taken from him, ripped from his home. How could he heal from that? He searched every day. He prayed every day. He cried every day. He knew the dogs were a bad sign and he knew that meant that the detectives thought hope was lost as well. He couldn't give up on his little boy. He refused to believe that his answered prayer had been overcome by a nightmare.
Poor Susan asked several times a day, "Ian? Gone." She had lost her best friend and partner in crime. She knew her mommy and daddy were sad but could only understand in a two-year old capacity. She handled grief in her own way. She played quietly by herself and when she could, curled up on her parents' laps. She picked up a habit that she never before had--sucking her thumb. She was closely gaurded by both parents and no longer slept alone in her bed.
The community wept for the lost little boy. A local church offered the Thomas' a burial plot and a service for their son until his body was found. An offer to which Annie replied, "Don't call here again." The local grocery store now had tape in their survelience cameras, a little too late. The gas stations and stores and businesses kept Ian's picture up in their windows.
The time passed slowly. Annie and James grew further apart. Most people thought they blamed each other for Ian, but in fact they blamed themselves, so much so that they could hardly stand to look at each other. Both felt guilty and like they had let the othe down. They contemplated divorce, but felt like Susan had been through enough. So they stayed. They slept in the same bed, but not together. They lived in the same house, but only to keep a false image of a happy family for the daughter they adored most in the world. And time passed slowly.
James called Detective Ford every Monday morning asking for updates. The answer was always the same, but he had hope. As the weeks turned to months and then to years, different tips were called in that led to nowhere, bodies of children were found that weren't Ian. Other families lost their loved ones, other tragedies happened, and Ian was forgotten by most.
James threw himself into his work. Annie quit her job at the library and became the secretary and book keeper for James' business. They worked as often as possible to keep themselves distracted. Susan was always by their side. Never was the intention for her to be an only child. They wanted more children after the twins, but since Ian, could not bring themselves to come together. The silence and emptiness dragged on. The holes were temorarily fixed by different successes and of course, Susan.
Annie was sure that James blocked Ian out as much as possible. But she couldn't. She often thought of his contagious smile. She remembered him curled up in her arms. She remembered reading his favorite story to him and singing his favorite song. She didn't think he was alive anymore. She didn't feel his connection. She was his mother and surely would feel some glimmer of hope if he were out there. Of the many things she regretted, one opportunity she wished she would have had was to hold her child in her arms one more time. She wouldn't have cared that he was dead, lifeless as she held him, just so long as she got to hold him at all. But, like so many agonizing wishes, this one would not be granted either.
Time passed, years passed, but little Ian stayed suspended in time, forever a two-year old child.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Trump for President
I have been trying to pay close attention to the next presidential election. I think it's our patriotic duty to vote and understand the politics of the country in which they live. If you don't pay attention to what's going on, you shouldn't vote. But it's your right and obligation to vote, so you should pay attention.
I vote Conservative--why? I think the conservative movement embodies my belief in hard work, self-reliance, family values, responsibility, and, most importantly, pro-life defense. I don't believe in forced hand-outs and excuses. The party that most closely represents my views is the Republican party, although I think there is room for improvement. I am so overtly pro-life that it is my number one voting criteria.
My first pick for the GOP nomination in 2012 is Donald Trump. At this point, he is the strongest candidate. Some people have labeled him as the "joke candidate." The joke is backing a republican that cannot connect with the American people. For instance, Mitt Romney seems like a nice guy and I think he's got some great points, but I don't think he would be able to unite a country. I don't think he is relatable to many different groups. And I really don't think he would win the election against President Obama. I am a big fan of Sarah Palin. I have read her book and have every confidence that she could lead this country except for the fact that I think she burned too many bridges with our democrat brothers and sisters. I definately don't think the majority of the country would back her as president.
Here's why I like Donald Trump. He obviously knows a lot about money--how to manage it and how to make it. He employs people and knows how to run a business, which I think will be the key to economic development. He is unapologetically honest. He tells people what he thinks and how its gonna be. He has friends on "both sides of the aisle." He may not have a political background, but neither did Reagan (and you could make an argument against Obama, too). He is pro-gun and pro-business. And of course, pro-life. He wouldn't even have my vote if he wasn't. I didn't think I liked Trump until I got hooked on watching "The Apprentice." After seeing him on that show, I started paying more attention to him in the media and have grown to respect him in many ways. He's obviously not the poster child for successful marriages, but he stays involved in his childrens' lives. There is potential there and I could see him successfully running against Obama, not kissing his butt and wimping out like McCain did.
Right now, Trump is the strongest candidate. Maybe my mind will change before the election, but until someone can step up and impress me, I will stick with someone that at least lays it all out on the table. I enjoy politics and try to keep up, although with 2 small children, I could miss something. I'll update you over the next year and a half on any changes from me. Obama, you're fired!
I hope this post doesn't bite me in the "you know what" later!
I vote Conservative--why? I think the conservative movement embodies my belief in hard work, self-reliance, family values, responsibility, and, most importantly, pro-life defense. I don't believe in forced hand-outs and excuses. The party that most closely represents my views is the Republican party, although I think there is room for improvement. I am so overtly pro-life that it is my number one voting criteria.
My first pick for the GOP nomination in 2012 is Donald Trump. At this point, he is the strongest candidate. Some people have labeled him as the "joke candidate." The joke is backing a republican that cannot connect with the American people. For instance, Mitt Romney seems like a nice guy and I think he's got some great points, but I don't think he would be able to unite a country. I don't think he is relatable to many different groups. And I really don't think he would win the election against President Obama. I am a big fan of Sarah Palin. I have read her book and have every confidence that she could lead this country except for the fact that I think she burned too many bridges with our democrat brothers and sisters. I definately don't think the majority of the country would back her as president.
Here's why I like Donald Trump. He obviously knows a lot about money--how to manage it and how to make it. He employs people and knows how to run a business, which I think will be the key to economic development. He is unapologetically honest. He tells people what he thinks and how its gonna be. He has friends on "both sides of the aisle." He may not have a political background, but neither did Reagan (and you could make an argument against Obama, too). He is pro-gun and pro-business. And of course, pro-life. He wouldn't even have my vote if he wasn't. I didn't think I liked Trump until I got hooked on watching "The Apprentice." After seeing him on that show, I started paying more attention to him in the media and have grown to respect him in many ways. He's obviously not the poster child for successful marriages, but he stays involved in his childrens' lives. There is potential there and I could see him successfully running against Obama, not kissing his butt and wimping out like McCain did.
Right now, Trump is the strongest candidate. Maybe my mind will change before the election, but until someone can step up and impress me, I will stick with someone that at least lays it all out on the table. I enjoy politics and try to keep up, although with 2 small children, I could miss something. I'll update you over the next year and a half on any changes from me. Obama, you're fired!
I hope this post doesn't bite me in the "you know what" later!
Monday, March 28, 2011
Heartache
(This is for all the women who have just gotten out of a relationship and all the feelings that go along with it.)
Woman! Do you not see how wonderful you are? Do you not know by now that the sun still comes up every day? Do you not feel yourself getting a little bit stronger?
Every day, that hole in your heart repairs itself a little more until it scars. You get stronger but learn to appreciate the most sincere and gentle touch even more. We cannot love without the pain of loss. So it hurts right now, but one day you will wake up and that heavy ache in your heart will be lighter, the sun will be brighter, and you will feel hopeful for the new day.
Whoever came up with the idea that there is only one person out there for each of us? Who invented the debilitating idea of "the one"? Do you truly think that God would make only one person to compliment you? Why don't you believe that there are many people out there that can make you happy? You have many friends, many family members, many co-workers that meet your needs in different ways. There WILL be someone else that will meet your needs, perhaps differently than before, but maybe even better!
We all remember the little things about an ex that still tug at our heart strings. You relish those little moments until you believe that they can never come again. I say, never forget those moments, but lock them away for a while so you can focus on yourself. If we dwell in the past, we will surely miss the present and perhaps the future!
Be good to yourself. You are worthy of more than heartache! Take time to get to know yourself again. In a relationship we often associate ourselves with that other person, but God made you as an individual, so celebrate it!
Finally, Let go. Let go of your anger. Let go of your hurt. Letting go can be the most freeing decision you can make. If we never surrender at the end, we will miss a new beginning. It will hurt--alot! But it will hurt even more if you hold onto something so toxic to yourself. Let go and let God fill that hole in your heart.
Woman! Do you not see how wonderful you are?
Woman! Do you not see how wonderful you are? Do you not know by now that the sun still comes up every day? Do you not feel yourself getting a little bit stronger?
Every day, that hole in your heart repairs itself a little more until it scars. You get stronger but learn to appreciate the most sincere and gentle touch even more. We cannot love without the pain of loss. So it hurts right now, but one day you will wake up and that heavy ache in your heart will be lighter, the sun will be brighter, and you will feel hopeful for the new day.
Whoever came up with the idea that there is only one person out there for each of us? Who invented the debilitating idea of "the one"? Do you truly think that God would make only one person to compliment you? Why don't you believe that there are many people out there that can make you happy? You have many friends, many family members, many co-workers that meet your needs in different ways. There WILL be someone else that will meet your needs, perhaps differently than before, but maybe even better!
We all remember the little things about an ex that still tug at our heart strings. You relish those little moments until you believe that they can never come again. I say, never forget those moments, but lock them away for a while so you can focus on yourself. If we dwell in the past, we will surely miss the present and perhaps the future!
Be good to yourself. You are worthy of more than heartache! Take time to get to know yourself again. In a relationship we often associate ourselves with that other person, but God made you as an individual, so celebrate it!
Finally, Let go. Let go of your anger. Let go of your hurt. Letting go can be the most freeing decision you can make. If we never surrender at the end, we will miss a new beginning. It will hurt--alot! But it will hurt even more if you hold onto something so toxic to yourself. Let go and let God fill that hole in your heart.
Woman! Do you not see how wonderful you are?
Monday, March 21, 2011
Patience, My Dear Patients
I think that nursing is the most noble profession on Earth, second only to religious life and parenthood. It is the most selfless and rewarding job you could ever have. It is under-appreciated and under-valued. Nurses are abused and forgotten daily. But I also think its the only profession you can't totally write off. You may meet a bad car salesman, or a bad doctor, or a bad clergyman, and shun the entire community b/c of that one person. But even when you meet a bad nurse, you can never shun the entire profession b/c you know it is truly a beautiful and worthy calling.
Please know that I became a nurse to help people. I want to make the lives of others better. I want to comfort the sick and tend to the families. I don't want to diagnose or take your lives into my hands, but I often do. It just comes with the territory. I worry through my day about each patient and even in my busiest times, recognize the smallest detail. What I see, you are not even thinking about.
I know that you care about the comfort of yourself or a loved one. I know you want answers. I know that time is as crucial to you as breathing. You constantly wonder if anyone even cares. You want a nurse who has the same devotion to your family member, or yourself, as you have. And even though I see your concern and want to help you, there are some things I wish you knew.
I care about you. I am working through my day to make sure nothing is missed and nothing is left undone. But you must have patience. I have several other patients to care for as well. And several other family members begging to talk to me. I have phone calls from your family on the other line asking the same questions that I am answering right in front of you. You may ask for something for indigestion while two other people need something for pain or anxiety. So don't be upset when I am not there right away.
There are people out there saying that hospitals everywhere should hire more staff. But our staffing is adequate for a medium day of chaos. We can't control the days when the team of patients we started with are not the same team of patients we end with. We can't help when a patient codes, or a person detoxes, or someone who has chosen an unhealthy lifestyle requires more time and attention from more than one staff member. Our job is perhaps one of the most unpredictable.
Also, please realize that I have not just patients and families to answer to. I have Physicians, and bosses, and respiratory therapists, and occupational therapists, and physical therapists, and speech therapists, and case coordinators, and catering associates, and housekeepers, and radiology, and ultrasound, and surgery, and transporters, and pharmacy, and lab, and other departments, and other floors--and I speak to nearly every single one of them every day that I work. So I would NEVER intentionally ignore you or put your concerns on the wayside. I am simply very busy.
I appreciate the time that you spend to talk to me and give me a chance to get to know you. What makes it difficult is when you don't see that I must get going. I have not only patients to see, but people to chart on and legal things that must be done before I am allowed to leave. Know that I, too, have a family I miss and want to get home to see. So, please continue to talk to me about your depression and your most joyful moments, but if you are just lonely and want to talk, let me know. I will go out of my way to make sure I sit with you in my moments of down time, but I dont always have the time for a lengthly conversation at that moment. If I'm backing up towards the door, there's your sign.
Family members. You are just as important as the patient I am caring for. You are vital to doing my job well. I appreciate your insight and concerns. I love when you send cards and food to thank our staff for a job well done. Please dont call me on the phone and talk to me for 30 minutes about your arthritis. Please don't tell me about a fight that you and your sister are in. I would love to help you, but I just don't have the time. If you want me to provide excellent care, then please give me your chit-chat time to use on your family member. Also, when you criticize, or ask me one question after another without giving me time for an answer, or get upset b/c I can't legally tell you information, or yell at me b/c you're mad at the doctor or another nurse--you are not helping. I have a hard time focusing when you make me feel like I can't do my job.
There is a misconception that nurses are always on their computers--ha! If only we didnt have to be! Legally, we must chart EVERYTHING! When a patient gets to a chair, or a doctor is notified, the doctor response, when a bed is changed or a foot rub is given and how many people it took to get a patient to the bathroom--all of this, times a million other things must be charted. It's all in the name of improving healthcare, so I will happily continue to do it, but I can tell you that most every nurse would rather be at the bedside providing excellent patient care.
What I want you to know about me is that it hurts my feelings when you think that I don't care about your family member. It makes me angry when someone without a medical background thinks that I don't know what I am talking about. If you think being rude will make me work faster, it only makes it harder for me to concentrate. You pushing me and insulting me makes my other patients suffer as well. Now, they don't see the smile across my face anymore, they don't feel comforted by my confidence b/c it has been crushed. I am someone's loved one, someone's child, someone's parent and I know that they would never stand for anyone to speak to me the way I am so often abused. I have been a patient and a family member. I always try to treat my patients on an individual need basis b/c I would want that same catering courtesy delivered to my family or myself.
I can see how reading this letter may make you think I don't like you or your family. I can see how reading this letter may make you afraid to speak up or say what you feel. But let me reassure you that I WANT to care for you. I WANT to make you feel like there is hope. I WANT to be a shoulder for you to cry on and your advocate. If you only knew how many times a day I go to bat for you, just to keep you safe. If you only saw the details that I see to comfort you before you even know you need it. If you only heard the kind words and concern in my voice when I discuss your situation with others who also are involved in your care. I could offer you a blanket when you're cold, but I offer you a warm blanket from the blanket warmer. I could fill your pitcher with water, but I use fresh ice water. We may not carry ice tea or have a fresh pot of coffee made, but I will brew you a new pot and make hot tea and pour it over ice (that's how its done in restaurants, by the way). You ask for a soda that we don't carry on our floor and I go to the cafeteria to get you one. I will be the bearer of bad news when you refuse part of your treatment plan (and you absolutely have that right:) and take the yelling and scolding from others. I will stay until way past my shift to make sure you get that back rub that you requested. I will be there when a doctor tells you that you have stage 4 metastatic cancer and I will hold you as you break down and cry. I will be there when you take your last breath.
Because I am a nurse.
Please know that I became a nurse to help people. I want to make the lives of others better. I want to comfort the sick and tend to the families. I don't want to diagnose or take your lives into my hands, but I often do. It just comes with the territory. I worry through my day about each patient and even in my busiest times, recognize the smallest detail. What I see, you are not even thinking about.
I know that you care about the comfort of yourself or a loved one. I know you want answers. I know that time is as crucial to you as breathing. You constantly wonder if anyone even cares. You want a nurse who has the same devotion to your family member, or yourself, as you have. And even though I see your concern and want to help you, there are some things I wish you knew.
I care about you. I am working through my day to make sure nothing is missed and nothing is left undone. But you must have patience. I have several other patients to care for as well. And several other family members begging to talk to me. I have phone calls from your family on the other line asking the same questions that I am answering right in front of you. You may ask for something for indigestion while two other people need something for pain or anxiety. So don't be upset when I am not there right away.
There are people out there saying that hospitals everywhere should hire more staff. But our staffing is adequate for a medium day of chaos. We can't control the days when the team of patients we started with are not the same team of patients we end with. We can't help when a patient codes, or a person detoxes, or someone who has chosen an unhealthy lifestyle requires more time and attention from more than one staff member. Our job is perhaps one of the most unpredictable.
Also, please realize that I have not just patients and families to answer to. I have Physicians, and bosses, and respiratory therapists, and occupational therapists, and physical therapists, and speech therapists, and case coordinators, and catering associates, and housekeepers, and radiology, and ultrasound, and surgery, and transporters, and pharmacy, and lab, and other departments, and other floors--and I speak to nearly every single one of them every day that I work. So I would NEVER intentionally ignore you or put your concerns on the wayside. I am simply very busy.
I appreciate the time that you spend to talk to me and give me a chance to get to know you. What makes it difficult is when you don't see that I must get going. I have not only patients to see, but people to chart on and legal things that must be done before I am allowed to leave. Know that I, too, have a family I miss and want to get home to see. So, please continue to talk to me about your depression and your most joyful moments, but if you are just lonely and want to talk, let me know. I will go out of my way to make sure I sit with you in my moments of down time, but I dont always have the time for a lengthly conversation at that moment. If I'm backing up towards the door, there's your sign.
Family members. You are just as important as the patient I am caring for. You are vital to doing my job well. I appreciate your insight and concerns. I love when you send cards and food to thank our staff for a job well done. Please dont call me on the phone and talk to me for 30 minutes about your arthritis. Please don't tell me about a fight that you and your sister are in. I would love to help you, but I just don't have the time. If you want me to provide excellent care, then please give me your chit-chat time to use on your family member. Also, when you criticize, or ask me one question after another without giving me time for an answer, or get upset b/c I can't legally tell you information, or yell at me b/c you're mad at the doctor or another nurse--you are not helping. I have a hard time focusing when you make me feel like I can't do my job.
There is a misconception that nurses are always on their computers--ha! If only we didnt have to be! Legally, we must chart EVERYTHING! When a patient gets to a chair, or a doctor is notified, the doctor response, when a bed is changed or a foot rub is given and how many people it took to get a patient to the bathroom--all of this, times a million other things must be charted. It's all in the name of improving healthcare, so I will happily continue to do it, but I can tell you that most every nurse would rather be at the bedside providing excellent patient care.
What I want you to know about me is that it hurts my feelings when you think that I don't care about your family member. It makes me angry when someone without a medical background thinks that I don't know what I am talking about. If you think being rude will make me work faster, it only makes it harder for me to concentrate. You pushing me and insulting me makes my other patients suffer as well. Now, they don't see the smile across my face anymore, they don't feel comforted by my confidence b/c it has been crushed. I am someone's loved one, someone's child, someone's parent and I know that they would never stand for anyone to speak to me the way I am so often abused. I have been a patient and a family member. I always try to treat my patients on an individual need basis b/c I would want that same catering courtesy delivered to my family or myself.
I can see how reading this letter may make you think I don't like you or your family. I can see how reading this letter may make you afraid to speak up or say what you feel. But let me reassure you that I WANT to care for you. I WANT to make you feel like there is hope. I WANT to be a shoulder for you to cry on and your advocate. If you only knew how many times a day I go to bat for you, just to keep you safe. If you only saw the details that I see to comfort you before you even know you need it. If you only heard the kind words and concern in my voice when I discuss your situation with others who also are involved in your care. I could offer you a blanket when you're cold, but I offer you a warm blanket from the blanket warmer. I could fill your pitcher with water, but I use fresh ice water. We may not carry ice tea or have a fresh pot of coffee made, but I will brew you a new pot and make hot tea and pour it over ice (that's how its done in restaurants, by the way). You ask for a soda that we don't carry on our floor and I go to the cafeteria to get you one. I will be the bearer of bad news when you refuse part of your treatment plan (and you absolutely have that right:) and take the yelling and scolding from others. I will stay until way past my shift to make sure you get that back rub that you requested. I will be there when a doctor tells you that you have stage 4 metastatic cancer and I will hold you as you break down and cry. I will be there when you take your last breath.
Because I am a nurse.
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