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| Photo: Visiting Daddy |
THEN:
Daddy had to have surgery on his ulcers when I was in the sixth grade. They were going to take out a large portion of his stomach in order to remove all the ulcers that kept him from being able to digest most of his food. My family did not split up very well (okay, many of us did not split up at all) so he rigged the back of his old pick up into a camper by building a wooden box over it, complete with a flat tin roof and shelves all along the interior walls. Those he stocked full of beanie weenies, vienna sausages, crackers, and other non perishable foods that he bought with our monthly food stamps. He put a mattress in the homemade camper, and had my sister, Sandi, make it up with sheets and blankets, and viola: We were ready for a family trip to the hospital. I thought the camper was magical!
Pop told me that I was to watch the clock on the wall in my room the next day at school, and if they had not called me to the office by 12 noon that I was to get up, walk out of the room without a word, and meet him in the parking lot. I knew I would be in Mrs. Mahan's room at noon, and I was very aware of her potential anger. She was famous for tossing people up against blackboards and for white hot paddlings. But I would not only have gotten up and walked out of her room at noon for my dad, I would have done my very best to beat her up prior to leaving if he had asked it of me. Fortunately, he never did ask me to thrash anyone... Fortunately for me and fortunately for them!
I spent that morning with my stomach in knots, but before the clock hit twelve, I was called to the office and the secretary also gave the teachers instructions to give me a weeks worth of assignments in advance. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, got my assignments from all three teachers, gathered up my books and supplies, and headed out to meet Dad.
Sandi and I played our sing-song game when we hit the town of Abingdon over an hour later. We were in the back of the truck the first time we had entered Abingdon, but Dad had yet to put the camper on. The wind pulled our long h air out like sails behind us. Pop was going in for the pre-surgery blood work. Sandi and I had been so surprised when we saw the name of the town on a welcome sign. We had always thought it was AbinTon. That's how all the locals pronounced it. But on the sign it was Abingdon. So, delighted, we practically sang A-BING-DON! And we put extra emphasis on the "bing" because the G and D had been such a surprise to us. Mom and Dad, squeezed into the truck bed with two of their daughters, now laughed as we shared our silly game with them.
The hospital staff took Dad to his room, and Sandi and I looked around the hospital while Mom helped him get settled in. The place had an aromatic little cafe, a gift shop, and a quaint chapel that exuded peace. After a bit, and with my sister's permission, I slipped off to explore a little more on my own. I discovered a beautiful balcony overlooking a grassy yard with several trees. I noticed, with a child's delight, that squirrels were rushing here and there, gathering nuts and whatever they could to sustain them through the upcoming winter. This sweet haven was on the third floor which was under construction and had signs warning that the area was off limits. I, being the rule bender in the family, had ignored the signs and explored anyway. Then I talked Sandi into "just a quick look at the coolest thing here!" After that, she was hooked. She was as taken by the area as I was, and we often snuck up there for a few peaceful moments early in the morning. She would drink her coffee and I would drink a cup of delicious hot cocoa while we watched the squirrels run hither and yon and the fall leaves drift soundlessly to the grass. It was lovely! Though it was closed for construction, there were hardly ever any people on the third floor at all, construction workers or otherwise. The plans must have been halted temporarily for some fortuitous reason. This made the spot a perfect haven for me, and I gravitated there to hide from the crowds, and the people, and the ceaseless conversations that flowed over me nearly everywhere I went. I wrapped myself in my own thoughts and enjoyed that blessed quiet as often as I could without worrying my mother or Sandi.
I also wandered down to the bottom of the grassy yard that surrounded the hospital and discovered an abandoned house. It was dark brown but that might have been from weathering the elements for many years, and ivy clung to it. Rose bushes and other shrubs had leaned up against it and surrounded it to the extent that you might think the area was just a bramble of shrubbery if you looked at it from the right angle. The house looked sturdy enough, though cold and unwelcoming. I thought about sneaking in, but was conscious of the fact that any trouble I got into now could so quickly mean even bigger trouble for Mom and Sandi. I had made it a goal to be as invisible as I could while we were here. I thought about what a waste it was for that pretty house to sit there empty when people like me were living in the back of a pick up truck and freezing much of the night away. Wouldn't that house make a nice place for people to stay while their family members were in the hospital? I sat outside it and dreamed up many a fine story and several good plans for the old home, but I knew it would likely fall down before I was able to actually do anything with it. The stories though, were mine to keep forever.
We weren't hungry while we stayed there, so shoplifting never entered my mind. Somehow I had decided that stealing food was not stealing at all but every other kind of theft was (at that time) beneath me. I had been reading the Bible for myself for a couple years now, and from Proverbs 6:30 which states, "Men do not despise a thief, if he steal to satisfy his soul when he is hungry." and from that and other verses, I had gathered that stealing when you were hungry might be illegal, you might be taking a risk with the law, but that God would not consider it immoral. I did not worry too much about what man thought but concerned myself with what God wanted, and so I had justified my theft of food for some time. I was in the bathroom in that hospital once, though, and thought about how easily one could slip people's purses off those hooks, dash to the third floor and pull out any cash, and then dump the purse somewhere in a trash can. I was a bit aghast at myself for even coming up with an idea like that, but I rolled it into a story about three little girls that resorted to this activity while they lived in an abandoned brown house near a hospital because their only parent was in a coma and the girls did not want to wind up in foster care. It was an enjoyable fantasy, and I played different scenes through my mind repeatedly.
Visiting hours were a much more strict thing in those days. If you were twelve and under you were not supposed to visit at all. (I was thirteen but was told often that I looked much younger, and I had no identification card to prove my age.) Even guests that were clearly thirteen and up were only supposed to visit during specified hours. I think there was a two hour visiting slot in the a.m. and a three hour one in the p.m. The rest of the time, if I needed to see Mother or Dad, I had to be very slippery about it. One of the security officers wore a name badge that said "V. Bardo," and I quickly learned to skirt her much more vigilantly than the others. She took her job about twice as seriously as they did and considered it a personal insult to her character if I even attempted to sneak by her. I managed it many times, but often I found myself thinking a particular question or situation could wait until visiting hours or until the security officers went through their shift change, so I would not have to deal with V. Bardo. Mother, Sandi, and Lila all conspired at different times to distract a guard and help me slip passed them when it was not visiting hours or when the guard refused to believe the truth about my age. The ladies in my family were very sympathetic to my desire to check on my daddy and they shared my frustration when the guards would not believe I was thirteen.
We mostly ate from our store of Beanie Weenies and the like on the truck, but every now and then Mom would spring for a meal in the little cafe or my sister, Lila, who had a home and children of her own to care for, would come to visit and buy me a sandwich there. When people came to check on Dad, most of them fellow church members, Mother would often slip Sandi a little money later that evening, and she would take me to get hot food. I knew our guests were being very generous, and I appreciated that tasty, hot food very much. This type of meal was a big treat for a kid that usually ate school lunches and beans and potatoes. I had my first chuckwagon sandwich there, which was a pleasant surprise. I loved it! I also loved the grilled cheese, the BLT, and the cheeseburger. The nice food helped go a long way toward making up for sleeping in the back of a cold pick up truck and dodging the security guards that were supposed to keep me out of Dad's room except for a few hours each day.
I had my hair cut very short at that time and one day, an elderly gentleman that Sandi and I rode the elevator with called me "young man". I had on a jersey that looked like the ones our local football players wore, but mother had gotten it at a yard sale so who knew which team it actually stood for, and I was sporting a pair of ratty jeans. There had been a time when I would have puffed up with pride to be mistaken for a boy. This was not that time. About a year or so before, I had developed an interest in boys, so I did not want to be one! The next day I wore a halter top that I had previously written off as too cold for the weather and too revealing for the hospital environment. I thought it had been a mistake to pack it, but the "young man" comment made me reconsider. There was no denying the boobs while I wore this top; there was no denying the fact that I was a girl, and not one little old man called me "young man" that day. My mother and both my sisters saw my wardrobe decision for what it was and got quite a kick out of it.
When the hospital staff took my dad in for surgery, my mother, my sisters, and I clung to each other. What on this Earth would we do if something happened to that man that held us all together? He was our rock, our glue, our strength, and we knew it.
They brought him out of the operating room and told us everything had gone well. We collectively breathed a half sigh of relief, but the tension still hung in the air. He was not out of the woods yet. Soon he was out of recovery and back in his own room again. He was "loopy" from all the drugs and each time the intercom would call "William? Or "William, come to the front desk, please." Dad would say, "What?" or "What for?" He had forgotten that he was in the hospital and that one of the orderlies that worked there was also named William. Dad became more annoyed with the intercom as the drugs wore off and the pain wore on. He rubbed and pulled at his bandages now and then and that made me very nervous. I did not trust this doped up daddy not to hurt himself.
Lila and Mom decided they needed to go to the store and get something Dad may want when he was awake and few things that Mother needed. Sandi wanted to go with them, but I refused to leave Dad and this left them in a bit of a quandary. I had never been left alone at home, and certainly not out in a public place (except for school) but I could not imagine leaving Pop at all right now. To my great surprise and relief (I was about to panic and risk throwing a hellfit) Mother decided to allow me to stay there with only my unconscious father. As country folk say, "You could have pushed me over with a broomstaw!" I was that surprised, but even more relieved and pleased.
I sat right beside him and urged, "No Daddy. Please, no!" When he tried to pull at his bandages. He slapped at my hands, and it struck me as odd that I was telling my pop no about anything. I had rarely spoken that word in his direction in my life. Maybe when he said, "Are you hungry?" Or "You too tired to go with me?"
I tried to refrain from laughing when he became annoyed with the intercom and told it, "Shut the hell up, will 'ya?" When a nurse came in to check on him, I told her that he was obviously in a lot of pain or he would not tug at those bandages all the time. They must have agreed because they came back and gave him some more medicines in his IV just a few moments later. Then he stopped trying to pull of his bandages or argue with the intercom, and he slept gently. I sat in peace, listening to him breathe, Thanking God for every breath and praying to God that Pop would continue breathing as long as possible. I knew I would never be ready to give him up, and I knew that giving him up now would leave the entire family in a really hard place. Mother and Sandi did not drive. We could barely manage to keep wood and coal in for the fire if he went off for a few hours during the day. None of us knew much about the bills or the finances. I shook off my worry, wrapped myself in the comfort of knowing that I had, for once and finally, been able to take care of him for a change. When my mom and sisters returned only an hour or so later, I felt ten years older.
We spent over a week in that hospital. Mother absolutely refused to obey visiting hours. She would not leave Daddy's side, so the nurses had a cot brought in that she could fold out at night and fold up during the day. Sandi and I slept in the homemade camper most nights. One night it rained and we were lulled to sleep by the sound of raindrops on a tin roof, much like we heard at home when it was raining. A cold spell came through and woke us another night. We were too miserable to sleep, even huddled together as we were, so we went inside the hospital and spent much of the night trying to sleep in the plastic chairs in the waiting room. That was a miserable experience and we were extra exhausted the next night. We tried the truck again but it was still icy cold, so we slipped into the chapel, pulled the cushions off a couple of pews, and plopped them down in a corner of the room. We went to sleep on them, thinking no one would even walk in, let alone mind that we were snoozing in "God's house," and surely God, who designed us to need sleep, would understand. But someone did walk in and she did mind. A nurse woke us rudely and said, "Ya'll have to find somewhere else to sleep. You can't sleep in here!" I knitted my brow. I wanted to challenge her right to throw us out. I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that God would not mind at all that we were sleeping in there. But Sandi has always been all love and no war, and I was aware of her discomfort over any and every confrontation. I kept my mouth shut and followed her lead. We put the cushions back on the pews and left the chapel. We tried again to sleep on the stiff plastic chairs, but it was impossible to do anything more than nod off in misery and then jolt back awake a few moments later. We gave up early and started our morning routine before the sun was even up.
Later that day, after the hospital was alive with activity again, I was in the elevator with two nurses and one of them was the nurse that had ran us out of the chapel. I was ready to let bygones be bygones and was holding no grudges. The nurse may not have recognized me, but I doubt it. I think she knew exactly who I was and saw an opportunity to bedevil a child. She told her co-worker, "You never know what crazy people around here will do. You know what I found last night?" Without waiting for an answer she went on, "Two country hicks sleeping in the CHAPEL of all places! They had pulled the cushions off the pews and were sleeping in the floor!" She said it with the same about of outrage and disbelief one might expect if she had found someone eating the cushions off the pews. " And I tell you, one of them was this wide!" She held her hands out in front of her to indicate nearly a yard in measurement.
I was stricken with shock. Cruelty has this sneaky way of coming into your life in such short and brutal snippets. I had forgotten how deeply it could cut. Always before, the cruelty had been directed straight at me. I was amazed to learn that it could hurt even more if it were directed at someone you loved. Yes, Sandi was quite overweight, but she was all light and love. I'd never heard her say a mean word about anyone in my entire life, and for the next few moments I could not breathe, let alone speak.
The other nurse laughed a small uncomfortable chuckle and, when the elevator doors opened, they both exited. One went right and one went left. Just as the doors were sliding closed, I came out of my stupor and jumped out behind them. The nurse that had made the comments rounded the corner to my left, and I took off in hot pursuit. I did not have a plan. I only knew that I would regret it until my dying day if I did nothing at all.
I caught up with her very quickly and said, "Hey!" She ignored me to first time, so I repeated the word, louder and angrier.
She turned to me with a smug expression. "What, little girl? Can I help you?"
And then the words trembled from my angry lips, "Yes, you can help me. You can apologize for saying those nasty things about my sister."
"Oh, was that you and your sister in the chapel?" She feigned complete innocence and surprise. "Well, you shouldn't be trying to sleep there, you know?"
"Maybe not, but you shouldn't be saying my sister is this wide either." I held my hands out as she had, and felt, to my shame, my eyes well up with tears that I had no hope of holding back.
She shook her head and laughed. "What? I wasn't talking about your sister. I was talking about the cushions." But when the tears rolled down my cheeks, she looked as if just a bit of the wind fell from her sails as well.
I shook my head and struggled to maintain the ability to speak. "All... those... cushions... are the... same size." I gasped.
"Look, little girl. I wasn't talking about your sister. Okay?"
"Yes... You were!" I nearly shouted. "Just don't... lie.. and make it worse!"
I took a deep, painful breath. "My sister is... one of the nicest people... you could have ever... hoped to meet! ...And you! ...You are a monster that is ... not worthy of kissing her feet!" I was practically screaming now.
"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. Okay? Just be quite." She was looking around nervously.
I looked at her with complete revulsion. Her motives were clear to me. She did not want a scene. She did not want to explain to a supervisor why some little "country hick" was pitching a fit. There was no real remorse there. It occurred to me though, if I had to explain to someone it might cause more problems for my family than it would for this nurse. Chances were good, it would reveal that we were living in their parking lot and sleeping wherever we could find a bit of comfort and warmth. If they kicked us out, we would be in real trouble. The only person in my home that knew how to drive was doped up and recovering from having two-thirds of his stomach removed. What if they pitched even him out onto the street, and it was my fault?
I shook my head and told her softly, "You aren't a bit sorry. Monsters... don't even know how to be sorry."
And I turned and walked away.
I did not want Sandi to know that anyone had even thought, let alone voiced, such horrible comments. I did not want anyone asking me what was wrong, so I hid in the midst of the blessed third floor chaos and cried my heart out. I did not return to my family until I had washed my face and wandered around until my eyes were no longer noticeably red. I never regretted confronting that nurse, but I often thought of cooler, better things I could have said. I beat her up a few times in my vivid imagination. I made up my mind to simply whisper, "Monster," every time I passed her in the hall, but I did not see her again during our time at the hospital. That was probably for the best.
The time I spent living in the back of a pick up in a hospital parking lot and dealing with issues I'd never had to face before shaped me and aged my soul. I knew coming out of it that I was now stronger and wiser than I had ever been, and I knew my family was a tougher unit than I had realized. Even with my dad, the hub of our family wheel, flat of his back and knocked out much of the time, we had stuck together and made things work. Together we had faced so many new challenges and we made it back home, better than ever. How nice it was that Daddy did not get sick after every meal! How comforting it was to know that when the proverbial leather hit the road, my family stuck together, even those of us that had no idea how to drive in the first place!
