Part II. Everyone Pulls Together and We Survive
The first thing I had to do was to sit down with Michael and tell him that he wouldn’t be going on the trip that summer. My 13-year-old son’s answer:
“I don’t feel bad for myself, Mom. I’m just sorry that Dad is so sick. He was looking forward to the trip, too.”
Once I heard that I felt as if I could face anything.
I had already told Carroll, my wonderful supervisor at Williams and Wilkins, about what happened and, being his beautiful self, told me not to even think about coming back to work until Peter was stabilized. But the funny thing was that I wanted to keep up at work because I liked everyone there and it was comforting. It was only 20 hours a week, anyway. Also, I was taking a night class at West Chester University only one night a week. Then I told my professor about all of this and I was urged to take my time, not to worry for the present. Another angelic man.
I bought the biggest Get Well card I could find and walked up and down State Street in Media, telling all of Peter’s friends about this and everybody signed and wished a “speedy recovery.” One friend, a baker who sold muffins and pastries, cried when I told her that the two wouldn’t be going away that summer. Everyone in town knew about the special trip.
Next task: Peter’s clients and friends. Now, Peter told me not to let Michael come to the hospital while he was still hooked up to all these machines. He thought Michael would be traumatized. He also didn’t want his friends and clients to come. However, a few very close friends bypassed this ruling and walked in anyway. It all turned out OK and everybody got a big laugh out of it.
Finally, Peter was hospitalized for a month. This extended over Memorial Day weekend and Peter needed me to be with him. He was taking morphine and it was making him have terrible nightmares. So what would I do about Michael? Some very good friends–parents of a school friend of Michael’s–had him at their home for the whole weekend. Of course, I had my son on my mind but he seemed to be doing OK. Michael’s nerves are strong. The father of the school friend came over and mowed our lawn!
When I wasn’t at Williams and Wilkins or at night school I was at the hospital. It was most important to me that I got home when Michael did. It wasn’t hard to keep his spirits up, as is obvious. But we stuck close to each other. I decided, as a kind of therapy for myself, to learn to play a new sonatina–a new piano piece–when the day ended. So I chose a piece from a piano book and while Michael was falling asleep I would be playing it. This sonatina has a name but I always call it “The Colostomy Sonatina.”
Part III. I Learn About Wound Care and Other Lovely Things.
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