care without care (chapter xi)

8/9/2019 Care Without Care (Chapter XI)

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Barbara Fisher

CareCare Without Without

CareCare

ChapterChapter XI XI


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Barbara Fisher

CareCare Without Without

CareCareChapter XI

First published by Avon Books(a division of The Hearst Corporation)

in September, 1972

1972 Barbara Fisher

All rights reserved.For information addressTen Penny Players, Inc.


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February 1971. Were back at the hospital. Itwas a weekend. Pediatrics was quiet, only onenurse on duty and one doctor. Its always sort of

funereal up at pediatrics on weekends. Becausethere are so few people, those there feel conspicu-ous and whisper a lot.

Athelantis had fallen in love with his blanket.I had hoped that we wouldnt have to go throughthat. I was wrong. Id had a blanket and my genes

are very strong. Its luckily a washable blanket,flannel with pink and blue angels printed on it,banded in blue satin (very faded now). Two of myneighbors made it for him. I keep darning it. I tryto wash it every week and its getting a little thin.He watches possessively as it goes into themachine. He then stands, waiting for the laundryto be finished, holding onto the machine and croon-ing. For some reason he isnt as upset as he sees itleave the washing machine and go into the dryer.He doesnt find that as threatening. The last timeI pulled it out of the dryer he grabbed it from meand brought it over to where I had gone to sit for a

while. He draped it over my knees and then start-ed patting it and singing to it as you would to ababy.

At the hospital he demanded we take the blan-ket out of the suitcase He stood in front of the

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offending case (its zippered and he couldnt work azipper yet), feet spread wide, one arm out-stretched, squawking like a broken machine. We

took the blanket out. He hugged it and draped itaround his shoulders. He then paced the length of the room dragging the blanket behind him.

We were called into the examining room. Theycall them stations. Athelantis began wailing assoon as we entered the room. I knew the tempera-

ture would be over one hundred. It was. The doc-tor arrived. He was wearing a bright blue shirtinstead of white jacket. It matched his eyes. Iremembered him from neuro, when he had been aresident. He remembered us, too. They dont getan Aperts baby all that often. He was very goodwith Athelantis. The wiggling didnt cease, but hedidnt thrash about quite as much as usual and atleast allowed the doctor to examine him.

He said that the ears were red. I expected himto say that. I said, I guess youll be sending himhome and cancel the operation.

He answered, No. I have four young sons.

They raise their temperatures when miserable.Their ears get red because the blood rushes tothem when they cry. Were admitting him.

I was overwhelmed, really impressed. Nowthis was a doctor. I heard later that he had an

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excellent reputation with staffers and parents forgood medical judgment coupled with commonsense.

I rushed outside to tell Ernie the good news.He was all set to go home; hed heard the wailingand expected the usual results. He was as thrilledas I.

There was no pink lady that day, so Ernie andI took the baby and suitcase through the tunnel

connecting the main wing with the wing housingonly babies; we then walked one flight upstairs tohis floor. Several of the nurses who knew himwere on duty. Hello, Mr. Baby, one of hisfavorites said. He dipped his head in hello. Wetook him down to his room and he was assigned abed. He was now in a bed at home and they decid-ed to try him in one at the hospital. It was a short-lived experiment. The following morning when Icame back he was in a crib. He had climbed out of the bed instead of going to sleep when it was timefor lights out. I had expected that he would, but itwas worth a try.

Ernie had decided that he was large enough fora bed at home. Ernie had never slept in a crib.Hes from the North Carolina backwoods country.The only thing that belongs in a crib to Ernie iscorn.

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We were sitting in the lounge area opposite theubiquitous telephone. The surgeon arrived to meetus. He was middling young, dark-haired, wearing

glasses (heavy black frames), and very intense. Hewas always at the hospital. Hed come stridingdown the corridor at all hours, every day, carryinghis metal case. It was a large attach-type case,only metal. Many of the younger doctors carrytheir things in metal tackle cases.

He asked me to come down the hall into one of the treatment rooms. Ernie stayed in the loungewatching Athelantis running up and down theramp. There are no doors separating the babieswing from the adult wing. At the top of the rampto the right is the physiotherapy room. To the left,at the top of the ramp (we discovered) is the adultcontagious ward.

After we left, Athelantis figured out that youcould keep going when you hit the top of the ramp.He went right on into the contagious ward. Healso went further down the hall, later on, aftertheyd caught him in the contagious area. Luckily,

an orderly found him wandering around near theelevators at the other end of the building. Hesalso been found in the plaster room and on the ele-vators. The nurses all know that he escapes, butthere is no way to stop him, barring locking him in

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his crib, since there are no doors. He even tookseveral other children with him one time.

In the morning, after they bathe and dress him

they put him on the floor. And hes gone. One of the aides told me that hes so fast, you can put himon the floor, turn your head, and hell be gone outof the room, down the hall, and up the ramp beforeyou can turn around. Hes quick and smart. Hehides from the aides and nurses in cartons, behind

doors, under covered tables.It makes me nervous knowing that he has therun of the building. Ive often wondered whetheror not he could be kidnapped. Barbrah says thatpeople only want well babies. That nobody wouldkidnap a child from a hospital. I hope shes right.

The surgeon perched on top of an examiningtable while we talked. There are locks on all theroom doors where they keep supplies, but the doorsare always wide open. The narcotics closet isalways closed except when a nurse is inside gettingmedication. The other rooms are open. This par-

ticular room had row upon row of bottled solutionssitting in plain view. Boxes of wrapped one-shotneedles were sitting on a table by the door.Bandages, rolled neatly, slings, and other orthope-dic-type supplies sit temptingly on open carts.

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The first thing he wanted to know was what isthe meaning of your letterhead. Barbrah and Ihave one letterhead for the childrens theater, and

another with a different name for our profit-mak-ing concepts. We tried to think up something thatrepresented what were like and we came up withDufflepuds. These are C.S. Lewis creations, withone big fat foot, who often hop around backwards.They have their own way for doing things most

often exactly opposite to the norm.I explained to him about Dufflepuds. I thenasked him when they had scheduled the operation.He said that even though they had admitted

Athelantis, they still werent convinced he washealthy. Since he again had a temperature, ratherthan cancel the operation as they had all thoseother times, they had decided to admit him andthen track his temperature to find out whether hewas ill or whether this was normal for him. I saidthat there was nothing wrong with Athelantis.That he wasnt ill, and hadnt been ill for most of the other cancellations. The surgeon was going to

observe him for four days. If nothing developedthey would then operate. I was very upset by that.I knew there was nothing at that time wrong with

Athelantis. But its dangerous keeping a well childin a hospital. There are so many germs floating

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around in the air, on the shoes, throughout thehalls, that its inevitable your healthy child willcatch something. Especially Athelantis, since he

moves freely from one place to another. Also, four days in the hospital for a well child

can be pretty hairy. Hes feeling zippy, yet hecant go outside. He wants to run and be free, yethes constantly being put to bed to have his tem-perature taken or to zap when hes not ready for it,

or to eat different food than what he gets at home.Hes separated from his family except for shortvisiting hours. The child is miserable; the parentsare miserable. This is then (if youre lucky ) fol-lowed by a day for the operation and about sevenothers for recuperation. It was conceivable that

Athelantis would be hospitalized this time fortwelve days. Thats a long time to separate a twen-ty-three month old from his family. Its a long timefor one simple orthopedic procedure.

When your child is in the hospital you feel likea part-time mother. You feel more intensely thatyou are a mother, because you focus so much of

your energy and emotional forces on your child. Yet because your child isnt home, your entire rou-tine is disrupted and someone else really bears themajor responsibility for looking after your child thewhole day. You feel very displaced. The first time

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he was hospitalized, I was slightly intimidated bythe doctors and nurses. I worried that I wasntpicking him up properly, or changing him correct-

ly, or feeding and burping him in the prescribedmanner. That wears off. You quickly realize thatthe only right way is the most comfortable way foryour child and you.

Every day you have to pack things to take tohim . . . little presents, favorite toys, fresh clothes.

Every day you bring things back from the hospitalto be laundered. You feel more tired then usual. Ifall into bed usually about 9:00 P .M . right after thedogs last walk. Im out until the next morning. Ialways lose weight. Some of the mothers eat more,sitting in the lounge, eating and smoking, drinkingsodas, and they gain weight. I always lose fromfive to ten pounds.

The mothers who have lots of children are sobusy that their lives are one dizzy whirl. Forevergetting up early in the morning, taking care of chil-dren who are home, fixing the house, cooking hotmeals, arranging for baby-sitters, going up to the

hospital to spend time with the child whos there,rushing back home for dinner, and then falling inbed from exhaustion. Some of the mothers work atoffice jobs. Their lives are further complicated byhaving to do all the necessary home-type things

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before leaving for work; then they go to work; theygo to the hospital; they return home exhausted.When possible, parents arrange to take their vaca-

tions during the time the child is hospitalized.Since you dont always know in advance that yourchild is going to be admitted it makes for a difficultscheduling problem. It also makes for a miserablevacation. Its even worse for the child. If the par-ent has been able to take his vacation so that he

can be at the hospital as much as possible, thechild becomes used to the constant attendance.Then the parent goes back to work. If the child isin traction, he stays in the hospital for weekssometimes months. The older children becomevery lonely. If youre working its hard to spendmuch time at the hospital, except on weekends. If you work in midtown Manhattan, the trip to thehospital takes almost an hour. By the time youget to the hospital after work its 6:00 P .M .; V isitinghours are over at 7:00 p.m.

Because the hospital is so noted for its orthope-dic staff, children are brought from all over the

state, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. The firsttime Athelantis was admitted, another little boywas also there. He was undergoing his last fingerseparation. His family lived in Pennsylvania. Themother drove one hundred miles every day, back

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and forth, to be with her child. The procedures hadtaken about two years to complete. I think thechild had undergone about six operations. There

was another child at home. That child, too, hadhad to undergo finger separations.

The hospital rents a limited amount of roomsin the nurses residence for use by mothers whotravel long distances. Its such a huge complexthat most parents go to private hotels or travel

back and forth from home every day. Either wayits expensive in time and money.I dont know whats worsewhen youve got a

little one inside or an older one. When theyre real-ly tiny, a couple of months or so, it doesnt seem ascrucial to be there all the time. You figure, whatdoes the kid know anyway? He just wants to becuddled. So if the hospital staff seems to spendingtime with the children, youre not as upset as whenyou leave an older child. Theyre not very vocal ata couple of months. They dont express their ire asoften or as loudly. As your child gets older you feelthe need to spend more and more time with him in

hospital. At Athelantiss age theyre talking, butnot much and not very clearly. Only those whospend a lot of time with them can really under-stand what theyre saying when they stretch theirhands out imperiously and cry fumajay . . . fuma-

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jay, or miwa, miwa (juice and milk). If youre notat the hospital, you really worry that your kidssufferingor worse, being neglected. Hes not

probably. But that doesnt make it any easier onyou, at home, worrying that he might be thirsty orhungry.

The older children are very vocal in their dis-dain for hospital living. Some hospitals make spe-cial provision for the phenomenal adolescent

appetite by providing small refrigerators in whichthey can store soft drinks, yogurt, ice cream, sand-wiches, fruit, and teen-style snacks. In an orthope-dic area where the kids are convalescing from bonerepairs and can eat anything they want (exceptwhen theyre postoperative) its rather insensitiveto only feed them at prescribed hours, to bar themfrom the pantry, and force them to rely on theirfamilies to bring extras during visiting hours.Since most of them hate the hospital diet anyway,and return practically full trays to the carts, theirnutritive needs wouldnt be impinged upon byallowing them a refrigerator in one of the storage

rooms thats never locked anyway or even out inthe lounge. Theres certainly enough room on thatfloor for one small refrigerator.

Even though theyre terribly harassed by hav-ing one child in the hospital and others at home, I

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think those mothers are probably luckier than I.Its awfully lonely when your only child is awayfrom home. If its an older child and youre used to

his being in school part of the day, and with friendsanother part of the day, its an easy adjustment.But when youre used to a bawdy, tirading toddler,its oppressive when hes in the hospital. Thehouse does stay ordered. Theres less to clean, notthat I clean much anyway. Im a demand cleaner.

But its too quiet.I always promise myself to accomplish a lotwhen hes in the hospital. It is easier cleaning andshopping, but I dont really accomplish that muchmore of either house things or my own. My head isalways geared to the clock and departure hour.

And when I get home I just want to sleep. Imoften even too sleepy to read mysteries. Mysteriesplay a very important role in my life. Im very par-ticular about the ones I read. They have to be welldrawn, plotted, characterized, and generally proce-durals. I like series characters and no unneces-sary blood and gore. If Im upset or blocked in my

own work, a good mystery unwinds me. When Iveonly one left on the current books-I-am-now-read-ing shelf, I get very squirrely. I especially rely onthem when hes in hospital. I have very finelyhoned selective hearing. When Im reading I block

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everything out. It helps me get through the sub-way ride, the nap time in the hospital, waiting forhim to wake from anesthesia, altercations with

hospital staff. I read lots of other things, too. Ihave to do a lot of research for plays were doing inthe childrens theater or my proposal assignmentsfor the state.

There was one period where I was doing noth-ing but research on narcotics and the narcotics-

addicted. It was very depressing, because I had todo research at one of the state agencies and alsohad to go into the field to work with the director of a narcotics project. Its important work, but makesme very sad. When I completed the assignment (ittook several months), I had a veritable orgy of mys-teries. I averaged two hours a book. I wentthrough fifteen or twenty of them, getting my headin order for the next assignmentpollutionandthe babys next operation. It all sort of cametogether.

Some of the parents cant wait to sprint out of

the hospital into the nearest bar. You need some-thing to unwind from the hospital. Aspirin andvitamins get me through the visiting hours.Mysteries uncloud my head so I can relax and getto sleep fast. You need something to prevent you

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from thinking. Thinking is a short jolt away formbrooding. Once your child is in hospital, bar thebattling that I do with the doctors and staff, there

is very little you can do for your child. You cantmake him heal faster. You cant make the experi-ence any more easy or pleasant. To sit and worry

just aggravates you and makes life at home withyour family or your husband tense and dreary.

Although its hard to make the experience eas-

ier for the child, you can make it a hell of a lotharder. The last time Athelantis was in the hospi-tal, one couple had their daughter in his room. Shehad been in traction a couple of weeks and wouldremain so for several more. The parents were wor-ried about her and their other child. They alsohated being in the city. They lived in Westchesterand had to commute every day. They bickeredendlessly. They called each other names, put eachother down at the slightest provocation. Theywere at each other in the ward, in the lounge, infront of other parents, their daughter, and thestaff. It embarrassed the daughter. It was ugly

and unnecessary. It also made the child feel asthough it was all her fault. She also felt that theydidnt really want to spend time with her. Theywere constantly in the lounge, smoking cigaretteafter cigarette, while their little daughter lay alone

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in traction at the other end of the corridor.There are also the screamers-at-their-own-

children type of mothers who seem to feel that they

are instilling strength into their child if they areable to take the verbal abuse on top of their physi-cal problems. One mother, a very proud lady fromBrooklyn, shrieked at her son, full blast, allthrough visiting hours. Youd get off the elevatorand could hear her screeching at the other end of

the floor. The son was a very bright, sweet-natured little boy who needed a walker and legbraces. She was very hostile with strangers untilshe became more familiar with them. She said, Idont want anybodys pity. Its our problem, wehave to live with it every day. And I dont wantpity. She also didnt want help unless it was nec-essary. She was trying to train her child to be asself-reliant as possible. Once you got beyond hertough faade, you realized just how hurt she was.She used to go to the park with him every daywhen he was home. She said that she wasnt goingto hide him at home in the dark. Yet she hated

having people feel pity for her when they saw herwith her baby in its carriage and her son in hisbraces and walker. I dont need their pity, shesaid. I dont want them looking at us as thoughmy son is something horrible.

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When your child is born with something wrongyou start looking around at other families. Everyonce in a while you hear, from the park mothers, of

another case of a child being born with defects orsome other physical or mental handicap. But youhardly ever see the children. You know they exist.Societies are forever fund raising for these chil-dren. Yet where are they? A friend of a friend was

just returned from England. She said that its the

same over there. You hear stories of retarded orhandicapped family members never seeing thedaylight or outside, always being hidden awayfrom society in a back room or private nursinghome, locked away from normal family loving.People feel shame when an unusual birth occurs intheir family. How sad. So many of the problemsare treatable. So many of the retarded and handi-capped can lead rich lives if they receive the prop-er medical, educational, and emotional upbringing.

One little girl in the orthopedic floor was bornwith something wrong with her spine. I dontthink it was fused. She has never lived at home

with her mother. She stays at the hospital andthen is moved to a nursing home to recuperate.When its time for another operation she comesback to the hospital. Shes sweet, pretty, quick,and very patient. Shes always prone; she has a lit-

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tle life in her legs now, but not much. She nevercomplains, hardly ever cries. Her mother visitsher sporadically in the hospital. She talks con-

stantly about her mother, but rarely sees her. Itsalways an event when the mother comes to visit.The staff and other parents all comment. The lit-tle girl is ecstatic. But shes never taken home.

I dont understand why they do it, but many of the parents dress up when they come visiting. I

cant believe its to make their kids feel better.Theyre so obviously pulled together, painted, andpressed that you know theyre dying to get homeinto something comfortable. I asked one of themothers if she was wearing a wig, because I could-nt believe that it was her own hair. The construc-tion was very elaboratepulled up high and thentiny little rolled curls piled up. It looked remark-ably like a croquembouche. She said that it washer own hair. She went to the beauty parlor everyday before coming to the hospital. Every day!Maybe theyre trying to impress the hospital per-sonnel. Theres one woman who wears a tight gold

lam sweater on the weekend with stretch pants.Shes a rather large lady. She paints her finger-nails silver and her lips are mauve and shiny.

If Ernie has come from the office hell bedressed. If hes in from the field, hes very casual.

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If hes come from home, its old dungarees. Imalmost always in jeans and sneakers. Im often sit-ting on the floor with Athelantis. I dont see any

point in getting all done up to sit on the floor with Athelantis. Its not ever a clean floor. They sweep,wash and wax often, but the floors are alwaysmucked up by a lot of feet, stretchers, pushcarts,and spilled milk and juice.

Many of the parents who come to visit their

children dont seem to spend much time with them.Most of them spend their time talking to eachother or on the telephone. When that telephone isout of order tempers get wild. They arrive withfists filled with change and make call after call,even long distance. One father even called his kidin Florida to tell him not to come home for theweekend. The son arrived anyway.

I was incredibly offended by one upstate lady.I really didnt like her. The daughter wasadorable, but the mother unspeakable. She wasconstantly on the telephone. If she wasnt makingcalls, she was receiving them. When she had to go

out other parents were forced to take messages forher. The queen of the orthopedic floor. She treat-ed most of the rest of us with utter contempt. Oneafternoon she made phone calls to many relatives.The following day they all arrived at the hospital.

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of people crammed into a lounge thats only aboutnine feet by fifteen feet. There were other visitorsbelonging to other patients there as well.

What bothered me even more than all thenoise and extra people was that they were verybusy visiting with each other and pretty muchignoring the adorable hospitalized daughter. Infact, they were there not to see the child, but tohelp the poor harassed mother through her ordeal.

She was the one who was suffering and neededsustenance.Forget the kid in her neck and torso cast.

Mother was having the vapors. She made many of her relatives promise to come back during theweek, because weekdays seemed longer to her.Then most of them gathered their cigars and plas-tic bags together and went out for a late lunch,leaving the child alone with her cassettemotherwas hungry and needed conversation.

I worry about the baby a lot when hes in hos-pital. Especially now, that I know he can escape soeasily. I was at my doctors for an examination.

Going to her office is always a treat. Shes a talk-er. Before being examined she took me out to herbackyard to see her ferns and caladium. Amazingangel wings, beautiful colors and huge, the largestIve ever seen. I had brought her an asparagus

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fern. She has wonderful plants, but I knew thatwas one she didnt own. Ernie went with me to heroffice on very snowy days when he was afraid of my

slipping on the ice a couple of times when I waspregnant. He never could understand why a sim-ple blood test, urinalysis, probing of stomach, lis-tening to heartbeats, and so on could take so long.It was because wed also be sitting inside compar-ing perfume formulas. She started me making per-

fumes. We liked lovely, light pure scents. Some of her favorites are rose based. Mine too. Then wetalk plants. I told her about Athelantiss greatescapes. And she wondered about his hands.Since he leaps onto elevators and rushes around byhimself in the hospital, what were his chances of getting his hands caught in an elevator door? Whowas responsible for him when we were not there?That massive amount of surgery isnt going to helpif his hands get caught in an elevator door.

She also thought that maybe this book shouldbe written under an assumed name. But whybother. All the doctors and nurses reading this

will know its me anyway. If there are going to bereprisals, theyll happen, real name or phony.

In worrying about him up at the hospital, Ialso worried about anesthesia. You didnt alwaysmeet each doctor who participated on t e case, but

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the anesthetist always came down the night beforeto introduce himself. Its a marvelous human kindof courtesy, always appreciated. I know theyre

careful about the way they administer anesthesiaand the amount they use on a child. Thats whythey only want to work on one separation at atime. Yet each operation takes so long and wevecheated death so often that I fear for him eachtime. Its not a very logical fear, certainly, since

they are so very careful. But each time its over,and hes out of danger, I gulp and say thanks. Athelantis is very difficult to live with; hes

muleheaded and pig stubborn, but hes mine.

One of the young residents on duty at thattime was rather handsome. He was used to havinghis whims deferred to by the ladies. I was in

Athelantiss room rocking him when he came to seea young Puerto Rican mother who had just broughther son into the hospital to have his feet treated.He was six months younger than Athelantis. Theresident walked to the mother and said, We think

you child is retarded. The mother was stunned.The child had had no tests taken as yet; few doc-tors had even seen him. The resident asked if thechild was toilet-trained. The mother said no, hewas only a year and a half.

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When you pick up a pencil and draw a circle,does your child reproduce the circle? the doctorasked. No, she replied, he scribbles. We dont

know how much help we can give your son, thedoctor continued, but its obvious he has neurolog-ical problems. He said a few more things alongthese lines and left.

The mother turned to me and said, I came inwith a perfectly normal baby who needs casts on

his feet and suddenly I have a retarded child. Howwill I tell my husband?The woman had had no preparation for such a

report. It had been handed to her in a public wardand hardly any tests had been run on the child todetermine just how accurate the residents state-ments were.

Later, when I was in the lounge, the residentcame over to me and asked, Is Athelantis toilet-trained. No, I said, Hes only two. Whats thematter, is he retarded? the doctor asked. Notthat Ive noticed, I retorted, and he walked away.

After going through the four-day waiting peri-

od they confirmed the fact that his temperaturefluctuated and that there was nothing wrong withhim. They were going to operate the next morning.The surgeon told me that they would be workingon the right hand again since it had been so long

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between operations. The nurse handed Athelantisto me and I put him into a bathtub to soak for ahalf an hour in Phisohet, so that they could then

shave his arm hair and wrap the arm to keep itclean until the surgery. He hates staying in thehospital bathtub for such a long period. Its differ-ent from home. At home one wall is a big sizedwindow filled with plants. The tub is full of boatsand floating toys. The dog is in the bathroom with

us, throwing her ball into the tub. If the baby getsattention she demands equal time. He loves hisbath at home. He hates it at the hospital. Its theslowest possible half hour when Im soaking himthere. It passed finally.

I took him out of the tub, toweled him off andthen the nurse came to shave the hair. He loathesthis process, perhaps even more than the soaking.He screamed the whole time she was working onhim. We finally finished and his hand and thighwere wrapped.

The surgeon arrived. He had just spoken tothe head of the orthopedic hand who had decided

that they would operate on the left hand as theyhad originally planned. Athelantis had to beresoaked and reshaven. I told the nurse to pleasedo it after I left, because I couldnt stand to listento him screaming again. She promised that she

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would. She handed me the scissors and I startedcutting away the bandage. He didnt even waituntil it was completely severed. He yanked on it;

pulled it off, and stalked away to get hisdinnerthe milk and fruit part. He ate greedily,messily, with his hands.

They operated on him. They almost duplicat-ed what they had done on his right hand. They dida split right down the middle separating the clus-

ter of four fingers into two clusters of two fingers.They took a very large patch this time, double thesize of the last patch. I dont know why they need-ed to graft so much skin since they only did oneprocedure. They didnt touch the webbing of histhumb this time. He was in the operating room fora very long time.

When they brought him down from recovery,he was bouncing around in a pretty good mood. Hedidnt want to eat any of his dinner though. Theykept him on intravenous feeding until I returnedthe next day, since he continued to refuse all thefood that they presented to him. The head nurse

promised that they would take him off the I-V if Icould get him to eat and drink at least eight ouncesof anything. I asked for yogurt and they broughtpurple flavor. He was reluctant to sample it, but Iforced him and succeeded. I also got him to drink

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a little juice and some milk. It took three and ahalf hours of continual prodding, but I did it. Hewas finally taken down from the I-V. I was able to

take him out of the crib and he was out and downthe hall in a flash.

He was finally released after eleven days inhospital. The patch looked red and huge. The doc-tor rebandaged the hand and said it was comingalong well. We went home to begin the round of

outpatient visits and to wait for the next call.(To be continued)

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care without care (chapter xi)

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