Windows

A Window! A Window! My kingdom for a window!

I have been sitting in this room at my kid's side for over a week now, and it feels like I have been sitting in a cave, and noisy cave with a lot of beeping.

There is a window in this room, but it isn't on our side of the room. It is on the roommate's side. His name is Joseph and he is 14. He gets the window, and we get the door, which works our fine for him since he has been in isolation for two months and thus has no need for a door. Joseph always keeps his curtain closed, for privacy, obviously, so we can't even see the window. But that doesn't matter because Joseph always keeps the shades down on the window. Dylan and Joseph both like it dark for napping and watching movies. Thus the cave-like atmosphere.

I have a book light and spend most of my time reading in the cave. I can use the computer, when Dylan isn't using it to watch his DVDs. My escape is the hallway. There are always lights there, but no windows. I know the halls of the 5th floor well, as that is my only exercise, pacing the hallway, talking on my cell phone or waiting for the bathroom. There are no windows in the hallway, only doors. I can go through a whole day and not catch a glimpse of the blue sky. I don't know if it is dark or light outside. Time mushes together and means nothing.

I did see a window when Dylan was having his surgery and I was in the surgical waiting room. I saw a guy up on a cherry picker putting Christmas lights on tall palm trees. Whoa! I was just recovering from Halloween. Where the heck did fall go? This is a bad season to have several weeks sucked away. I am always stressed out at Christmas, but this one is really going to be a doozy.

We got to see a few windows the day after surgery too. Dylan was in great pain, you know how the day after surgery is always the worst. One doctor ordered for Dylan to get an ultrasound. They sent up a wheelchair to transport him down to radiology. Getting him to the wheelchair was horribly painful, screaming, the whole bit, and sitting up in a chair a day after hip surgery was no fun either. We wheeled down to radiology, we passed a few windows. I think it was day. Apparently they do have windows here, but on other floors, other wings. When we got to the ultrasound room he had to go from the wheelchair up to the bed. Dylan refused. Too painful to have to stand up, turn around then lie down flat. We might as well have asked him to walk through hot coals. We finally convinced him to do it. It was so hard to watch him in that kind of pain! He finally got up on the bed and the technician lifts up his gown to do the ultrasound only to find the his whole belly and left thigh are wrapped in an ace bandage. He can't do an ultrasound through a bandage, and won't remove it. The doctor who sent for the test was obviously not the surgeon and had no idea he was bandaged up like that. The technician could do nothing and sent him back to the room. In insisted on a gurney. No wheelchair. We had to wait for the gurney, then had our trip back past a few windows to the room, again. Someone mentioned the possibility of a doctor removing the wrapping so he could go get the test. I insisted he stay right on that gurney until they knew for sure one way or another. I was not going to let them make another painful move to his bed, just to have them have to move him back to the gurney for another trip downstairs. Finally it was decided that the test could wait a few days. Good. What a fruitless waste of time and unnecessary suffering. At least we got to see some windows.

So anyways, that was our other encounter with windows this week. Didn't really get to sit and gaze out of them.

So when people ask what I need, I say "Can you send me a window?" I really need a window.

We have one picture in this room. It is a big picture of a momma, daddy, and baby killer whales. It is a nice picture, but holds your attention for all of three seconds. I suppose we could put curtains on the picture and pretend we are underwater.

My friend Farai even drew me a window, but forgot to bring it to me. I appreciate the thought, though.

Other people on other rooms have windows. I envy them their windows. I envy Joseph his window too. Why doesn't he just open his window? Even indirect sunlight would be better than nothing.

One day when Joseph got a rare trip out of his room, I took a sneak peek out of his window. I pulled up the blinds and what I saw was not the rolling hills and tall cypress and palm trees I had seen out the window a few doors down on that first morning we arrived here. All that can be seen from Joseph's window is a white wall and some dark rectangular windows. It reminded me of a prison for some reason. No view. Just a wall. No wonder Joseph keeps his blinds down. This hospital, with all of its policies needs to make a simple policy that the isolation rooms must have the best views. This kid has been sitting in isolation for two months and all he has to look at out of his window is a wall. It is beyond cruel! I asked if they have a suggestion box somewhere because I have a few suggestions. They don't have one.

Joseph's view-less window made me sad. I felt bad for begrudging Joseph for keeping the shades down. I didn't understand his circumstance. It was also true in other ways. Joseph is noisy, rude, and belligerent. I was really put off by him at first, feeling sorry for ourselves that we had to share a room with that kid. But the longer I have been here, and talked to him, and looked out of his window, so to speak, I have changed my mind about him. He has not has a single visitor since we have been here, other than his tutor, physical therapist, nurses, doctors and the rest. When those guys come, he messes around with them and causes them grief. I see now that he is just trying to get some attention. He wants them to stay and hang out with him, not just run off to their next patient. His mom calls every couple of days, but it usually ends up with him hanging up on her. His dad is in jail for drugs. He is going home next week not to his home, but to a group home. His only love is football, but three surgeries on his knee mean no more football for Joseph. He had a blood clot and has to have shots in his stomach twice a day. That can't be fun either.

Now that I understand Joseph a bit, now that I have looked out of his window and seen the crummy view that he has to look at everyday, I don't envy him his window anymore. He doesn't bug me anymore. I like Joseph. I listen to him when he needs to talk through the curtain, and I tell him he is smart and good. The other day he had a math game he wanted to play with me. I humored him and he won. I am terrible at math, so that is no surprise. I told his how smart he was. I meant it. Then he challenged his nurses, and his PT guy, and anyone who would stop their busy day to play a few rounds with him. He won every time. That night I heard him tell his mom on the phone "There are some people here who think I have a brilliant mind... No, Mom, really."

His tutor gave him an assignment the other day to write an essay about something that happened in his life. It stressed him out because he couldn't think of anything positive in his life that he even wanted to remember or have someone else read about. He got frustrated and told her he wasn't doing it. She left. I talked to Joseph, and told him I bet he was a great writer, and that all the great writers had had bad things happen to them. It was those experiences that helped them be great writers. He told me he wasn't doing it. Period.

A few days later Joseph declared to me that he was going to surprise his tutor and do the essay- due tomorrow - even if it took all night. The assignment was a bit more complicated than simple an essay. It had to have so many paragraphs, each with so many sentences, each sentence having to have a set number of nouns, adjectives, prepositions, etc. It was a difficult assignment. He was up until very late working on it. He kept asking me through the curtain things like "Is 'ugly' an adjective?" He kept me up to date on his progress, and I kept telling him he was so good and the tutor would be so surprised. He was so excited the next morning to hand his paper into his tutor. It was very good. He got an A+. Joseph was happy. I was happy too. Poor Joseph. I wouldn't want his window.

I've been thinking about the other people in these other rooms. There are some seriously sick children here, children who have cancer or horrible disease or trauma, children with major birth defects, children who are here because they were abused by their parents, children who have nobody at their bedside, children who will never leave this hospital alive. How can I really envy them their windows?

Yes this whole experience was very scary and very painful to go through. But in a week or so we will be back in our home with the big windows. By the new year Dylan will be off his IV, back in school, and by next Thanksgiving this will all have been a very bad nightmare, nothing more.

That is the window I get to look through, and I am so grateful for it. So the view from this room, as far as I can tell, is perfect.