Pardon me while I wax a bit serious/earnest. I am sitting here looking at the multi-colored walls in this tiny hospital room for two (so tiny, in fact, that two wheelchairs, the trashcan and a bedside table have to be wheeled out into the hallway before the one of the boy's beds can be brought in) and I am grateful and sorrowful all at once.
Next to us is a 9 year old boy. A bi-polar, double leg amputee, red-headed 9 year old boy. Seems hardly fair, these two boys—one just halfway through his elementary school career and the other a nearly 17 year old beginning high school—both of them taking off a day of school for medical procedures that have become all too common occurrences.
Both these boys should be walking the halls, exchanging jokes, playfully pushing buddies into lockers, or stealing the fries from a friend's plate, but not propped up in bed strung out on Valium, watching reruns of Dr. Phil while mom holds their hand.
Yet, looking out the window I see the hills are finally greening up, an unspoken promise of the coming Spring. The sun is out in full force, the air is a balmy 50 degrees, and skies the color of swimming pools hint at the end of a dreadfully long winter. Time to break out the capris and celebrate? Oh how an eternal winter changes one's skin's perspective.
Dr. Michelle, a black-haired young resident–her only distinguishing characteristic (besides gleaming teeth and ebony brows) is a diamond nose piercing. Why is my first thought not to take her seriously because of the tiny, sparkling diamond in her nose? But I am wrong and she is completely attentive and personable to both these boys in her care. She is another bit of green on the foothills of the valley of Tyler's Winter.
