DAY-BOR-RAH!! GOOD MORNING! HOW WAS THE SLEEP?
The sweet little face of my friend H. beamed with a large grin as he yelled and waved across the 24-bed ward. His next question, 'When are we going to play?'
This afternoon as I rounded the corner to work with an old lady who just had an amputation, I was greeted again with:
DAY-BOR-RAH!! ARE YOU WELL? HOW IS THE WORK? WHEN WILL WE PLAY?
|Playing in the walker while 'helping' me|
I told him that I still had five other patients to see before we could play. He ran around and danced some more while I finished with my tsohwa, and just as I was saying 'Okay, H., I'll come back when it's time to play,' he palmed by index finger and pulled me down the ward.
H. accompanied me for my next three patients . . . when I adjusted the crutches he held the wingnuts, when my patients were walking he did a jig in the doorway.
Not going to lie, with each sweet (not-so) little 'DAY-BOR-RAH!' my heart melted.
When the time finally came for us to play, I rounded up the other kids and we went to my office. H. enthusiastically colored and built block towers and spit, I mean, blew bubbles . . . and every now and then bulldozed a neighboring kiddo in his attempt to help them.
After 45 minutes of good play . . . I mean . . . therapy it was time for the kiddos to go. And just as they were putting the toys . . . uh . . . therapeutic tools away, one of our docs brought a guy in for crutches. What he hadn't told me ahead of time was that he was going to cut this guy's cast off.
He switched on the cast saw and my office became a den of chaos. The children cried out in fear!
But none such as Little H.
Terrorized, H. screamed and hid behind his mother . . . whose arms were full by her newborn son. She tried to convince H. to follow her out of the room, but there was no way he was going anywhere near that power saw.
I bent down and picked him up. He gripped my neck with both arms and buried his face in my neck as we walked past the frightful cast cutter.
|Walking finger-in-hand to my office|
He was running.
I tried to let go, but he kept running and shouting. I understood 'NO!' 'PAIN!' 'COME!' 'WE NO RETURN THERE!'
Finally he let me go.
A few minutes later I was bringing his neighbor back to her bed in a wheelchair. Both of Little's A.'s legs were burned by boiling water and while she had walked to my office, all that play . . . by which I mean 'therapy' of course . . . wiped her out.
As I helped A. back into her bed, my buddy H. started trying to push the adult sized wheelchair. His little arms barely reached the handles, he couldn't make it go, but still he tried.
So I sat down and said 'LET'S GO!' He put his arms in place, and without him being able to see, I began turning the wheels.
He was so very proud of himself, pushing me down the ward. The onlookers cheered him; and for a few minutes he strutted as though he was Hercules!