Prompt: Write in a genre or voice you are not comfortable in

Characters: Quinn, Puck & Beth

Words: 754

I never spend more than a few hours away from Beth until I am hospitalized for three weeks.

Two seconds of inattention, and I'm flat on my back. Unable to feel my legs.

From what I've been able to gather, it's the Puck & Judy Show at home. Mom has Beth until Puck takes over after school for a few hours (so she can check in with me). She tries to be back in time to feed Beth dinner, even though apparently Puck keeps insisting that he can cook.

Sounds like they have everything figured out. Puck even calls every afternoon, so Beth can talk to me. She babbles mostly, but I love hearing her voice.

I just don't have time for this. I need to get home to her.


Puck has to carry me in when I finally come home. Because of the stairs. And the wheelchair that I'd hoped to leave at the hospital is waiting for me, having been brought in first.

After getting settled, I turn slowly (the thick carpeting is doing me no favors, and I wish for the smooth linoleum of the hospital for a heartbeat). Mom is holding Beth, who regards me seriously and not without apprehension.

I try to set her at ease with a smile and a "Hey Bug…"

She shrinks away, burying her face in Mom's shoulder.


It's a relief when Puck suggests a walk, just the three of us. He takes Beth from my mom, and crouches in front of me.

"Look what Mommy got at the hospital!" he whispers. He touches the wheels and the metal frame, setting her in front of it. "This is so cool! It's a stroller, just like Bethie's!"

"Puck!"

"What? She doesn't know what a wheelchair is!"

Beth inspects the wheel that is just about as tall as she is, before looking at me for the first time. "'Roller?" she asks, nodding her head.

"You better believe it! Wanna go outside in Mommy's stroller?"

And then, her arms extend toward me. "Up?"

And while it kills me to not be able to scoop her up myself yet, when Puck settles her on my lap, it is the best moment.

Puck takes us through to the back door, where he does slow laps with the two of us around the deck.

I breathe in her sweet scent.


It's not easy. There are no how-to manuals to learn how to parent from a wheelchair. A Google search turns up disappointingly few tips.

Everything from changing her diaper to her outfit requires much more partnership and patience on Beth's part now. (My mom almost loses it, seeing Beth climb up on the solid oak coffee table, diaper in hand so I could change her. She still wants to control everything.)

The day Beth comes to me crying after closing her fingers in her toy box is a low point. She wants me to pick her up for cuddles, but I'm still not cleared to lift anything. I kiss each of her fingers and then her cheeks. Soon, I'm crying too.


The next morning, it's a Saturday. I hear Beth in the kitchen and know that Mom got up before me. I smell pancakes and sausage. If I keep my eyes closed, this is just a normal day. No accident, no injury.

I lay there until I hear Beth come into my room. She always looks so adorable in the morning, sleep-tossed hair and pink footie pajamas.

"Morning, Bug! How are you?"

"Pancakes, Mom!" she chirps excitedly.

"Mmm, I love pancakes! Should we have some?"

"Yeah!"

She's gone in a flash, feet pattering. I smile after her and start thinking about sitting up.

Beth's coming back down the hall with some sort of toy this time. I wish I had her energy. I see that she's pushing her pink doll stroller. With some effort, she guides it into my room.

"Bug, where's your baby? Did you leave her in here?"

"No," she waves her hand in a comically dismissive way. "Come on, Mom! I push you!"

I laugh, "Oh thank you, Bug! Do you think I can fit?"

She says "Yes," with all the seriousness of every doctor I've seen in the past two months.

I grab my phone off my bedside table and snap a picture of Beth standing expectantly by her stroller. I send it to Puck with the message, Our daughter has come to chauffer me to breakfast.

God, I love her so much.