Rocky Road
Once again I sit by his bed. At least this room has a window and isn't chock-full with all these machines. He had fallen asleep again, after my husband had called me and hadn't really woken up since then. The tension between my husband and my son isn't overcome yet. But we can't work this out now. They boy is too exhausted. He barely wakes up and when he does the drugs they give him are making him awfully dazed that he doesn't recognize anything. Watching your son like that is the worst that can happen to you as mother. I had thought it would get better when he was moved from ICU to a normal room. I had been wrong. But after Wednesday night I had regained some hope – a lot. Although I should be deadly tired after… I should stop thinking like a teenage girl and concentrate more on the wellbeing of my sons. Rustling pulls me out of my thoughts. He opens his eyes and looks at me. They are less dazed than the days before.
"Hey, did you sleep well?" He shakes his head. He doesn't talk a lot, only if really necessary. I leave him with that. When he's at home I have time enough to make him a human-being again.
"You'll be better soon." I tell him, nearly everyday. I stroke his bangs out of his face. He looks so pale and his face tells me that he's on pain again. Of course he is. He had undergone two major surgeries.
"Did you eat something today?" Again he shakes his head. I ask myself when it had been the last time he had eaten something properly, but according to his appearance it was a long time ago. He seems to get thinner from day to day. He's only skin and bones. Yes I know this accident claimed a lot of his strength and energy. But I can't see him like this anymore. He used to be strong and well shaped. Now he…he's sick and he looks like that.
"You should eat something, to regain some strength back." I tell him. I'm afraid he might endanger his health even more with his not-eating habits. I look at him, but I don't get too much of a response. It's so difficult to get through to him. He had completely shut down. He's not letting anything in or out.
"C'mon let's see, whether we can get you something light to eat." I'll leave for something to eat for him. I don't like leaving him. It's a curious feeling of anxiety – a feeling I never have about Seth. I find Sandra. She's really a good woman. She can handle Ryan. Maybe it's her age. She looks a lot older than me. I'm sure she has a lot of more experiences.
"Excuse me, I wanted to ask, whether it's possible to get something to eat for my son. He hasn't eaten for weeks." I explain to her.
"Of course…uhm…may I ask how long he hasn't eaten…just that I can find something that's not too heavy on his stomach." She answers. I feel bad to say that. What will she think when I tell her that it had been months? She'll think I'm a bad mother and…
"Honestly, it's months ago, when I've seen him eating properly last time." I tell her. The smile on her face doesn't disappear. She only nods.
"That's long. We should have to watch his eating habits. Just in case." I understand very well what she wants to tell me and I would lie, if I said I haven't thought about it myself.
"Okay, I'll bring something." She says, pats my arm and then goes off. I go back to his room and I'm surprised to see him still awake. I can't imagine he had been awake for more than ten minutes the last few days – weeks.
"Hey, you're still awake. That's good. Sandra will get you something to eat." I don't tell him, what else she had told me.
"Thanks." He answers. I see his discomfort.
"Do you want to have something to read?" I ask him. I don't want him to go back to his sleep. He shakes his head.
"Want to go back to sleep?" I ask, but again he shakes his head. I sigh. It's really hard to get him to talk. He had told me so much the morning before he had ran and now he had turned mute. I'm worried. Maybe it is a real depression. With all these symptoms, who knew?
"Here we are." Sandra comes in with a tray. "And I want you to eat all of it." She says and again ruffles through Ryan's hair. I don't tell her that he doesn't like it. There's not too much food on the tray.
"Thanks." He says whisperingly.
"You're welcome." Sandra says and then leaves again. I watch him staring at the tray. I know this look.
"Honey, you need to eat something." He nods and starts to take small bites from a toast. He eats slowly. Three-quarters of an hour and he's finished. I'm glad he managed to eat. It's not what he used to eat – far away from that – but he was eating at all. I put the documents away.
"Are you okay?" I ask. He nods. Hell, kid why aren't you talking?
"What's that?" Hu? Have I thought aloud? He points at the documents. Yes, it's work. I'm a terrible mother, but I can't sit around and watch him like this. I need something to distract my thoughts.
"Work." I answer honestly. He nods. That's it. I have to stop to act like paralyzed. I have to start to get active on him again. Maybe sharing our interests could open me a new gate through to him. I'll just start our rituals and our relationship from there, where it had ended.
"It's a new project. Here." I hand him the folder. He looks at me. "Look at it, or did your interest change?" I ask him challenging. He blushes a bit. I get a response. Now I'm back in my old shape.
"Just…I shouldn't…it's your job." He answers. He still thinks of privacy of one of the greatest values our contemporary history.
"But I allow you to look at it and I'm really looking forward to your opinion." He nods and hesitatingly opens the folder. He has a close look at every paper. If it was Seth I would start to explain every line in detail. But I know Ryan asks, when he doesn't understand something, plus he knows a lot about architecture for his age.
"We plan a new apartment complex at the seaside."
"Oh…okay." He says. In his face I see he's thinking something, but doesn't dare to tell me. He respects my job too much as if he would ever criticise me.
"What's up your mind?" I ask him.
"It's just…when it's the seaside…I…the windows are so small. I would prefer huge ones."
"I knew you would say that. But the problem we are faced with is the weather. We need to think of storms and intense rain. Huge windows are much too susceptible." I explain him.
"And what about these thick windows uh and…double-glazing, special measures of sealing?" He asks me. He's really in the know. I hope he'll start to study architecture at university. Maybe Berkeley?
"Yeah, we thought about that too, but still not stable enough." I explain him.
"And what if you install rolling shatters?"
"That might be an idea, I should consider." I tell him, glad that he isn't as mute as I thought he was. A knock at the door interrupts our work. Another doctor enters the room.
"Hello?" I greet him. Should I know him?
"Hello, I'm Dr. Conrad. I'm from a clinic in New York and just had a look at your son's x-rays." He explains. I nod and put away the folder. I beg that he has some good news for us.
"You're Ryan I guess." He looks towards Ryan, who immediately had switched into the mute modus again.
"Well, as I said I had a look at your x-rays and it looks bad, but not hopeless." He goes on.
"I can suggest two measure of treatment. We ether can put you pelvis downward into a cast or we can fix your leg within a surgery." I don't need to look at him, to know he doesn't like the second idea. The man takes a chair and sits down. He looks young.
"The advantage of a cast: you won't have to take the additional risk occurring within a surgery. The disadvantage: you won't be able to move for six to eight weeks, meaning you will have to spend a lot of time in bed. I also don't think that we will be able to set the fractures. Speaking literally: your thighbone is a mosaic. It's impossible to set that without surgery. Also there's no chance that your knee will recover from the dislocation. What means, walking is not going to happen anymore." Well, then there is only one option left. I can't imagine Ryan like the idea of a crooked leg, pain and disability.
"The disadvantage of the surgery will be the risk of the anaesthesia and in your current state it's nothing you should underestimate. Unfortunately we already waited too long with the surgery, so every passing day will decrease your chances of a full recovery – especially your knee. But I'm optimistic that I can fix at least the whole bone. I also might be able to reconstruct ligaments, nerves and vessels. But the success of a recovery depends on the later cicatrisation. But all in all the result would be much better than if we only put you into a cast. Best of all, though you won't be able to use your leg and will have to wear one of these damn uncool knee braces, but you will be able to move around with the support of crutches and no cast." I look at him and I see that he's torn: the fear of such a surgery and the desire to be able to move around as soon as possible."
"May I ask how bad the damage in his knee is?" I don't know why I ask this. I only know that nobody told me that it was really serious. They only told me it was dislocated. How should I have known that there was more damage than only a slipped bone?
"I can't say now, but when I'm able to have a look at the open joint. But usually it's quiet bad." The doctor answers.
"And nobody was able to tell me this?"
"I don't know that. I only know that we have to react as soon as possible."
"And how long will such a surgery be?"
"Several hours. I don't think that we can fix all within three. As I say, I need to see the full damage. I can't make any prognoses by now." And I hoped he was bringing good news. In somehow it feels like it was bad news. But it wasn't. They just weren't as good as I hoped they would be.
"We'll think about it." I tell him. I need to talk to my husband about this and…Stop. We can't even decide about this. We're only his foster parents.
"Of course, but you shouldn't wait too long. Deadline is the end of the week. If there are any further questions, I'll be at your disposal. " The doctor says, shakes my hand firmly and then leaves us alone. I look at my son and I see he's despaired.
"That was a lot, what?" I try to find out what he's thinking or feeling, but I don't get a response, despite his trademark shrugging shoulders.
"Would you like to tell me what you're thinking right now? It's really important for me…us to know." I explain him. He still looks at me.
"I dunno…don't like the idea of surgery, but don't want to be fulltime cripple either." He answers.
"I can understand you. It's no easy decision to make, but if I…might tell you what I think of?" I ask him. I don't want to give him the feeling of paternalism. He nods.
"The cast of course bears less risk, but you have to think about your future and how you want to live then. You can't make the decision only depend on your current state, but have to think further." I want to give him support. He needs it right now.
"So, you think surgery it's the best idea." I nod. "Can…can you leave me alone, please? I need some time to think." He says shyly. I already saw this coming. He always does his brooding alone and I don't want to force him to talk about his mental discussion in his head right now. It's already bad enough for him, to get to listen to how bad the chances of a full recovery are anyway.
"Okay. Call me if you need something or someone. I'm there, did you get that?" Again he nods.
"And don't even dare not to call me or the doctor only because you don't want to bother any of us. You aren't alone with this and you shouldn't be." I tell him. Again he nods.
"Alright, I guess I won't get too many words from you. So, goodbye, I come by later this day." I peck him goodbye and heavy hearted leave him alone in this uncomfortable room with this horrible decision to make. In the hallway I meet the doctor once again.
"Excuse me Dr. Conrad, may I ask you something?" He turns around. In comparison to the other doctors he doesn't look stressed or bothered.
"Of course."
"I…I want to know how high the risk is that something goes wrong due the surgery." My heart pounds heavy in my chest.
"You mean regarding to the anaesthesia?" I nod. "Well, your son's current state worries me a bit. But he'll be on full observation due the surgery so when something happens we should be able to react immediately and prevent worse." He answers.
"But the risk is higher than…it's usually."
"Yes."
"Okay, thanks, once again." I say and then leave the hospital. I start to worry. No, I'm already worried.
When I come home, I find my husband reading the newspapers on the patio. I step outside. There is another stony trip ahead of us and I need to tell him. I hate to be the carrier of bad news, but that's what I am right now.
"Hey honey. Already back?" He asks me, gets up and gives me a kiss.
"Yes, he wanted to have some time alone." I tell him and his expression tells that he's close to a rage attack again.
"The doctor told us about the measures of treatment for his leg." I say and sit down. Watching the horizon makes me calm down immediately. It's strange, but this view manages to give me back some strength.
"And?" My husband asks me.
"Either cast, without chances of a good recovery or a long surgery with a good chance for a – not full – but quite good recovery."
"Then the case is clear." My husband already had made a decision and I'm glad that he wasn't with me when the doctor had talked to us. With his eager of making decision a new fight wouldn't have been far away.
"No, Sandy it's not. The surgery is still risky, especially in Ryan's state. Added to that we both know what had happened to his mother and that he still isn't over it. Plus we can't decide this. We're only his foster parents and because there is no one left from his family, we have to call in the guardianship court." My husband sighs and sits down across from me.
"You're right. I forgot that. I go and make some calls. Seeing which judge will be in charge this week and then see how our chances will be." My husband says and goes to leave.
"Sandy, can you do me one favour?" He turns around. "Don't rush with anything. I know we can't wait too long, but it's really hard for Ryan and I don't want that he feels attacked or patronized. And the tension between you and him isn't helpful in anyway."
"I try my best." He says and then leaves for his calls. I'm left alone with my bad feeling. But maybe Ryan has recovered from his shock this evening.