Ch. 35
Bored.
Bored.
Bored.
So bored!
Staring up at the white ceiling of his tiny room, all Dylan could think about was just how utterly bored he was. Up until now, Dylan Anderson had firmly believed there could be nothing so boring as a day at school. But now that he thought about it (and to be fair, he had little else to do except think), he could usually count on something happening at school. Occasionally a kid would have a new toy or someone would say something funny in class or there would be a fight on the playground and that was always entertaining. Not enough to make Dylan want to go to school, true, but right now, Dylan would take even the remote possibility of seeing a schoolyard brawl over his current situation.
The IV needle was still in his arm and thanks to his fit while it was inserted- an extremely unpleasant occurrence- Nurse Nora had ended up strapping Dylan's arms to the bedrails.
"This is for your own good. I've had boys pull out their IV needles and believe me, it hurts like the devil. Once I'm sure you won't try anything that foolish, I'll release you."
"WWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAAA!" While the straps hadn't been tight, they did their job in keeping Dylan's arms restrained so that he couldn't jerk them around. Dylan had then resorted to kicking his legs against his bed as hard as he could and screaming his head off. Once again, though, no one had been moved by his tantrum and both Nora and the assisting orderly had merely left the room while Dylan carried on.
"WHHHHHHAAA! I HATE YOU! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA! I HATE YOU! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Sadly, a full night's sleep and being tied to a bed had not done much for Dylan's stamina. As a result, the boy soon tired and had to flop onto his bed, red-faced and sweating. Dylan groaned as his tired legs and overtaxed stomach muscles cramped while his throat stung with thirst. A few tiny tears managed to force their way out of his eyes to mingle with the sweat on his cheeks and Dylan resorted to kicking feebly at the blankets bunched up by his feet.
"I hate you," he muttered fiercely. "I hate all of you."
It wasn't fair; it just wasn't fair! Dylan scowled as he stared up at the white ceiling. He should be home right now, sitting on his cozy couch and watching TV while his grandma gave him cookies and Coke and all of his favorite snacks. But no! Instead, the stupid bugs weren't letting Grandma leave the hospital and the stupid doctors and stupid nurses were being so mean to him. They hurt him with needles and made him takes baths and brush his teeth and wouldn't give him anything good to eat. Meanwhile, he was sure James was getting all the cookies and TV he wanted.
"Right, then, done with your temper tantrum?"
Dylan looked up as Nora entered the room again. This time, she was joined by the doctor from last night. The doctor was flipping through a small medical file and shaking his head.
"I would ask how you're feeling, but I think I know the answer to that."
"I hate shots! I wanna go home!"
"Indeed. But we need to make sure your body is properly nourished and since you would not eat, we must ensure that your body receives what is needs. And unfortunately for you, young man, your body also needs injections."
"NOOOOOO!"
"I'm afraid so. I was able to call the hospital where your grandmother is staying and they were able to access your medical records. I see you've had a few shots before-"
"I HATED THEM! GRANDMA SAID I DON'T HAVE TO GET ANY MORE!"
"-and while I see you've had the necessary injections to start school, your grandmother has not kept up with the required injection boosters you need. As such, we will have to remedy that. How your school missed this information, I'm not sure."
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"If this is how he behaved at school, I'm starting to get an idea," Nora remarked dryly. "I'll fetch the required injections, Doctor."
"NO NO NO!" Dylan thrashed about on the bed again, but he could only do so for a minute or so before running out of steam again. This gave the doctor the opportunity to give the exhausted boy a quick check-up, peering into Dylan's eyes, ears and nose and listening to his heart and lungs.
"You are very fortunate you did not catch a serious cold, Dylan," the doctor said. "I admit I was worried your weakened immune system would mean you had come down with bronchitis or pneumonia, but your lungs are clear. Still, we're not out of the woods yet. Open your mouth."
Dylan clamped his mouth shut in defiance, but the doctor merely pried the boy's lower jaw open with a gentle, but firm tug.
"Mmmmm, your throat's a tad red, but likely from all your yelling rather than inflammation. Your teeth still need some work, but your tongue's starting to look a bit better. Good, the fluids are helping." The doctor released Dylan's mouth and scribbled something into the folder tucked under his arm. "Unfortunately, we have a more serious problem to deal with. It seems you're in the early stages of developing diabetes, Dylan."
"What's that?"
"A serious, but manageable condition. Some people are born with it, but others can develop diabetes over time, usually due to an unhealthy diet and lack of exercise. Sound familiar?"
Dylan pouted and would've crossed his arms, but as they were strapped to the bed rails, he was unable to do so. The doctor, all too familiar with surly patients, was unfazed.
"In short, Dylan, diabetes means your body cannot break down food properly and as a result, sugar stays in your bloodstream and can cause horrible damage to your body. When a person develops the disease, they end up having to cut out most sugary foods and having to test their blood every day, which would mean pricking their fingers, and in some cases, may have to give themselves shots of-"
"NOOOO! I HATE SHOTS!"
"Then you'll be pleased to know you have not developed diabetes yet and could easily avoid doing so. We're going to do everything we can to ensure that such a thing does not happen to you while you're with us, Dylan, but you're going to have to make some lifestyle adjustments if you want to avoid daily blood tests and injections."
"Like what?"
"A serious reduction of sweets and junk food in your diet and far more exercise. Not only will that help you counteract diabetes, it'll help you lose weight, which will also decrease your chances of developing the disease."
"But I like sweets!"
"As do I, young man, and as do a lot of people. I'm not saying you'll have to forego them entirely, but you certainly cannot eat the amount of junk you have been, judging by your blood test. While you're with us, I'm going to cut out any processed sugars from your diet except for some fruit juice while you're in the infirmary. After that, no sweets at all except for fruit."
"NO NO NO! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I WANT COOKIES! AND I WANT ICE CREAM! AND I WANT-"
"I have the injections ready, Doctor, all five of them." Nurse Nora had re-entered the room with a medical cart. Dylan, seeing her, screamed even louder and resumed kicking, completely ignoring the pain in his legs and middle.
"Well, let's do this quickly, while he's distracted."
"AHHHHHHHH! I WANNA GO HOME! AAAHHHHHHHHH!" Dylan continued screaming at the top of lungs, shaking his head and trying to wrench his arms free of the straps. So distracted was he that the older boy barely felt the sting of the needles on his arms, but every time he caught sight of a fresh hypodermic, he let out a fresh howl of anguish.
"IT HUUUURRRRRTTTSSS! AHHHHHHH! IT HURRRRRTTTSSS! AHHHHHH!"
"Does it still hurt now?"
"YEEEEEESSSS!"
"Funny, because the needle isn't touching you any longer. In fact, we've been finished with your injections for over a minute."
Gasping for breath, Dylan looked over to see the doctor writing in his folder while Nurse Nora was checking the IV line. Small circles of plaster covered the tiny puncture wounds on Dylan's arms and Nora was already adjusting his pajama sleeves to cover them.
"All that fuss could have been avoided if your grandmother had gotten you your shots when you were supposed to have them, you know."
"I HATE SHOTS!"
"I'm not fond of them either, but you needed them. Unfortunately, having five injections at once may make you a bit feverish, Dylan, so you're going to stay in the infirmary until Monday." Nora stood up and headed for the bathroom. Over his sniffles, Dylan heard the sound of running water and Nora emerged soon after with a bowl of water, a wash cloth, and a small towel. Sitting on the edge of Dylan's bed, she set the items on the bedside table, dipped the washcloth into the bowl and began to wash Dylan's face.
"Whhhhhaaaaaa," Dylan moaned half-heartedly. In truth, though, the cool water felt good on his flushed skin and the boy put up no more resistance as Nora gently bathed his face, neck, and hands.
"Thank you, Nurse. I'll check on our other patients now. Let me know if Dylan spikes a fever or has any other issues."
"Yes, Doctor. Dylan, do you need the facilities?"
"I wanna watch TV."
"Again, that is a privilege you will have to earn and even if it wasn't, there isn't a television set I could bring you. I can still bring you a book from the library, but you'll have to wait until I remove the IV from your arm."
"I don't wanna read."
"Well, then, you can lie here and rest. Here, drink some water." Nora held a cup of fresh water up to Dylan's mouth and the boy sipped from it without protest. Much as he hated to admit it, the taste and feel of water on his parched tongue and throat was far more soothing that a slug of sweet bubbly Coke would have been.
"Right, I'll come check on you in a bit, Dylan. For now, you should lie still and rest." Nurse Nora swept out of the room, pushing the medical cart ahead of her and leaving Dylan alone with his thoughts.
For a child with a healthy imagination, being forced to lie in bed with nothing to do would have been an annoyance, but a manageable annoyance. For Dylan, who was utterly unused to not staring at a screen all day, every minute that slipped by felt like an eternity. The ceiling above him was as smooth as fresh vanilla icing on a sheet cake and only served to remind Dylan that not only did he not have anything good to eat, but his favorite foods were going to be denied to him so long as he was stuck in juvenile detention.
"Bet I'm not really getting that stupid die-a-beat-tees," Dylan muttered darkly. "Bet it's all a big fat lie so they can keep all the cookies and cake and ice cream to themselves. When I get out of here, I'm gonna tell Grandma that and then the doctors and nurses and can go jail like the stupid bugs and stupid James and his stupid otter with the stupid boat he made."
Dylan's long-dormant imagination flared to life as he visualized such a future. A great big cage full of slime and mold and all the stupid bugs trapped inside it, begging to be let out and promising to be nice to Dylan from now on. And James could be in a separate cage, all alone and in the dark where the stupid bugs couldn't see him! Yeah, that'd be great. And maybe Dylan would let James out to do chores like he'd lied about his aunts making him do. Oooh, maybe Dylan cold be in charge of the jail and he'd make James serve him and Grandma cookies and ice cream and Coke and Dylan wouldn't let James have any! Hah, serve him right for making up stupid lies!
Oh, and just because, Dylan would put James's stupid little otter in its own tiny cage on a tall shelf where it couldn't be reached! Hah, serve him right!
"And the doctors and nurses would get shots all day!" Dylan said aloud. Yeah, that'd be great!
Unfortunately for the vengeful nine-year-old, that was as far as his imagination could take him. Thinking any further about forcing his foster brother to serve him sweets only served to remind Dylan that he did not have any sweets or junk food to enjoy. As such, Dylan quickly found himself once more wallowing in self pity.
"Uggggghhhh! I'm so bored!"
How long had it been since the nurse had left? It had to have been an hour or two, right? Was it close to lunchtime? He hadn't realized it until now, but Dylan's felt his stomach rumbling slightly. Not too surprising really, as he'd vomited a great deal the night before and had refused breakfast. But what kind of lunch would get? Hadn't that stupid nurse said he'd have to eat that gross soup? Ugh, that wasn't lunch. Dylan wanted a good lunch!
"I wanna hot dog with lots of ketchup! And french fries and chips and Coke. Yeah. And then I want a lot of ice cream!"
Dylan thought about the huge sundae he'd eaten and while his stomach gave a tiny shiver of nausea, the threat of being cut off from sweets was more than enough to quell any queasiness. Still, Dylan didn't want to throw up again and once he was back with Grandma, he could have all the cookies and Coke and everything else he wanted.
"She'll probably give me extra 'cause the stupid bugs didn't give me much either. And I was sick, so she'll want to make me feel better."
Yeah, that would be fun. And even better, he could watch all the TV he wanted without anyone telling him he couldn't! That would be nice, but what about now? How much longer would Dylan have to stare at the stupid ceiling?
"I want my lunch!" Dylan yelled.
No response.
"Hey! I want lunch!"
Still nothing.
"I'M HUNGRY! I WANT LUNCH!"
"Dylan, it's 9:30 in the morning."
Nurse Nora had returned, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face.
"No it's not! I've been here for a long time."
"You woke up just before 9:00 and I left you alone not even fifteen minutes ago. That hardly qualifies as a long time."
"Well I'm hungry!"
"Are you now? Well, I can heat up your broth and bring you fresh juice and crackers."
"I don't want soup! I want a hot dog with fries and chips and-!"
"Most certainly not. We need to treat your stomach carefully and anyway, you need a far more balanced diet. I had a talk with the doctor and he agreed I can give you some sliced vegetables with your broth. Do you like cucumbers or celery sticks?"
"Ewwwwww!"
"Very well. I'll leave you to decide. When you're ready to eat, I'll bring you your broth."
"NOOOOOO!"
"Well, that's what you're getting. If you don't want it, I won't force you to eat it, but I'm not bringing you anything else."
"You can't do that! You have to give me food!"
"Thanks to the IV, you will not starve. But you're correct: we're obligated to feed you and we will. That does not mean, however, that we have to cater to your every whim." Nora sighed and sat down on Dylan's bed. "Dylan, do you understand why you're here?"
"Because the stupid bugs aren't letting me go home with Grandma!"
"If you're referring to Mayor Centipede and his family, you are partially correct. They aren't letting you go home to your grandmother because she is not yet out of the hospital. But the reason you're here and not staying with the Mayor's family is because you broke the law."
"No I didn't!"
"Oh really? What do you call stealing from all the places you visited yesterday?"
"I didn't steal! All those people gave me what I wanted!"
"Yes, because you told them lies in order to get what you wanted. We've all been told about what you did at the diner and the department store and the Grand Deluxe and how you were caught in the kitchen of the Spider Club. That last one really was stealing, you know."
Dylan scowled, but couldn't think of anything to say.
"Had you not done anything and stayed at your school like you were supposed to, you would be at the Mayor's house right now."
"But they didn't let me watch TV and they wanted me to do homework and-"
"Yes, they acted like responsible guardians."
"Grandma didn't do that! I wanna go home with her! You need to tell the stupid bugs to let her leave the hospital or they're all gonna get in trouble. And you will too!"
Nora sighed and stood up from the bed. "Dylan, I don't know where you're getting these ridiculous ideas from, but you are sorely mistaken if you think anyone is getting punished for your misdeeds. I assure you, the reason your grandmother is still in the hospital is because she needs to be there and the only reason you've been denied television and sweets is because we care about you. It's simply not healthy for a child to eat nothing but junk food and to sit in front of a television set all day. The fact that you're at risk for developing diabeties proves it."
"You're lying! I'm not sick!"
"You're lucky that you have not yet developed the disease, but if left to your own devices, you would have. We're going to make sure you don't get sick and if that makes you unhappy, then so be it. But the fact remains that while you're under the care of this center, you're going to follow our rules."
"I don't WANNA!"
"Well, that's too bad. Now, I'll ask you one more time: do you want your broth and juice?"
"NO!"
"Very well. I'll come check on you closer to lunchtime. That'll be in about two hours from now, by the way. Perhaps some quiet reflection and a nap will do you good."
"NO! NO I DON'T WANNA! I'M HUNGRY AND I'M BORED! I WANNA WATCH TV!"
But restrained as he was, Dylan had no choice, but to watch Nurse Nora vanish out the door and leave him to his own devices once again. Silence filled the room and the promise of two hours spent in solitude stretched out ahead of Dylan like the vast reaches of space. Snow pattered across the window, spurred on by the wind, but from where he was laying, all Dylan could see out the small window was a solid mass of white, as bleak and dull as the room he was imprisoned in.
"I WANNA GO HOME!"
The nine-year-old's only answer was another gust of wind throwing more snow against the window panes. Scowling, Dylan flopped down against his pillow and turned his fiercest glare at the ceiling. Despite what Nurse Nora had told him, Dylan was convinced that his grandmother would indeed get out of the hospital soon and he wouldn't have to stay here very long. Then, he could finally go home and get the life he deserved while everyone else would be horribly punished for how they treated him.
As it turned out, Dylan was half right.