Midnight Run

Today I found the rudest Whole Foods in America. You cannot believe how these people couldn’t get over themselves. I’ve never been the victim of more eye-rolling and exasperated huffing in a 15-minute period of time than I was when I went out to pick up a couple of salads, some soup, and some g-d Marseilles soap. One guy pretended not to see me so that he didn’t have to hold the elevator doors for me. Guess what, guy? I got in anyway. A woman with her daughter looked affronted when we turned the same corner simultaneously and nearly bumped into each other. When I saw her look of disdain, I had the impulse to say, “My daughter’s in the hospital right now!” I caught the words before they left my mouth—not my greatest skill—and I’m glad I did because I would have seemed like a nut job to her, the indignity she suffered from our near-collision made all the worse by my insanity. I’m not even sure what I meant when I thought it. I guess I was thinking to say, Give me a break, huh, lady? Just a small effing break.

So that was Whole Foods. The salads were good, though, and I ended up spending $90 on things to make us feel more comfortable here: the soap, some natural shampoo for Vivian because we have to keep the pin sites clean, and I don’t want her skin getting battered by sulfates and god knows what else, some parmesan and white pepper popcorn because yum, some fruit, a papaya body wash for Vivian, also natural, because of the sulfates and because she has to shower while in traction and so she might as well smells sweet for the effort, some gruyere and rosemary crackers, a frozen mac and cheese, some Annie’s bunny cookies, a box of Graham crackers and two packets of Justin’s chocolate-hazelnut spread, some blueberry kefir, and some Emergen-C because you never know.

She is doing quite well, my girl. Today we played two games of pool, as in billiards, and we kicked around a soccer ball a little—all of this in the rec room. We ate lunch outside in the shade, which has become our habit, watched more of The Muppet Show season 3 (also our habit), and played a video game that Vivian absolutely loves: Leo’s Fortune. Truth be told, she played the game for about four hours straight. At the advice of a friend whose son was in halo traction for many months, most rules are lifted during this period. You want to watch hours of TV? Ok. You want to play a video game obsessively? Sure.

While she does these things, whatever they are, she wants Alex and me to be with her and fully attentive. And we do this for her. It’s intensive parenting, very tiring but also a gift of sorts. I am always leery of wishing time away, which is why I tended not to wish us onto the other side of this experience before we started out. I think, What if whatever’s on the other side is not as good as what’s in the middle? and so I try to be present in the here and now. To do that I also have to banish worry, which is another kind of wishing, and that’s very hard for me to do. So I’ll stick to the facts. Vivian is asleep as I write this. She has slid a little way down her bed, which is at an angle. I can see her silhouette, including the halo, and you know I’m not religious, but it reminds me of a crown of thorns. Mostly when I look at her I see Vivian, and she is so lovely and vibrant and interesting, and sometimes I notice the halo, and I get frightened, not of her or of it but of the fact that it’s attached to her and that she needs it to be attached to her. Her spinal curve is 115º. She needs this treatment and she needs the surgery at the end of this month, and she’ll need others. My poor little girl, I think, and then I stop myself because that doesn’t quite work. She doesn’t seem poor or little at all. She is just my girl, and she’s doing this marvelous thing, and I am with her, and so is Alex, and so will others be, and so are all of you in spirit.

We have gotten word that another girl will be admitted tomorrow, and she will be placed in a halo too. I can tell that Vivian feels proud and excited that she will be able to help the girl out. When we talked about it to our night nurse, Vivian got this expression on her face that I’ve only noticed since we’ve been here. It’s hard to describe; I wish I could photograph it. I can tell she’s thinking things that she’s not telling me, secret things but good things, like she’s been pleasantly surprised.

No pictures tonight because I’m sleeping in Vivian’s room and have to sneak out to access the wifi long enough to post this entry and then get right back. I’m wearing a nightgown that I have no idea why I brought—it’s practically sheer, but not in a sexy way, more like how a grandma’s housecoat might be threadbare from decades of laundering. So I’ll have to put on my yoga pants under it and my Bradley Beach t-shirt over it in order to leave the room. The nightgown I’ll just let billow out in between the top and bottom. I mean, really: the place is deserted! Tomorrow I will share some images, but not of this. I promise.