A Family For Jana. Eileen Berger
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did not turn back when he cried, “Mama, come back, come back!” She leaned against the wall and waited to make sure his starting to cough harder didn’t make his wheezing more serious.
“Something wrong, Miss Jenson?” It was one of the older cleaning ladies. “Something wrong with that dear little boy of yours?”
Maybe I’m what’s wrong. Jana glanced at the woman’s name tag before whispering, “I just got back from my classes, Sandra, and need to speak with Michael’s nurse—but he doesn’t want me to leave.”
A big smile covered the woman’s round face, and her hand on Jana’s waist gave a light shove. “We talked a whole lot while I was cleaning his room, so I’m gonna go in there and visit with that little cutie. We’ll make out fine.” She then walked inside, saying, “Hi, Michael. What have you and Raccie been doing since I left?”
Jana smiled with relief as she heard her son answer the question. There are so many wonderful people in Your world, God! Thanks for letting me get to know that—for letting me know them. And help me not to forget to help others….
She spoke first with the secretary, and was even more grateful for Sandra’s being with Michael as she waited several minutes to talk with the nurse. Margery Caldwell appeared harried, but did say that Michael was doing “as well as can be expected at this time.” Nobody had any idea yet when he might go home, certainly not today—but she assured Jana he was over the worst of the attack.
When Jana returned to Michael’s room, Sandra bent over to kiss his cheek. “See, big guy? Your mom’s returned real quick, like she said—and now I’d better get back to my job before I get in trouble.” On the way to the door she took time to add, “And you, Ms. Jenson, don’t worry so much. We’re here to help take care of your little boy.”
“Thanks, Sandra.” Jana reached out to squeeze her hand. “You have no idea how comforting it is to know that.” She put down the side rail and sat on Michael’s bed again as she told him the nurse said he was better.
“Yep.” He nodded. “Better.”
She touched his chest. “Does it hurt here?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yep.”
“Where did you hurt?”
“Here!” His fingertips beat a brief tattoo on his chest, then moved to his throat. “And here.”
The wheezing. And coughing. “Well, since they’re both better now, would you like to get out of bed?”
He was instantly slithering around her, legs already over the edge of the bed as she grabbed him. “Michael, wait a second! Look down there—how far it is to the floor. This is a high bed, not like yours at home with its short legs.”
She convinced him to sit while she got his pajamas and bunny slippers from the bag she’d brought with her. “And as soon as you go to the bathroom, and change out of that gown and into these clothes, we’ll walk in the hall.”
He was so overjoyed at this prospect that it was difficult to keep him still long enough to slide his legs into the pants and his feet into slippers. She held him as he tugged to run down the hallway. Remembering how very sick he’d been during the night, she wasn’t sure how much energy he should be expending.
At the end of the corridor, she lifted him so he could look out the window. “What do you see, Michael?”
“Oh, trees and grass and sidewalks and men and women and cars and streets and a dog….” It was a singsong reply, with all nouns emphasized. “And clouds and shadows and birds and branches—I see lots of things.”
“Yes, dear, you certainly do see lots of things, and I’m glad you showed them to me. I had not even noticed those shadows.” After all, she and Michael were on the fourth floor.
“Lots of shadows—the big, big one’s from the ho’pital, and the littler ones are from trees—but it’s hard seein’ people shadows.”
It seems to me that these are astute observations my three-year-old is making, but what do I know? Until he was born, I hadn’t been around many babies and small children.
They took their time walking to his room, for he had to investigate a wheelchair and climb on it. She pushed him a short distance before returning it to where it had been, and then they proceeded to his room. She let him press the button to raise the top of the bed and, after removing his slippers and her shoes, she lay down beside him to read several of his favorite books. It wasn’t long before his eyelids were getting heavy, but she made no comment about this, just kept on reading until he was sound asleep.
The rail was still up on the other side of the bed, and she hesitated to lower it in case that might awaken him, or might even make him worse. Laying the book on the bedside table, she turned onto her side with her arm around him and closed her eyes. I should use this time for studying, but I’m exhausted. I’m going to rest a few minutes….
Ray Hawkins was not used to making amends—most times he’d found it wasn’t necessary, particularly now that he was a tenured professor at a well-rated institution. However, though Jana Jenson had indicated that she’d accepted his apology, he still didn’t feel good about what he’d done to necessitate it.
Well, he’d discovered for himself the truth of the florists’ ads—that a dozen long-stemmed roses or some seasonal arrangement did seem to please women. He reached for the phone and started to dial that remembered number—but stopped in time.
There was a good possibility that this particular woman would not only see through his sending flowers, but tell him so!
Like she’d done after his class!
Well, then, he’d send flowers to her son; that shouldn’t offend her. He checked with the hospital for the child’s room number before calling the florist to order something suitable for a three-year-old in some clever pot or vase that a little kid would like.
Feeling pleased with himself after his phone conversation, he returned to looking over the material for tomorrow’s classes then, not bothering with lunch, finished checking over the tests from yesterday. He’d asked only one essay question in addition to all those requiring an answer of a few words, so the task was completed in less time than anticipated.
Picking up his briefcase and suit jacket, Ray left his office for the day, locked the door and went to his car.
On the spur of the moment he stopped at the florist’s to check the arrangement he’d ordered—and was annoyed when told that whichever container and flowers might be used, it wouldn’t be delivered until tomorrow!
Among the assortment of glass, ceramic and pottery containers, one in particular appealed to him. He’d been a railroad buff for as long as he could remember, his particular interest being steam engines. For the last ten years, ever since he was nineteen, he’d belonged to one, then another railroad club. His present one had not only restored an old station house, but also was in the continuing process of revamping an engine, caboose and various cars.
There was no doubt about it—this little steam engine with its burly black bear engineer and antlered-deer fireman was what he wanted for Michael. And it was after making that decision he belatedly recalled that some croup attacks were triggered by certain flowers or strong scents—so what he’d already ordered could be dangerous.
He carried the ceramic engine to the counter and informed the clerk that instead of flowers he wanted small plants in this container, and he’d wait for it to be made up so he could take it to the hospital himself.
The counter person stated she was too busy to do that right now, but he reminded her that she’d not told him on the phone his order wouldn’t be delivered today. Since he’d have to deliver it himself, he’d just borrow the stool from behind the counter and wait until his order was taken care of.
Seating