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publisher@islandparent.ca 52 Island Parent Magazine
A Matter of Perspective
A
ngus recently experienced his “best day.” Best night would be more accurate, because the thrilling events he was referring to began just before midnight and ended at about 3 a.m. It began when the two ambulances and fire truck arrived at our house, continued through the heart monitor set up in the living room, the ride in the ambulance, the chest x-ray, the eventual retreat home with a diagnosis of pneumonia in one lung and an ear infection bonus. In my mind, the whole experience was horrible. First, because after more than a week of what I had assumed was an endless cold, Angus appeared finally to be healthy. That day, his mood had been significantly less miserable. He had barely coughed. When I put him to bed, I was confident that the morning would bring a mostly-recovered child. When he woke up hacking near midnight, I was sure he’d soon stop, and waited a few minutes before I went down the stairs with my dubiously-effective homeopathic cough medication. When I went into Angus’s room he was shivering. He is a dramatic individual, and often exaggerates how cold he is so that I will pick him up. But when I picked him up, I saw immediately that the shaking was of a different variety. He had no control over it. Also, his little heart seemed to be fluttering in his chest. I didn’t even notice the fever. Angus was born with a heart condition, and anything heart related gets my own heart racing also. I tried to sound calm when I called for Mike. Should we call 911? I asked him. Are you sore, Angus? Mike asked. Where are you sore? Angus grabbed his chest and grimaced and Mike dialled. With six emergency personnel in our living room and Angus hooked up to a heart monitor, it was to me a terrifying picture, but when Angus noticed their presence his mind veered completely from his own suffering. Our visitors had neat machines and fancy outfits. In the ambulance, Angus sat on my lap on the stretcher and clutched the stuffed bear he was given. He stared out the small window in the back. It had been raining, and the lights glittered off the water droplets “like stars” Angus said. “Like we’re in a spaceship.” I agreed with him, but out of the corner of my eye I was watching the
heart monitor, willing the number to dip below 160. Being wheeled through the halls and into the private room, the nurses already converging on us, Angus was delighted. Like a crib, he said, touching the bars on the side. A crib that moves! This positive attitude
Maternity & Beyond Laura TRUNKEY didn’t let up. That he was allowed to give a urine sample by essentially standing up and peeing in bed, was delightful. That he got a chest x-ray “just like Curious George!” was astounding good luck. When we finally returned home and put Angus back to bed, he declared he wasn’t tired. Mike fell asleep immediately. I lay awake and listened to our son sing through the monitor. When the songs collapsed into coughing fits my entire body clenched and I swung my feet onto the floor, ready to run into his room. After a few celebratory songs, Angus fell asleep, but I still focused on the monitor: I noted every rasping breath, every rustle of movement. By the morning, Angus was looking a bit better and I had succumbed completely to the cold I had been fighting. It is amazing how much perspective can shape an experience. Whenever Angus had a letdown when he was younger, Mike and I would try our best to shift his attention to the positive details. Now he needs much less prompting to find the good in the situations he encounters. Of all the abilities we can nurture, this is the one that feels most important. That way, when I’m an old lady, hooked up to various apparatuses at the hospital, my grown son can lean over me and remark on how much like a spaceship control panel all my monitoring equipment is. How fantastically lucky I am. And I’ll believe him, because there are so many reasons why that sentiment is true. Laura Trunkey is mother to the amazing Angus and the author of a forthcoming short fiction collection from House of Anansi. Email laurajtrunkey@gmail.com. IslandParent.ca