Unsettled

Bête Noire

Tom doesn't bring Max in to see you until they've moved you from the ICU to a private room. It is progress, but it isn't home. A day or two more, for caution's sake. A few more days and then you can go home to finish recuperating in the comfort of your own space. You appreciate all that the doctors have done and are still doing, but... The quality of care isn't a factor at all. It is their insistence on keeping you on the grounds that lends weight to the notion, however unfounded, that there is a test out there circulating – one that might extend your stay indefinitely.

Tom has been present every day. Mercifully the horrid medical mask did not make a second appearance. It was only gone because the doctors had no longer required it. That much you know for certain. Tom would have stood on his head while talking to you if the doctors had told him it was medically necessary. Had they required the masks for an extended duration of time, for Max to wear one - you would have burst into tears on sight. You'd been graced with dimples, paired with smiles, from both father and son. Just having the pair of them there helps beyond words.

Occasionally Tom will step out when another family member or friend wants to stop by, but for the most part he is present for as long as the hospital will allow – pushing the limits of visiting hours as much as he can without garnering ill-favor from the staff. Oh the toll it must be taking on his work, but he refuses to see reason, choosing instead to bring Max and sit with you.

Today Max seems to be on his best behavior, behavior not even reserved for visits with his grandparents. Yesterday there had been a mild meltdown when it came time to leave for the day. You'd managed to maintain your composure until the moment they had passed from view outside your room. Tom had called from the elevator, making sure you were ok and assuring you that Max had settled down, then let Max give you a pout-filled goodnight that lasted the entire duration of their trip back home.

After getting a nod of permission from Tom, a single word command spoken as reminder – gentle – Max had climbed up onto the bed and into your arms. Max seems undaunted by, or is blatantly ignoring, the medical equipment also occupying the room. You expect Max's usual outbursts of energy, maybe an insistence of hunger despite being so soon after breakfast but none come. It takes just a moment for Max to settle, after first giving you a hug and a wet kiss as only a preschooler can deliver. It must have been some conversation held between the two prior to getting on that elevator yesterday.

Tom once again hesitates in his approach, waiting to judge your reception before deciding how to proceed. The weight and warmth brought by having your son curled up in your lap, already distracted by his toys, helps in keeping you from focusing on the fact that you're still in the hospital.

"Sleep well?" He asks, hesitating rather than closing the distance and offering you a peck on the cheek to follow his son's.

You offer him a tilt of your head and half-shrug, as much movement as you can manage with your lap and arms already occupied. It takes you smiling at him to erase the slight furrow of a frown between his eyebrows. "As well as I can, in here. And you? Did it take long to settle after the..." You dip your chin to indicate Max, ignoring the jab of plastic dinosaur into your leg.

Rather than taking the chair in the corner of the room Tom heads for the one by the window. He drags it forward to sit near the foot of the bed as he replies, "I'm sorry about that. We stayed longer than we should have yesterday." On cue, Max emits a yawn. It pulls a chuckle from his father. "But someone bounded into bed this morning before dawn, impatient to see you."

They're here early – before the doctors have finished making their rounds. Maybe today they'll deliver the news you're waiting for. A simple series of words: Yes, you can go home. You try not to get your hopes up only to have them dashed. That sort of pain, all too familiar, is unwanted.