Gregory in ICU
Chapter 3

My son is in ICU in March of 2006. It is late. Tim and I are told that they are going to sedate Gregory for the evening. He will be asleep so we can go home. Usually, Gregory does not sleep in the hospital; he can literally stay awake for days. When one of us is with him then he might take little cat naps, however, he does not sleep through the night.

It is decided that Tim will stay with Greg until he is asleep and then he will go home. I decide to take a taxi home. It's been a long day and I am tired. I enter my home and immediately see that the red light is flashing on my phone letting me know that someone has called and left a message. Before I can check the messages the phone rings. I look at the clock it is midnight.
I nervously pick up the phone feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

"Hello"

"Hi, it's me Tim"

"I'm calling you to let you know that they have to interbate Greg. They need to put a camera down Greg throat and they think his air passages are clogged, so they will clear them. They don't want his lungs to collapse so they will interbate him and he will be heavily sedated though out the whole procedure."

"I'll be right there"

"No they don't want to come down. Greg won't know your here and they say he'll be out for several days"

"O.K. Tim. I'll get some sleep and then I'll be there at 7:00a.m. so that I can talk to the Doctor when he makes his rounds in the morning."

"Are you going home?"

"Yes."

"O.K. Tim, see you tomorrow afternoon at the hospital."

I take the phone into my living room and kick back in my oh so comfortable recliner chair. I am going to listen to my messages before going to bed. The first message is from my preschool assistant,Patty, letting me know that she can be at the pre-school for me at 6:30a.m..Whew, that's a relief. I give thanks to the Universe for bringing Patty to me. Whenever, I need her, she always comes through. I can be at the hospital early to talk to the Doctor and not worry about the pre-school. My daughter will be there to help her.

The next call is from an old caregiver dating back about three and a half years. Kimmy. Over a year and a half has gone by since we had heard from her. When she worked for my son, she worked part time, two days a week. Kimmy is very high energy, good hearted, and funny. She is a little petite blonde with blue eyes a and quick smile. She is about thirty-two years old. She is very witty and she can use that wit to cut you down to less than bite size pieces if you got on her wrong side. We had our moments, however, she mostly kept us very amused and laughing with her outlandish stories.

Kimmy was also a recoverying drug addict.

I believe in giving people an opportunity to exercise a second chance. She grew on us during the time when she worked for us. We genuinely loved Kimmy, she had a huge giving heart and there were times our sides ached from laughter from her antics.

For my Birthday she decided my bathroom needed painting. It did; however I wasn't up to all the mess and moving things out like the washer and dryer etc.

"Don't worry about the mess. I can handle it," she said.

Next, she told me to pick my color for the bathroom or she would pick it for me. I quickly picked a sandy peach color because I knew in time I wanted to create a beach theme and this would be the beginning. Well, Kimmy totally redid my bathroom and refinished the bathroom cabinets with some a product called "Restore A Finish." My cabinets looked brand new when she was done with them. My bathroom looked and smelled great.

Since Kimmy has been gone I have put a beach border around the walls, some beach decals and a beautiful print of a mermaid holding a baby mermaid to her chest. The bathroom theme is finished with beach towels hanging from the towel racks and a huge shell mobile, that was bought in Canada, hanging from one of the cornors. When I light my candles, put on my ocean mediation CD and sink into my salt bath I am at the ocean. I couldn't ask for a more tranquil
place to be in that moment. I anticipated the day when Kimmy would come by and see how beautiful the bathroom turned out.

When she left our employment she moved in with a new boyfriend; then there were a succession of boyfriends as she left one and moved in with another. We lost touch and there were no reply's to written emails.

Out of the blue, Kimmy called me; her voice was racing and high pitched; every other word was a four letter word in ordinary speech. She kept stressing that we had been heavy on her heart; she felt something was wrong. She asked if everything was all right. She also said she wanted me to meet her new boyfriend, the one she was going to marry. I told her I couldn't talk to her that moment because we were taking Greg to a Doctor's appointment; however, I would call her when I got back home. I did not know then, that I wouldn't get home till midnight.

So, I dial in my code number to retrieve my phone messages. The first one is from Kimmy and she asks me to call her. The next one is from Kimmy and so one for eight calls! However, each phone call escalated in the use of profanity. I was angry, furious. She is cursing me out for not calling her. Then comes the message that chills my blood.

"I had a dream about Gregory. He is not going to make it this time. You will be making funeral arrangements for him before the week is through."

I have voice messaging. You have to listen to the whole message before being given the option to delete or save it.

I was seething; my anger wanted to jump from my skin. I wanted to yell. Scream. Smash something. I wanted to punch her. Hard.

I hit the button that showed her number, actually the boyfriend's number,and punched, dial.
She answered. I screamed at her:

"What's wrong with you?"

"Are you on drugs?"

Hang up. She hung up!

I punched "dial" again.

She picked up and I lit into her again.

Hang up. She hung up again!

I punched "dial" again.

She pickes up and I say, "Kimmy?"

Silence. Nothing.

I hear a male voice in the background saying softly, "Talk to her Kimmy."

Kimmy voice is now child like. She sniffles and pleads with me not to be upset with her. She's crying that this past year and a half were bad. She whines at me how I don't understand all she's been though this past year. "It's been a bad year, a very stressful year," she sobs.

I'm not buying into her act.

"If it's been a bad, stressful year for you Kimmy, you have to take some responsibility for the choices you made." I say through clenched teeth.

I scream at her:

"Are you on drugs?"

"How dare you call me and tell me Greg is going to die?"

" How dare you call me and curse me out because I didn't call you earlier?"

"Don't you ever call this house again." My voice has reached a feverish pitch, that I can't ever recall hearing before. I am not a person who likes drama constantly swirling around me. I opt for serenity. I crave lightness, peace, contentment. I abhor fighting.

I bang down the phone.

The phone rings.

I do not pick it up.

It keeps ringing.

I go to bed.