Lesson Learned

"No, Doctor, her face isn't green."

These were the first words I heard as I struggled to force my eyes open.  The room was a spinning grey haze through the two millimeter slits that were my eyes. I perceived the shadowy outline of my mother across the room, holding the black, rotary-dial phone against her ear. She was evidently gauging the shade of my complexion.

"Fine.  Thank you, Doctor.  Yes, tea.  Right. Yes, okay.  I'll get her up now."

I heard the sound of the receiver being replaced none too gently in its cradle and then her approaching footsteps.

"Are you awake?"

Awake?  Was I awake?  I was awake in a groggy sense of the word, but why would I have been asleep?  I could now see the light shining through the window.  It was daytime.  I didn't take naps anymore. What was going on?  Why was I having such a hard time with my eyes and why did my tummy feel so funny?

"Come on. Get up."

She took me by my shoulders and sat me up.  Mistake.  The room whirled and lurched and my stomach roiled in acidic sympathy.  My mother recognized the extreme pallor that bleached my face. Letting go, she raced to grab the waste basket beside the t.v. and just in time held it under my chin as I retched and emptied the burning contents of my stomach.  I felt worse than I had felt in all of my seven years.  But why?  Why did I feel this way?

A memory hovered on the periphery, waiting to be recovered. Something about my cousin Marsha. What was it? Marsha came to visit from Detroit. I remembered that.  I was so happy she was here at my house in Stratford.  I loved my cousin Marsha very much.  She and her mother were going to stay with us for a few days. So happy. Now, what happened? Something happened with Marsha. Ohhhh, I remembered. We were in my mother's bedroom playing.  I opened a drawer and saw a small box with my name on it. I shook it. The contents rattled inside.  I lifted the top and discovered small white pills.

"These are mine," I advised her importantly.  "See, my name is right here on the box.  They're mine."

"So?"

"Do  you want some?  You can have some. I take them everyday!"

"No, thank you."

"Dare me to take some!"

"No."

"Dare me."

"No!"

"Okay, I'll take some anyway."

I retrieved a cup of water from the bathroom and downed three of the little pellets. There!  That'll show her!  They were mine and I could do whatever I wanted with them! Such power, such importance!

The next thing I remembered, was waking up on the sofa.  It seems I had swallowed sleeping pills.

My mother was, unfortunately, not at all sympathetic to my plight.  In fact, one might say that she was quite put out by my actions.  Compassion was in very short supply in the Gerofsky home that day.

"The doctor said that you have to get up and get some fresh air.  Go outside."

She helped me to my feet.

"Your brother and Marsha are outside.  Go."

The spinning had lessened by then, but the floor was still undulating slowly.  I lifted one heavy foot and stepping a bit too far to the right, stumbled.  Annoyed, my mother took my arm to steady me. With her grudging help, I gradually made it to the front door where she gave me an impatient nudge.

"Go."

The banister seemed very far away and the three stairs from the veranda to the sidewalk very steep indeed.  Hands outstretched, like a sleepwalker, I managed with mincing steps to reach the rail and seized it shakily. I could see my brother Barry and my cousin playing catch with my India rubber ball in the middle of the street.  I loved that India rubber ball and wanted to play!  It was mine!  The rolling of the stairs could not overcome my desire to get my hands on it.  I continued with difficulty but made it to the sidewalk without incident.  Small, careful steps took me to the curb where I sat down heavily waiting for the shaking to stop.  I watched for a while as the ball was tossed back and forth and then stood up, determined to be part of the action.

"Throw the ball to me."  My whiny voice shook.  "It's mine!  Throw it to ME now."

My brother threw the ball a bit too aggressively.  It flew low and smacked me hard in my mid-section.  Down I went, gasping for breath. 

"Mom.  Arlene fell down!  Come and get her.  MOM!"

"Bring her inside," my exasperated mother yelled through the screen-door.

Barry and Marsha somehow managed to half drag, half carry me back up the stairs and into the house.

"Bring her into the kitchen."

There on the kitchen table was a cup of tea.

"Drink that." she ordered, pointing to the large cup.  "The doctor told me to give you something hot to drink." 

I did as commanded and picked it up, small hands trembling violently.  I brought the edge of the cup to my lips and took a mouthful of the just-boiled liquid. Fire! My mouth was on fire! The pain was shocking. My hands convulsed, the cup flew out of my hands and the scalding liquid drenched my shirt.  I screamed in agony. A whopping blister erupted almost immediately and covered my tiny seven-year-old body from neck to belly. 

Looking back, I wonder why a seven year old would be prescribed sleeping pills to begin with. Apparently, I'd often wake up at night and climb into my parents' bed for comfort. Perhaps they tired of this and resorted to drugging me.

My sweet sister Shelley thinks it was because they were contemplating killing me. I became a very whiny child after her birth.  She thinks they had no further use for me once she came along. In her words, "They had a replacement they liked better." 




* I have to give credit to Shelley for the title...and the punch line.

* Justin also deserves credit for helping me rewrite the last two paragraphs.

* In fact, there is a valid reason that I might have had sleeping pills.  I had major ear infections as a child. Perhaps I needed help sleeping through the pain.