THE SEASONED OBSERVER
The return of the prodigal daughter
By J. G. Fabiano
Jim Fabiano
Not that my past was bad, it was just a time that should have stayed where it was. The day did not begin well. At about 2:30 a.m. I received a call from my brand new son-in-law Steve that my daughter Jessica was just admitted to Beth Israel in Boston for an appendectomy.
Needless to say this shocked my wife and me to the point we were on our way to Boston about an hour later.
Everything went well. She was out of the recovery room at about 5 p.m. Steve did a fine job with his first emergency. In fact, he did a better job than I could have done because my daughter is not the easiest person to deal with. Clearly understand I love her dearly, but she is what she is, and the concept of high maintenance has nothing on her.
When she was finally taken to her room she told everyone she was extremely thirsty. She needed some apple juice as soon as possible. In other words, she needed the juice about a half hour earlier. Because the nurse did not have her orders yet, she told my daughter she would have to wait a bit. Right after the nurse left, she demanded something to drink because she was about to die.
Her cousin Taylor was with us at the time and ran out of the room in order to get her some water. When she returned, my daughter was aghast because how could anyone offer her anything before the doctor OK'd it. At the time, I just sat in the corner enjoying the show. Steve then dipped a paper towel in the water and wiped her lips with it. Instead of laughing I decided to hemorrhage. At the time I knew it would hurt less.
The next day she was released from the hospital and I thought all would get back to normal. I did not know my wife suggested my daughter spend the next couple of days with us so she could recover under her mother's wing. I was now the one who became aghast because it was not long ago when my darling daughter lived with us.
My daughter arrived the next day with Steve. We spent the night making sure all was well with Jess. In other words, we waited on her hand and foot. If, by mistake, any one of us asked her to move or even breathe in a different fashion, we were asked how we could do such a thing to someone who just survived surgery.
None of us complained. We all did what she told us to do.
I went to work the next day, leaving my wife to take care of our daughter. When I came home I was shocked to see my wife colorless and exhausted. When I asked what happened she just glared at me and said, "You'll see."
What I didn't know was the next day was my turn to take care of our prodigal daughter. Since it was the day before Thanksgiving and I had the day off from work my wife decided to spend the day shopping with her sister. I was surprised to see she left before 8 a.m.
Right after my wife left I noticed every light was on in the house. I didn't know I had that many lights. Not only were the lights on in the house, they were all on outside the house. As to why this was necessary will always be one of life's more mysterious mysteries. The next thing I noticed was the temperature in the house ranged between 80 and 85 degrees.
The only thing I didn't see was my daughter. I did see what she left the night before that included a hodgepodge of clothes, empty snack wrappers, assorted dishes with remnants of what I believe was food and some things I could not describe. I then heard the sound new fathers yearn to hear. I heard the sound of my daughter's voice echo out the name "Dad." The only problem was it did not sound like something I wanted to hear. It was more of a demand wondering where I was and why I wasn't sitting directly in front of her caring for her every need. I became afraid.
For the next eight hours I became subservient to her needs. In fact, I did not know there were that many needs one could have. The television had to be softened because it hurt her ears. The pillows had to be fluffed because they were not fluffy enough. Food had to be delivered and drinks had to be poured. At one time during the day I considered the concept of not pouring her drink in her glass.
I tried hiding in my room, hoping she would forget I was there. This did not work. The phone was perpetually attached to her ear. Kidding, I asked if the doctor had it permanently attached. This did bring a bit of a laugh, at which time I was accused of trying to open her healing wounds.
My wife came back home around 4 p.m. I don't think she wanted to, but her sister later told me they ran out of stores to shop in. Unlike me, my wife was not surprised about the way I looked.
My daughter left in a much healthier state soon after Thanksgiving Day. My present was filled with a little bit of my past the other day. Not that my past was bad; it was just a time that should have stayed where it was.
Jim Fabiano, a teacher and writer who lives in York, is a past recipient of the Maine Press Association's award for Best Weekly Column. E-mail
Jim at yorkmarine@yahoo.com.
