Auggie & Me (15 page)

The first and only time I'd ever been to a hospital before was to visit Auggie. This was when we were about six years old. Auggie had had like a million surgeries before then, but this was the first time my mom thought I was old enough to go and visit him.

The surgery had been to remove the “buttonhole” on his neck. This is what he used to call his trach tube, a little plastic thingy that was literally inserted into his neck below his Adam's apple. The “buttonhole” is what the doctors put inside Auggie when he was born to allow him to breathe. The doctors were removing it now, because they were pretty sure Auggie could breathe on his own.

Auggie was really excited about this surgery. He hated his buttonhole. And when I say he hated it, I mean he
haaaated
it. He hated that it was so noticeable, since he wasn't allowed to cover it up. He hated that he couldn't go swimming in a pool because of it. Most of all, he hated how sometimes it would get blocked up, for no reason, and he would start to cough like he was choking, like he couldn't breathe. Then Isabel or Nate would have to jab a tube into the hole, to suction it, so that he could breathe again. I watched this happen a couple of times, and it was pretty scary.

I remember I was really happy about visiting Auggie after his surgery. The hospital was downtown, and Mom surprised me by stopping off at FAO Schwarz so I could pick out a nice big present to bring to Auggie (a
Star Wars
Lego set) and a small present for me (an Ewok plushie). After we bought the toys, Mom and I got lunch at my favorite restaurant, which makes the best foot-long hot dogs and iced hot chocolate milk shakes on the planet.

And then, after lunch, we went to the hospital.

“Chris, there are going to be other kids who are having facial surgeries,” Mom told me quietly as we walked through the hospital doors. “Like Auggie's friend Hudson, okay? Remember not to stare.”

“I would never stare!” I answered. “I hate when kids stare at Auggie, Mommy.”

As we walked down the hall to Auggie's room, I remember seeing lots of balloons everywhere, and posters of Disney princesses and superheroes taped to the hallway walls. I thought it was cool. It felt like a giant birthday party.

I peeked into some of the hospital rooms as we passed, and that's when I realized what my mom meant. These were kids like Auggie. Not that they looked like him, though a couple of them did, but they had other facial differences. Some of them had bandages on their faces. One girl, I saw quickly, had a huge lump on her cheek that was the size of a lemon.

I squeezed my mom's hand and remembered not to stare, so I looked down at my feet as we walked and held on tight to my Ewok plushie.

When we reached Auggie's room, I was glad to see that Isabel and Via were already there. They both came over to the door when they saw us and kissed us hello happily.

They walked us over to Auggie, who was in the bed by the window. As we passed the bed closest to the door, I got the impression that Isabel was trying to block me from looking at the kid lying in that bed. So I took a quick peek behind me after we had passed. The boy in the bed, who was probably only about four, was watching me. Under his nose, where the top of his mouth was supposed to be, was an enormous red hole, and inside the hole was what looked like a piece of raw meat. There seemed to be teeth stuck into the meat, and pieces of jagged skin hanging over the hole. I looked away as quickly as I could.

Auggie was asleep. He seemed so tiny in the big hospital bed! His neck was wrapped up in white gauze, and there was blood on the gauze. He had some tubes sticking out of his arm, and one sticking into his nose. His mouth was wide open, and his tongue was kind of hanging out of his mouth onto his chin. It looked a little yellow and was all dried up. I've seen Auggie asleep before, but I'd never seen him sleep like that.

I heard my mom and Isabel talking about the surgery in their quiet voices, which they used when they didn't want me or Auggie to hear what they were saying. Something about “complications” and how it had been “touch and go” for a while. My mom hugged Isabel. I stopped listening.

I stared at Auggie, wishing he would close his mouth in his sleep.

Via came over and stood next to me. She was about ten years old then. “It was nice of you to come visit Auggie,” she said.

I nodded. “Is he going to die?” I whispered.

“No,” she whispered back.

“Why is he bleeding?” I asked.

“It's where they operated on him,” she answered. “It'll heal.”

I nodded. “Why is his mouth open?”

“He can't help it.”

“What's wrong with the little boy in the other bed?”

“He's from Bangladesh. He has a cleft lip and palate. His parents sent him here to have surgery. He doesn't speak any English.”

I thought of the big empty red hole in the boy's face. The jagged flap of skin.

“Are you okay, Chris?” Via asked gently, nudging me. “Lisa? Lisa, I don't think Chris is looking so good . . .”

That's when the foot-long hot dog and iced hot chocolate milk shake kind of just exploded out of me. I threw up all over myself, the giant Lego box I'd gotten for Auggie, and most of the floor in front of his bed.

“Oh my goodness!” cried Mom as she looked around for paper towels. “Oh, sweetie!”

Isabel found a towel and started cleaning me with it. My mom, meanwhile, was frantically wiping the floor with a newspaper.

“No, Lisa! Don't worry about that,” said Isabel. “Via, sweetie, go find a nurse and tell her we need a cleanup here.” She said this as she was picking hot-dog chunks off my chin.

Via, who looked like she might throw up herself, turned around calmly and headed out the door. Within a few minutes, some nurses had come into the room with mops and buckets.

“Can we go home, Mommy?” I remember saying, the vomit taste still fresh in my mouth.

“Yes, honey,” said Mom, taking over from Isabel and cleaning me off.

“I'm so sorry, Lisa,” said Isabel, wetting another towel at the sink. She dabbed my face with it.

By now, I was sweating profusely. I turned to leave even before Mom and Isabel had finished cleaning me off. But then I accidentally caught a glimpse of the little boy in the bed, who was still looking at me. I started to cry when I looked into the big empty red hole above his mouth.

At that point, Mom kind of hugged me and glided me out the door at the same time. When we got outside the room, she half carried me to the lobby by the elevators. My face was buried in her coat, and I was crying hysterically.

Isabel and Via followed us out.

“I'm so sorry,” Isabel said to us.

“I'm so sorry,” said Mom. They were both kind of mumbling sorries to each other at the same time. “Please tell Auggie we're sorry we couldn't stay.”

“Of course,” said Isabel. She knelt down in front of me and started wiping my tears. “Are you okay, honey? I'm so sorry. I know it's a lot to process.”

I shook my head. “It's not Auggie,” I tried to say.

Her eyes got very wet suddenly. “I know,” she whispered. Then she put both her hands on my face, like she was cradling it. “Auggie's lucky to have a friend like you.”

The elevator came, Isabel hugged me and Mom, and then we got inside the elevator.

I saw Via waving at me as the elevator doors closed. Even though I was only six at the time, I remember thinking I felt sorry for her that she couldn't leave with us.

As soon as we were outside, Mom sat me down on a bench and hugged me for a long time. She didn't say anything. She just kissed the top of my head over and over again.

When I finally calmed down, I handed her the Ewok.

“Can you go back and give it to him?” I said.

“Oh, honey,” she answered. “That's so sweet of you. But Isabel can clean the Lego set. It'll be good as new for Auggie, don't worry.”

“No, for the other kid,” I answered.

She looked at me for a second, like she didn't know what to say.

“Via said he doesn't speak any English,” I said. “It must be really scary for him, being in the hospital.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It must be.”

She closed her eyes and hugged me again. And then she took me over to the security desk, where I waited until she went back up the elevator and, after about five minutes, came back down again.

“Did he like it?” I asked.

“Honeyboy,” she said softly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “You made his day.”

When we got to Mom's hospital room, we found her sitting up in a wheelchair watching TV. She had a huge cast that started from her thigh and went all the way down to her ankle.

“There's my guy!” she said happily as soon as she saw me. She held her arms out to me, and I went over and hugged her. I was relieved to see that Daddy had told the truth: except for the cast and a couple of scratches on her face, Mom looked totally fine. She was dressed and ready to go.

“How are you feeling, Lisa?” said Dad, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

“Much better,” she answered, clicking off the TV set. She smiled at us. “Totally ready to go home.”

“We got you these,” I said, giving her the vase of flowers we had bought downstairs in the gift store.

“Thank you, sweetie!” she said, kissing me. “They're so pretty!”

I looked down at her cast. “Does it hurt?” I asked her.

“Not too much,” she answered quickly.

“Mommy's very brave,” said Dad.

“What I am is very lucky,” Mom said, knocking the side of her head.

“We're all very lucky,” added Dad quietly. He reached over and squeezed Mom's hand.

For a few seconds, no one said anything.

“So, do you need to sign any discharge papers or anything?” asked Dad.

“All done,” she answered. “I'm ready to go home.”

Dad got behind the wheelchair.

“Wait, can I push her?” I said to Dad, grabbing one of the handles.

“Let me just get her out the door here,” answered Dad. “It's a little hard to maneuver with her leg.”

“How was your day, Chris?” asked Mom as we wheeled her into the hallway.

I thought about what an awful day it had been. All of it, from beginning to end. Science, music, math, rock band. Worst day ever.

“Fine,” I answered.

“How was band practice? Is Elijah being any nicer these days?” she asked.

“It was good. He's fine.” I shrugged.

“I'm sorry I didn't bring your stuff,” she said, stroking my arm. “You must have been wondering what happened to me!”

“I figured you were running errands,” I answered.

“He thought you went to Isabel's house,” laughed Dad.

“I did not!” I said to him.

We had reached the nurses' station and Mom was saying goodbye to the nurses, who were waving back, so she didn't really hear what Dad had said.

“Didn't you ask me if Mom had gone to—” Dad said to me, confused.

“Anyway!” I interrupted, turning to Mom. “Band was fine. We're playing ‘Seven Nation Army' for the spring concert on Wednesday. Can you still come?”

“Of course I can!” she answered. “I thought you were playing ‘The Final Countdown.'”

“‘Seven Nation Army' is a great song,” said Dad. He started humming the bass line and playing air guitar as we waited for the elevator.

Mom smiled at him. “I remember you playing that at the Parlor.”

“What's the Parlor?” I asked.

“The pub down the road from our dorm,” answered Mom.

“Before you were born, buddy,” said Dad.

The elevator doors opened, and we got in.

“I'm starving,” I said.

“You guys haven't eaten dinner yet?” Mom asked, looking at Dad.

“We came straight here from school,” he answered. “When were we going to stop for dinner?”

“Can we stop for some McDonald's on the way home?” I asked.

“Sounds good to me,” answered Dad.

We reached the lobby, and the elevator doors opened.

“Now can I push the wheelchair?” I said.

“Yep,” he answered. “You guys wait for me over there, okay?” He pointed to the farthest exit on the left. “I'll pull the car around.”

He jogged out the front entrance toward the parking lot. I pushed Mom's wheelchair to where he'd pointed.

“I can't believe it's still raining,” said Mom, looking out the lobby windows.

“I bet you could pop a wheelie on this thing!” I said.

“Hey, hey! No!” Mom screamed, squeezed the sides of the wheelchair as I tilted it backward. “Chris! I've had enough excitement for the day.”

I put the wheelchair down. “Sorry, Mom.” I patted her head.

She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hand. “Sorry, it's just been a really long day.”

“Did you know that a day on Pluto is 153.3 hours long?” I asked.

“No, I didn't know that.”

We didn't say anything for a few minutes.

“Hey, did you give Auggie a call, by the way?” she said out of the blue.

“Mom,” I groaned, shaking my head.

“What?” she said. She tried to turn around in her wheelchair to look at me. “I don't get it, Chris. Did you and Auggie have a fight or something?”

“No! There's just so much going on right now.”

“Chris . . .” She sighed, but she sounded too tired to say anything else about it.

I started humming the bass line of “Seven Nation Army.”

After a few minutes, the red hatchback pulled up in front of the exit, and Dad came jogging out of the car, holding an open umbrella. I pushed Mom outside the front doors. Dad gave her the umbrella to hold, and then he pushed her down the wheelchair ramp and around to the passenger side of the car. The wind was picking up now, and the umbrella Mom was holding went inside out after a strong gust.