I've been hunting around for another article I wrote and happened across this which I can't, for the life of me, remember if I shared with all of you. While rereading it this morning I found myself tumbling back to my childhood but acutely aware of how many of these old dragaons are breathing smoke just outside my door. If I've put all of you through this before, I apologize. This aging thing has some very real drawbacks 8-) But, if you've not been plagued with it before, perhaps you would give it a read? Thanks.

Deborah

PS If anyone remembers reading it before, please let me know. I've got to start making notes on these things.

I am awake. I can hear their rubber-soled shoes padding up and down the hall outside my room. Some people sound big. Their feet make a heavy thud as their heels hit the corridor linoleum. The littler people make rustling noises as their dresses whip back and forth. They all carry breakfast trays, medicine, and bed pans.

I can't see anyone this morning. Last night the nurse turned my mirror away. She said that I shouldn't keep watching everything that's going on in the hall because I should be asleep.

"But I'm not sleepy." I said, as she stood out of view and twisted the mirror away.

"That's because you're nosy. Now close your eyes and think of nice things. You'll go to sleep soon."

"But I'm not sleepy." I protested again.

"Don't be difficult, Debby. Little girls are meant to be asleep by now."

She left me then. I wanted her to talk to me some more. The room was almost dark; only the night light was left on so the nurses could write things from the dials on my tank. I have my own tank. The doctor told me I could keep it as long as I stay in the hospital. I asked him if I could bring it with me when I go home. He laughed at me.

"What would you do with a great big iron lung in your house?"

"I could be with my Mommy and Daddy and Chrissie and Stephan." I responded definitively.

He laughed at me again and left my room. I felt kind of silly. It seemed like a good idea to me. I can't breathe without it.

I hope they come and bring my food soon. I'm hungry. I have to go to the bathroom too. I hate it when they reach through the sides of my tank and put me on the bed pan. It's cold and terribly hard. I don't think it was made for someone as little as me. It pinches my skin and digs into my back and legs. The nurses forget me when I'm on it because they're real busy. Sometimes they forget to cover me back up when I'm on the bed pan. I feel kind of silly then too because there are windows on the top of the side of my tank. Other people can walk right in my room and look in the windows. I don't like that. My mother never forgets to cover me up. She always says, "I'm going to cover up my little girl's skinny bones so she won't get cold." When the nurse forgets, I try to make believe that I don't know there are windows on my tank or that nobody can see my skinny bones.

It isn't that hard to do. I haven't seen my body in a long time. It's inside the tank, below the plastic collar around my neck. They wrap a diaper around my neck so that the collar won't hurt. At night it slips and burns sores on my skin. The collar leaks once in a while too, blowing air in my face, taking my breath away. Bells go off and everyone comes running. They fix my collar so I can breathe again. Then they go away.

I'm still scared, but they go away anyway.

I can move my right hand a little. If I work at it, I can crawl up my stomach and over my chest to the underside of the plastic collar. My stomach sinks in a lot now. It used to be round and stick out some before I got sick. My daddy used to poke his finger in my belly-button and I would giggle. Then he would tickle my ribs. As I creep up to my ribs, they feel hard; kind of like there's no skin there. It hurts when people touch me. I can't laugh when they press in all the places that used to tickle.

Sometimes I cry when they do that. They tell me I'm very brave but I don't think so. When I get my fingers to the top of my chest, I can pull my chin in real tight and see my fingers beneath the filmy plastic. My fingers look pinkish and real little. I remember they looked kind of pudgy before. When I think about my fingers, I can tell they are little. They can feel the pleated underside of the collar. They want to touch my face but I say "No!" to them. They can't get through. I pretend they belong to someone else. These are someone else's skinny pink fingers that don't do much. Mine are chubby and can squish a caterpillar just like that! That doesn't bother me or my fingers.

Waiting for my food, I can look at the big round end of my tank. It's painted an ugly yellow color. Pieces of the paint have chipped off. One spot looks like my cat, Sugar. I can see her with her paw up to her mouth, licking it. The other chipped space is real big and can look like a monster. He has giant teeth and a great big head. I try not to look at him too much. When I do, I try to see if he can be something nice but he always turns out scary. I make myself look away from him most of the time.

I am counting the little holes in the ceiling this morning too. "One, two, three, four," I can count pretty high even though I'm not in school yet. I would have gone to school in two weeks but I got sick. I don't feel sick anymore. I just can't move or breathe too well. I wish someone would bring my breakfast.

"Good Morning, Debby. Are you ready to eat?"

"G'morning. I'm hungry."

"Good." The nurse sits down next to my head and balances the tray in her lap. "Now, here let me give you a bite of egg. Turn your head this way. There you go."

"Yuck. I don't like runny eggs. Do I have to eat them? Can't I have Wheaties?"

"You have to eat what the kitchen sends you. I'm very busy. I can't get anything else. Now be a good girl. I don't want to have to tell the doctor you wouldn't eat."

She looks mad to me so I smile at her. I don't want her to go away and be mad at me but my stomach feels sort of queasy from the runny egg.

"I'm not very hungry anymore," I smile.

"How about a drink of juice?" she suggests.

"Apple?"

"Yes, apple and a little glass of prune juice. Which do you want first?"

I know she will make me drink the prune juice.

"Prune juice first," I say, to get it over with.

"That's a good girl. Drink it all up. Good. Here's your apple juice now."

The nurse puts the same bending straw in to the apple juice so that the first few sips taste awful. I don't make a face though because she's smiling at me. I feel full.

"I have to go the bathroom."

"What do you say?" She's not smiling any more.

"Please?"

"O.K. I'll put you on and be back in a few minutes."

She gets up and puts the breakfast tray away somewhere. Then she disappears down the side of my tank. Suddenly, she pops open two portholes in the side of the iron lung. For a few moments I can't breathe. The great gushing in and out sound, that is steady and reassuring, changes. Then she pushes the bed pan and her arms through the portholes. The steady noise returns as the vacuum is resealed. She is moving my legs and rolling me on my side. My head can't turn very easy so the movement hurts. I say, "Ouch!"

"Now don't be a baby, Debby. It will be over in a minute."

I make believe my body belongs to someone else and that helps some. I'm quiet.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes." She walks quickly out of the room. She didn't cover me and my mirror is still turned. I wish my mother were here. She'll be here later today. She promised. It seems like the nurse has been gone a long time. My back and legs ache. I can't talk loud enough to call anyone. Maybe if I think hard she'll remember me. Oh, I wish she'd remember me.

"Debby, Debby. So sorry. My my you must have been here for half an hour."

She's reaching in the portholes and rolling me on my side. It hurts more this time. The bed pan has dug deep in to my flesh and is stuck to me.

"Ow!" I'm starting to cry.

"Debby, you're such a cry baby. You've really got a ring-around-the- moon here." She laughs a little.

I don't know what she means by that but I'm biting my lip so she won't call me a cry baby again. I'll make believe this is another person inside the tank. Someone I don't know. This way I won't feel the hurt. I'll be kind of just a head lying on a pillow that is propped up on a tray. The head can smile when the body it doesn't know hurts.

"Would you fix my mirror, please?"

"Sure. Do you want to look at your funny face or out in the hall?"

She is smiling at me again. She tips the mirror that swivels over my head and I see the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks of a little girl I vaguely remember.

"No, no. Outside, please," I smile.

"O.K. There you go. Can you see now?" She bends down and looks in to the mirror that reflects her image.

"Yes. My mother is coming soon. She promised. She's bringing me bacon today. I love bacon. She's making it for me right now, I bet."

"I'm sure she is." The nurse leaves my room.

I am alone again; a head with a phantom body attached somehow. I think of my house and of my family. I wonder what they are doing. Chrissie is probably playing with my dolls and Stubby, my teddy bear. I asked Mommy to bring Stubby in and she said she would when I get better. When I get better I'll go home and play there with Stubby. He's a panda bear with blue button eyes. We'll play together and I'll go out and put him on the swing with me and he'll ride my scooter with me. When I go home, that is. I don't feel really sick so I'll be better soon.

The time goes by quick here sometimes. I don't do anything but think a lot. That seems to make time move fast. I make believe I have a doll house with tiny real people and I can make them do anything I want and anything I say. I can put them in any room and I can make them sit, stand, lie down or just what ever I want. They like me but they know I'm the boss. What I say goes.

My mother has finally arrived. She's brought me bacon like I asked. It smells so good. I think I can smell it even before she unwraps the Saran Wrap. She's cooked it just the way I like it, a little chewy. It's nice when she feeds me. I don't feel so much like only a head when she's here. She smiles and talks to me a lot; even when I cry. She doesn't care if I have to go to the bathroom and, as I've already said, she never forgets to cover me up. She tells me what's going on at home. I'm afraid to ask her when I'll be better enough to come home with her and Daddy.

The nurse just came in and told my mother that visiting hours were over for the afternoon. I don't want her to leave so I start to cry. She puts her warm soft hand on my forehead and tells me she promises she'll be here tomorrow. I want her to stay now.

"Please?"

"The nurse says I have to go. I promise I'll be in tomorrow. Daddy will be in tonight."

"I know, but can't you stay? Please?" I want her to tell the nurse that she is staying no matter what they say. I want her to tell them they can't make her go.

"I want to, Baby," she strokes my head again, "but they have their rules and I have to follow them."

"When can I come home with you?" I dare to ask.

"Soon, Honey, soon." She looks a little sad to me. "Now I have to go."

She gathers all her things and starts for the door.

"Mommy? Just one more thing?"

"What is it?" She turns and steps in to my view again.

"What time are you coming?"

"About one o'clock. Just like today."

"O.K."

"Goodbye, Sweetheart." She kisses my forehead and I start to cry again.

"Mommy? One more thing?"

"What Debby?" She stays where she is.

"Can I have bacon again?"

"Yes, Honey, I promise. Now I'm going to leave and I can't stay for any more questions." She walks out the door.

"Mommy? Mommy? Just one more thing? Please? I forgot to tell you one more thing." My heart is racing but I know she is at the elevator and won't come back.

"I love you," I call soundlessly.

"Deborah, Deborah, wake up!" Paul is rocking me gently back and forth in our bed.

"What! Huh? Oh. Oh, I was dreaming again, wasn't I?" I answer faltering, out of breath. My heart is thudding visibly and the pounding in my temples is confusing.

"You stopped breathing again. You were gasping! Jesus, that scares me when you do that."

He has his arm around my shoulders and is helping me to a sitting position. My right hand keeps rising to my face. Seemingly of its own volition, I gratefully brush fingers against my cheek. I can feel myself calming down as my breath comes more slowly and clarity of thought returns. "I don't really remember, Paul. I just felt like I was floating away from my body. God, I've got the shivers."

"Well, it's no wonder, you're covered in sweat too. Here, lie down so I can cover you up. You'll be warm in a minute."

Paul slowly lies me back down and helps me to turn damp atrophied limbs so that I can rest on my side. He pulls the covers up over my shoulders and folds himself warmly around the contours of my scoliotic back.

"Better?"

"Mmmm. That's much better. One thing, Paul?" I speak softly.

"What's that?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous." He answers quietly in my ear. "You can't help it if you have a nightmare."

"Thank you, baby. One more thing?"

"Mmmm?" He is beginning to drift off to sleep.

"Don't ever leave me, O.K.?"

"O.K." He answers, barely audible.

"Paul? Paul? Just one more thing?"

There is no answer. Merely the slow even breathing of my husband of twelve years and the security of his warm body enveloping all of me.

"There's just one more thing I forgot to tell you."

"What's that?" he mumbles.

"I love you." I whisper.

"I love you too."