For those of you who are new to the blog, Trevor is my best friend's brother and the son of the most amazing mother on either side of the Mississippi. It's true. Trevor is in the midst of recovery from his second traumatic brain injury. Trevor has survived, not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, but SIX brain surgeries including the removal of parts of his frontal and parietal lobes. If you feel like you have misread this or that your mind is playing tricks on you, I urge you to take a few deep breaths, close your eyes, count backwards from ten and reread this paragraph.
Tammie, Alyssa and I were enjoying our third viewing of Juno for the month when Trevor had to excuse himself to go use the gentlemen's room. Well, it's the bathroom attached to his hospital room. It can be a ladies' room or a gentlemen's room depending on who is watering the hole. It's like the magical horse on the Wizard of Oz that changes colors...BUT COOLER. So, since Trevor was watering the hole this particular time, it was a gentlemen's room. Enough about the bathroom. Trevor sat up in his bed and his mom, Tammie, reflexively whipped the wheelchair around and pulled it up next to his bed. Trevor stood up on his own (you read it correctly, I said: ON HIS OWN!), with only the slightest wobble, and quickly shifted his weight from the bed to the wheelchair and he was off to the races, err... the bathroom. Same difference.
While Trevor and Tammie were in the restroom, Alyssa and I thought it would be funny to hop into Trevor's bed and cover ourselves with all the blankets. You know...like hide-n-seek. No one would ever find us there. It was the perfect plan, or so we thought. We quietly took off our shoes so they wouldn't make noise on the laminate floors—like the people who were five feet away from us in the approximately 10x10 hospital room wouldn't hear us moving—and tip-toed over to Trev's hospital bed. We jumped into the bed, smooshed together (as my thighs do when I run), pulled the side rails up on the bed (safety first), and flung the blankets over our heads. We did our best not to laugh and it worked as well as an oompa loompa doing the high jump. We pulled the blankets down so only our eyes were visible as to keep watch on the bathroom door.
Trev finished his business and the bathroom door began to move. Lyssa and I sent the blankets flying over our heads and laid under them squealing with bouts of laughter. I'm sure it was like watching/listening to second graders trying to fall asleep at a sleepover. The wheelchair rolled over next to the bed and we successfully got a laugh out of Trevor but we stayed hidden as to keep the game going. Before we knew it, the joke was on us. Apparently, Trevor lost interest in our game and scooted himself out of the room. Tammie obliged his silent but deliberate request and accompanied him to the lounge at the end of the hall.
Alyssa and I sat, blissfully unaware, under the covers still laughing our heads off at our childish antics. As we realized that the room was completely silent, we pulled the covers down past our eyes and scanned the room for signs of Tammie and Trevor. The coast was clear. Moments later, we heard footsteps outside the room. Alyssa, in a whisper-yell, said "Hurrrrry, hide, it's Trev." So we pulled the blanks taut back over our heads. There was a faint knock at the door but we ignored it, positive that it was Trevor and Tammie returning to admit defeat. There were a few seconds of silence, followed by "Umm...Trevor?" Once again, we pulled the blankets down as to only reveal our eyes. This time our eyes were met by the confused gaze of Trevor's doctor. There was a pause followed by another, slightly more awkward, pause and then an eruption of laughter so loud I'm sure people across the hall could hear us. Alyssa and I could barely pull ourselves together from all the laughter long enough to let the doctor deliver his brief message—Trevor will be getting his vena cava filter out on Monday.
And just like that, the doctor—the beautiful Dr. McFoxy Barnes—was gone and Alyssa and I sat in Trevor's hospital bed laughing so hard that our bodies could barely find time to inhale and the tears came a pourin'. It's a sweet, sweet thing to have a moment, in what can easily seem such a dreary place, to shed tears. For once not sad tears, but laughter tears. As for Dr. McFoxy Barnes, I'm sure he's seen stranger things. He works in the inpatient rehab unit of a hospital for goodness sake.
A game of hide-n-seek gone terribly hilarious is what's right in the world.
P.S. You should follow Alyssa's blog about Trevor. Simply put, it's amazing. It gives you a glimpse into an experience that no one should ever have to come to know, let alone twice. http://wakeupwoo.blogspot.com/
