The Beginning Of The Not-So-Fun-Very-Hot Summer
My name is Nico, and I have this strong memory of fourth grade at James B. Farnsworth Elementary School in Chicago. That’s where I had to attend school because NO OTHER school close to our house wanted to deal with me.
“We don’t have the services she needs,” was the reply my mom kept getting as I was about to enter kindergarten.
So, being bussed to the north side of town was my normal.
In May of 1994, I remember my mom writing a note to my teacher, Mrs. Shagrue, telling her of the scheduled surgery-asking that I be promoted early to the next grade.
“why do you have to leave school in May?” I remember students asking.
“I’m having surgery on my legs,” I answered. “Mommy, Daddy, and the doctors think it’ll help me walk better.
I remember being bussed to my after school program after being told this. I was in tears, and my afterschool caregiver put her hand on my shoulder.
Deloris was her name.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m having surgery myself.”
I looked at her with the look that said How would you know what I’m going trough if you don’t have a disability?
“You are,” I was trying not to cry.
“Hernia surgery”, she told me.
I still didn’t know what to say.
She proceded to explain how this surgery thing worked.
“You’ll go to sleep for a while, and you may feel groggy and in pain when you wake up”, she said. “But, your mom and dad will be there to see you.”
Back at home, I asked my mom why the surgery was needed.
“It’s to correct how you walk.”
Correct? Yeah, right, I thought. First, I won’t be able to do anything-like go to day camp.
Once I was excused from school, I realized that I was DOOMED!
“You can’t eat anything after midnight, “ Mom told me the day before surgery.
“But, why?” I asked.
“So you won’t get very sick,” was her answer.
The day of the surgery came, and I ended up waking up so early. It was a hot June 1st, and I watched my brother go off to school that morning. Unfortunately I don’t recall much beyond that.
The surgery was scheduled for early that afternoon-even the one six weeks later.
“You’ll be put to sleep,” the doctor told me.
“We’ll see you in six hours,” my parents called as the operating room doors shut.
I don’t recall what time it was when I woke.
“You OK?” my mom asked.
All I could do was cry, as I was in so much pain. It felt like I’d been stung by multiple wasps, as the drains in the casts were so pokey and pointy.
Come to think of it, Kelli Anthony, a friend here at Deer Path, had the same surgery done a year before me at the same hospital.
HOW ODD IS THAT? It was done by the same doctor, too.
“We don’t have the services she needs,” was the reply my mom kept getting as I was about to enter kindergarten.
So, being bussed to the north side of town was my normal.
In May of 1994, I remember my mom writing a note to my teacher, Mrs. Shagrue, telling her of the scheduled surgery-asking that I be promoted early to the next grade.
“why do you have to leave school in May?” I remember students asking.
“I’m having surgery on my legs,” I answered. “Mommy, Daddy, and the doctors think it’ll help me walk better.
I remember being bussed to my after school program after being told this. I was in tears, and my afterschool caregiver put her hand on my shoulder.
Deloris was her name.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m having surgery myself.”
I looked at her with the look that said How would you know what I’m going trough if you don’t have a disability?
“You are,” I was trying not to cry.
“Hernia surgery”, she told me.
I still didn’t know what to say.
She proceded to explain how this surgery thing worked.
“You’ll go to sleep for a while, and you may feel groggy and in pain when you wake up”, she said. “But, your mom and dad will be there to see you.”
Back at home, I asked my mom why the surgery was needed.
“It’s to correct how you walk.”
Correct? Yeah, right, I thought. First, I won’t be able to do anything-like go to day camp.
Once I was excused from school, I realized that I was DOOMED!
“You can’t eat anything after midnight, “ Mom told me the day before surgery.
“But, why?” I asked.
“So you won’t get very sick,” was her answer.
The day of the surgery came, and I ended up waking up so early. It was a hot June 1st, and I watched my brother go off to school that morning. Unfortunately I don’t recall much beyond that.
The surgery was scheduled for early that afternoon-even the one six weeks later.
“You’ll be put to sleep,” the doctor told me.
“We’ll see you in six hours,” my parents called as the operating room doors shut.
I don’t recall what time it was when I woke.
“You OK?” my mom asked.
All I could do was cry, as I was in so much pain. It felt like I’d been stung by multiple wasps, as the drains in the casts were so pokey and pointy.
Come to think of it, Kelli Anthony, a friend here at Deer Path, had the same surgery done a year before me at the same hospital.
HOW ODD IS THAT? It was done by the same doctor, too.