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The rain splashed in huge droplets off the hood of our car and the
windshield wipers hurried back and forth across the window as if they were
rushing to catch the next sheet of water before we were blinded to the
road by an opaque windshield. We were rushing to keep the appointment set
up for us by Auntie Pud at the Cerebral Palsy Center in Norman. There was
an overhang directly in front of the double door entry and that was nice.
I silently congratulated the architect for thinking of such a thing. Even
so, our shoes were dripping water on the very shiny floor of the waiting
room.
“Sorry to ruin this
very nice floor,” I spoke to the receptionist who was behind a desk.
“Not to worry.” The girl was friendly and
didn't seem to worry about the floor.
She had put me at ease and I began to
unwrap Rhonda from her warm blankets.
Rodney strode through
the door with his usual air of control and I was thankful for his arrival.
He went up to the receptionist's desk and gave her our names along with
our appointment time.
“Come on back. Your
therapist, Gene, is waiting for you.” And I, like a goose being fattened
for the kill, meekly followed along behind the woman. We were walking down
a hallway that had a floor highly polished and clean as the waiting room
had been. Everything was cheerful and bright. To the right the wide
hallway turned into another shorter hall and the girl turned again to her
right to enter the therapist's office. There were windows half way down
evidently so he could watch the children at work in a larger room.
“Hello, I'm Gene, and I
will be Rhonda's therapist.”
The man was strong and
had the appearance of one who could lift any of the children. I noticed he
had a long scar running all the way up his arm.
“Come on in.” Gene asked us into his
office. “Would you like to tour the building?”
“Sure. Yes, that would be fine.” Of
course, we were curious.
At first we walked through a large room
where there were cushioned tables. We stopped briefly to speak with the
therapist who was working with one of the children. The child was flat on
his back having one leg stretched at a time. As the strong man held the
leg stiff, it would be pulled and stretched, up and down. The child cried
out each time the leg was lifted.
“Aren't you hurting him?” I had to say
something. “Yes
it hurts, but it is necessary. These muscles can get so stiff surgery is
necessary to relax them.” As if to verify his word, he pointed to a child
who was standing at parallel bars. He had a football type helmet on his
head and he used crutches to hold himself up on legs made straight and
stiff from the steel braces he was wearing. The therapist pointed to the
back of the child's knees to where the surgery had been performed.
Gene was leading them now, back down the
same hallway toward what looked to be a large dormitory. There were rows
and rows of baby beds with bars all around them. As we walked by the beds
little hands and fingers reached out to touch us. Soulful eyes were
pleading for our attention as we walked by.
“Are you my Mommy?” One
child asked.
“Don't let him con you.” Gene picked the child up. “He's quite good at
getting your attention.” At this, the child smiled a sly little grin
while he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and away from us. |
