of Children’s Hospital sitting in
the waiting room among little people,
puzzles and Green Eggs and Ham I waited
for him.  A man small as me (I’m only 5.2) with glasses
stepped out to lead me into another room,

where there were toys and more puzzles and
more Dr. Seuss. I was afraid of his biting wit. I was even
more afraid that I was the only patient he had
my age and that I didn’t fit. He was breaking the hospital’s policy,
which was soon to catch up to us

eventually. He stripped me emotionally down
to my skivvies. “I want what I want when I want it”
That’s me. If he could read me that fast how was I
ever to last? A panic attack ensued. The sweat ran down my
neck and my legs. I grew dizzy and felt like a bird in a

cage. He looked at me and said, “there’s the door” The memory
of my son being rushed by ambulance to this hospital before
gripped me by my heartstrings and tugged on them
heavily. Wasn’t it here he was laid out in wires? Wires through
every orifice the doctors could find. And told me meningitis

was what took his mind and made it into mashed potatoes. Oh, yes
“the door.” I snapped out of it with gravy on my lips and
concentrated on the little big man psychologist and what I was
here for. This was the psychiatric department. I was used to
visiting the patient rooms when my son was in this hospital.