The Art of Breathing

by Janie DeVos

  “Oh, is that so! Will you be seeing her today?” The doctor answered that he would love to, but seeing as how she was in Timbuktu on a mission trip, he would be sending her loving birthday wishes from afar. “Well, speaking of which, my family will be arriving in another hour or so. I think I’ll head up to my room and rest until they get here.”

  He encouraged me to do so, then wished me a happy birthday again before heading off to mingle with some other churchgoers. Philip walked back to our building with me. The day was slightly overcast, cutting the summer heat by a few degrees, but thankfully, it wasn’t raining. Because my family would arrive around eleven, not long before the dinner shifts began, the dining hall veranda would be busy, so I planned for us to visit out on the expansive lawn where picnic tables and chairs were set up. I looked over toward the area and admired the beautiful panoramic views of the distant mountains and the vegetable gardens in the foreground.

  “Are you working in the garden today?” Our concept of “Sunday rest” was not always what the outside world’s was. Many of the patients who gardened considered it recreation.

  “Maybe later on. I’ll see if any of our gardeners want to get outside and work it for a little bit. Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was your birthday, Kathryn.” I told him not to be silly. That it certainly didn’t matter. “So, you turned forty today?

  “Gee, thanks.” I laughed.

  “Actually, you still look like a young lassie. How old are you?”

  “Old enough to know that a woman should never be asked her age. I’m twenty-five, if you have to know, and this is a birthday I’m glad I reached.” Philip stepped off the path to retrieve a thick piece of maple branch that had been carelessly left behind after some tree trimming the day before. “I can use this in occupational therapy class. We can always find a use for decent pieces of wood. It’s got nice color,” he said, inspecting it.

  We’d reached the back door of our building and took the elevator up to the second floor. The nurses’ desk was in front of us as we came out of the elevator, but was unmanned at the moment. Philip’s ward was off to the right, while mine was off to the left.

  “Well, I hope you have a good visit with your family, Kate.” His use of my nickname surprised me a little, but didn’t seem offensive or inappropriate in any way. Actually, for some reason it sounded natural coming from him.

  “So what’s yours?” I asked.

  “What’s my what?”

  “Your nickname. You called me by mine, so it’s only right I know what yours is.”

  “Oh, noooo. I’m not saying.” He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.

  “Fine. Watch the primroses bloom by yourself from now on.” I was enjoying the bantering. “I’ll see you around.” I turned to leave, but he gently grabbed my wrist.

  “Shuggie bum.”

  “What?” I laughed.

  “My mother always called me ‘shuggie bum.’” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, embarrassed.

  “Oh, good Lord.” I laughed again. Philip had turned a lovely shade of dusty pink. Here was a man who could work on soldiers who were physically torn apart in battle; and had the brains to get his doctorate in physics; plus had the guts and determination to make it through not just one bout with tuberculosis, but now a second one, as well—with the nickname “shuggie bum.” In truth, it was charming—both the name and his reaction to it.

  “Well, shuggie bum,” I said, trying not to laugh, “I have to go now. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

  “You, too.” He chuckled, obviously not taking himself too seriously. “And happy birthday, Katie Primrose.”

  * * *

  Back in my room, I lay in bed while waiting for my family to arrive but couldn’t sleep. There were too many people moving in and out of the ward because of the church services and upcoming dinner service. With the addition of several new tubercular patients, there were nine of us in the ward now, and while it was more interesting, it was also noisier. I felt sorry for several of the girls who were pretty bad off and really needed the quiet. Their doctors wanted them moved to semiprivate rooms, but until some became available, they had no other choice but to be housed in our ward. We tried to be quieter, but naturally, as some of the other women’s health improved, their activities—and noise level—increased. Other than feeling bad about the noise, which at times interrupted the round-the-clock rest needed for these critically ill patients, I wasn’t much bothered by the activity in the ward. It was a reminder of the busyness and normalcy of the outside world, and I much preferred hearing that noise than the painful, ragged sounds of the dying in their pitiful attempts to keep breathing.

  I kept sitting up in bed to look out the window, anxiously watching for one of Daddy’s vehicles to appear in the parking lot below. In celebration of my birthday, Geoffrey was driving over, too. Neither Donnie nor my parents had seen him since he’d spent the weekend with them, and I hoped there’d be no residue of tension left from the Penmire Prep School issue. Putting the worry aside, I thought about seeing Donnie again. Though I was anxious to spend some time with everyone, without question it was Donnie I was the most excited to see.

  It had been nearly a month since his last visit, and I had missed him terribly. We’d planned for him to visit me the week before, but he’d had a cold, so I told Mama to keep him home. This was the longest we’d ever been apart, and I’d felt every lonely minute of it. Feeling too restless to stay in bed any longer, I changed out of my robe and into a comfortable light blue cotton jumper dress. My clothes all swallowed me now; even the old ones that Mama had brought over from Howling Cut were too big. Wearing the jumper helped to hide how much thinner I’d gotten, though there was nothing I could do to hide the dark circles under my eyes and the gauntness of my face. The fact that my cheekbones were naturally high only accentuated the deepening hollows beneath them. Makeup didn’t help much, though I applied it anyway. I knew that each time Donnie saw me, I frightened him, and because I’d been feeling worse, I knew that I wasn’t going to look any better to him on this visit than I had on the last. I started to put on my sneakers, but it hurt my chest and ribs to bend over to tie the laces, and it also started a coughing jag that lasted several minutes and used up even more of the little energy I had.

  I’d lain awake the night before, flushed and dripping wet with the night sweats. It was a symptom of the fever that kept many of us awake throughout much of the night. The middle of the night was when it was the worst. Maybe it was because we were just lying there thinking about how hot we were, or how much we missed our loved ones, but we often went without a full night’s sleep, and found some quiet activity to help pass the dark hours. It wasn’t unusual to see a glow pierce the night as one of the feverish women switched on a small reading light attached to her bed’s headboard. The small circle of light would illuminate her pale, sweat-soaked, glistening face. Hand towels were kept on each patient’s nightstand, so after wiping the wetness away as best as she could, she’d pick up a book or maybe a pad and pen, and begin constructing a letter to one of those people she so desperately missed. The night sweats were a cruel, evil little beast that tortured us in our loneliest, most vulnerable hours, making sleep, which was our only means of escape, an elusive thing.

  I finished putting my hair up into a loose bun at the back of my head. When I wore it down, its thickness and weight were especially hot in this weather, but it also made my face look that much thinner. Coming out of the bathroom, I took another anxious look out the window just in time to see Daddy’s truck pulling into a space in the parking lot. “They’re here!” I excitedly said to Annabelle, who was reading until it was time to go down to dinner. “We’ll be over on the big side lawn. Stop by and say hello when you’re done eating.” She’d met my parents before and they were always glad to see her. It gave them a small amount of comfort knowing that I had companionship, and Annabelle was my closest friend.

  “Are y’all eating down there, or what?”
she asked. “I can bring something back up for you, if you want, and you can eat it later.”

  “No, don’t worry about me. I have a feeling Mama may have brought some goodies for my birthday. Thanks, though.”

  I started to leave but remembered the little gift I had in my nightstand for Donnie. Twice a week, I went to a ninety-minute occupational therapy class, which provided a much-needed diversion from the everyday monotony. It was not the same pleasure that working out in the garden would give me, but Dr. Ludlow had restricted me from taking that step yet. Still, I loved working with my hands, so I took advantage of the various craft projects available in the class. One was making toys, and though I didn’t do the actual building or carving of the toy trucks, wooden soldiers, and baby dolls, I loved painting and decorating them, and sewing clothes for the dolls. I’d painted a large wooden fire truck a deep red, and the truck’s accessories, like the ladder and hose, a bright gold, then added “Donnie’s Fire Truck” in bright blue on the side. His birthday was just three days after mine, and it broke my heart that I wouldn’t be there to share it with him. In celebration of turning six, my parents were taking him and his marble-shooting friend, Gabriel, to the zoo in Asheboro. God bless them, I thought for the thousandth time, and had to fight not to curse God in the next breath for letting me be too sick to be the one taking them.

  Grabbing the truck, I walked out of my building as fast as I could, then went down to the side lawn where we’d planned to meet. Daddy was just sitting down in one of the Adirondack chairs and Mama was standing next to Donnie, with one arm around his little shoulders, pointing to something in the woods. I looked to where she was pointing and saw the quick flash of white as a white-tailed deer disappeared into the trees.

  “Hi, y’all!” I set the truck on the picnic table, and then hurried toward Donnie, spreading my arms wide. He rushed into me so hard that I nearly stumbled, but grabbed the back of one of the chairs in time to catch myself. Thank you, Lord, for not letting me fall, I thought. I’ll forgive you about the zoo thing. The last thing I wanted was for Donnie to be afraid to touch me.

  “Mama! Grandma and I just saw some deer! Two of ’em! Grandma said one was the father ’cause it had big horns, and the little one was the baby. I asked Grandma where the mother is but she said she didn’t know, but maybe out grocery shopping!” He giggled. I was too choked up over finally seeing and touching my boy to say a word. All I could do was kiss the crown of his blond head and hold his little warm, strong body against my weak one. Thank you, God. Thank you for him.

  “Hello, darlin’.” Mama smiled, walking toward us. Daddy had gotten up when he’d heard me coming, and I turned to him after Donnie released me.

  “I brought you a birthday present,” Donnie announced, as I was finally giving Mama a hug. “I made it myself,” he said, beaming, and rushed over to one of several wrapped presents on the picnic table.

  “How you doin’, honey?” Mama was scrutinizing my face closely, while gently tucking some wayward strands of hair back behind my ear. Her brows were knitted together and the look of concern on her face told me she could clearly see the physical changes taking place, and more rapidly now.

  “I’m okay, Mama. Better now that y’all are here,” I said lightly, but looked away as I spoke. I was never able to lie to her. She knew my face well; my eyes, my expressions. I might be able to fool the rest of the world, but never her. And I knew that the way I was looking these days, I couldn’t fool the world anymore either.

  “Here!” Donnie held his gift up to me. I took it and held it to my ear, shaking it. It made no sound.

  “Here!” I said, grabbing the truck off the picnic table. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t wrap my gift to you.”

  Donnie loved it, especially since the gift was personalized, and inspected it thoroughly. From him I received a handmade walnut frame, which Daddy had cut and whittled and Donnie had glued together, and within the frame was a beautiful picture of Donnie, fishing pole in hand, on the banks of Bailey’s Creek, back home. There was also a handmade easel to set the picture on. “How’d you know I needed a new picture of you?” I enthusiastically exclaimed.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “Just did.”

  “Kathryn, I brought a birthday picnic lunch, complete with yours and Donnie’s favorites!” Mama announced. “As soon as Geoffrey arrives we’ll eat, all right? Then you can open your presents from us.”

  I told her I wasn’t sure I could hold myself back from her good food that long; that when it came to her cooking, manners took a backseat. Mama looked as pleased as Donnie did when I opened his present. Appetite or not, I would happily consume the dishes she’d so painstakingly and lovingly made, even if it meant I would be sick later on from the rich food. My body just couldn’t take heavy foods anymore. At this point, it was hard keeping down anything that wasn’t bland and light, and I could only eat small portions of those.

  Geoffrey arrived within a half hour. Donnie ran to him, obviously happy to see his father, and in turn, Geoffrey scooped him up, just as happy to see his son. Carrying him in his arms until Donnie squirmed to be set free, Geoffrey closed the distance between us and hugged me hard.

  “Happy birthday, Kathryn.” He continued to hold me. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, honey.” I was moved by his unusual display of affection, but there was nothing usual about our lives these days. Terrible stress and strain were put on a relationship when a spouse was hospitalized for great lengths of time. Responsibilities shifted, and roles were reversed. I wasn’t sure who the confinement was hardest on; the one infirm, or their family members who were stuck picking up the pieces and trying to keep some semblance of normalcy going when there was nothing normal about their lives anymore.

  Everyone was ready to eat, so we put out the picnic. Not surprisingly, Mama had outdone herself. Her reasoning, she said, was that the lunch was in celebration of two very important people’s birthdays. Included were deviled eggs, macaroni salad, potato salad, coleslaw, fried chicken, slices of maple-and-brown-sugar-glazed ham, biscuits, cornbread, sweetened iced tea, and lemonade. For dessert was a blueberry yum-yum, which was a concoction of whipped cream, cream cheese, and blueberries—one of Donnie’s favorite desserts—and my favorite: yellow cake with double the amount of fudge frosting.

  Aunt Harriet ended up having to work because of the shortage of nurses, but she was able to join us for dessert. As I looked around at each of them, I thought about the last time all of us had been together at Uncle Prescott’s wedding. I shook my head in amazement over how things changed in the blink of an eye.

  The late morning was overcast, keeping the temperature pleasant, and a soft breeze kept bugs away from the food. While we ate, we caught up on everyone’s latest news, including Donnie’s fast-approaching first year of school.

  “I’d rather not go,” he very seriously declared, then crammed another spoonful of yum-yum into his mouth.

  “Why? You’ll love it, son,” I said. “You’ll have lots of friends to play with, and you’ll learn all kinds of new things. I bet you’ll love your teachers, too. You’ll get to go on field trips, and play on the playground. You’re a big boy now, and will be doing all kinds of fun things.”

  Donnie was thoughtful for a moment. “Then I think I’d rather stay little.” We all laughed. It was a good day.

  After dessert, I opened presents, beginning with Geoffrey’s, which was a beautiful ivory-colored cashmere sweater, with matching scarf and gloves. From Mama and Daddy came a beautiful butter-yellow robe, and a small but beautifully crafted gold and ruby cross on a gold chain. And Aunt Harriet gifted me with a handsome leather-bound book of O. Henry’s short stories. The cover was richly embossed with gold lettering. “This is one book I’m going to be selfish with, and not pass around the ward.” I laughed. I thanked everyone again for their wonderful gifts, but especially the gift of their visit. Silently, I wondered if I’d have another birthday to celebrate.

&nb
sp; It didn’t take long after gifts had been opened and lunch had been eaten that I could tell Donnie was growing restless, as well as sleepy, and I suggested that Geoffrey and Daddy take him to see the koi pond while Mama and I packed up the remains of our picnic. That way, they could get going before too long. She’d brought a large thermos of coffee, and she poured us both a cup.

  “Let’s sit for another minute before we clean up,” Mama said. “I have something else for you.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a white envelope and handed it to me. I saw that my name was written in familiar handwriting and immediately knew that it was from Ditty. I hurriedly pulled the card out and opened it. Below the standard printed text of birthday wishes was a note from my brother:

  It stinks that you have to be in the hospital on your birthday, but I hope you can make it a good one anyway. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. I guess I stink at being there when you really need me but I promise to make it up to you. Get well real soon, Kate. Love, Ditty.

  I looked at the envelope again and confirmed that there was no return address or stamp, only my first name written across it. “How did you get this, Mama? Have you seen Ditty? Did he give this to you?” I was very happy and relieved to hear from my brother, but also confused, and in all honesty, angry. Ditty was right. He did stink at being there when people really needed him.

  “No, honey, we haven’t seen him,” Mama softly answered. She looked and sounded tired. “We got a large envelope in the mail from him about a week ago with no return address, but the stamp was postmarked Unicoi, Tennessee. Inside were birthday cards for you and Donnie, and a short note to your daddy and me. All it said was that he knew we were worried about him, but he was fine, and working, and figuring some things out, like ‘how to settle down and be okay with it.’ Your daddy about had a fit with that statement. Said he’d settle your brother down by kicking him in the rump all the way back from Tennessee. ’Course, your daddy’s really more worried than mad. We all are.” She shook her head in frustration.