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Visit to Havenwyck Hospital

Visit to Havenwyck Hospital Sunday at three my wife, youngest son and I sit in a booth in the cafeteria. Our middle son stays in the car and studies global affairs. He knows it's easier, this distance. Our oldest son spots us and walks over. He wears his black cap with white swoosh as if checked off some list. Our youngest climbs on top of the seat. “Calm down,” I say. “This place needs some fun!” he shouts. I give him a yellow legal pad. He draws a picture for each of us tearing pages as he pulls them free. His brother smiles; braces have made his teeth straight and beautiful. He gets two cups of diet Sprite and gives one to his brother. “I hate this stupid place,” he says, moving his cup in circles, breaking off bits of Styrofoam. His hands shake from new medication. A Chinese couple visits their son in another booth. Three times the father leaves the table and walks to a window, the gray sky, the bare trees. Our youngest son shreds his cup and spills the pieces on the floor. I help him pick them up. Saying good-bye my wife holds out her arms. Our son bends to receive her. I offer my hand and he shakes half of it. “Shake it like you mean it,” I say the wrong thing again and he lets go. Walking down the long hall our youngest son buries his face in his coat as his mother guides him to our car. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png JAMA American Medical Association

Visit to Havenwyck Hospital

Palmer, William
JAMA , Volume 303 (6) – Feb 10, 2010
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Visit to Havenwyck Hospital

Abstract

Sunday at three my wife, youngest son and I sit in a booth in the cafeteria. Our middle son stays in the car and studies global affairs. He knows it's easier, this distance. Our oldest son spots us and walks over. He wears his black cap with white swoosh as if checked off some list. Our youngest climbs on top of the seat. “Calm down,” I say. “This place needs some fun!” he shouts. I give him a yellow legal pad. He draws a picture for each of us tearing pages as he...
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Publisher
American Medical Association
Copyright
Copyright © 2010 American Medical Association. All Rights Reserved.
ISSN
0098-7484
eISSN
1538-3598
DOI
10.1001/jama.2009.2020
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Sunday at three my wife, youngest son and I sit in a booth in the cafeteria. Our middle son stays in the car and studies global affairs. He knows it's easier, this distance. Our oldest son spots us and walks over. He wears his black cap with white swoosh as if checked off some list. Our youngest climbs on top of the seat. “Calm down,” I say. “This place needs some fun!” he shouts. I give him a yellow legal pad. He draws a picture for each of us tearing pages as he pulls them free. His brother smiles; braces have made his teeth straight and beautiful. He gets two cups of diet Sprite and gives one to his brother. “I hate this stupid place,” he says, moving his cup in circles, breaking off bits of Styrofoam. His hands shake from new medication. A Chinese couple visits their son in another booth. Three times the father leaves the table and walks to a window, the gray sky, the bare trees. Our youngest son shreds his cup and spills the pieces on the floor. I help him pick them up. Saying good-bye my wife holds out her arms. Our son bends to receive her. I offer my hand and he shakes half of it. “Shake it like you mean it,” I say the wrong thing again and he lets go. Walking down the long hall our youngest son buries his face in his coat as his mother guides him to our car.

Journal

JAMA – American Medical Association

Published: Feb 10, 2010

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