My wife has been in the hospital for nearly three weeks now. She has been on bedrest for most of it, being forced to stay in the same room, with the same dull television channels and the same view of a tree out her window. I have only left her side for a few days, returning home to take care of bills and such.
Otherwise, we share the same prison.
It is during all of this that we end up playing games. Card games, board games, trivia games and video games – anything to help pass the time.
Anything that helps divert our attention.
Rummikub has become a staple of our days. As have Crazy Eights, War and Go Fish.
It helps take her mind off the situation and allows her to laugh, which is music to my ears.
In between the stress, the tears and the fear, there is fun and games.
She gets prideful and talks smack with every win, while I accuse her of cheating.
“How can I?” She retorts. “I”m been stuck in the same spot for weeks.”
“You and the nurses are in cahoots,” I say with a smirk.
She tells me to shut up and shuffle.
These are the moments I cherish, the ones I would prefer to remember. The fact that, despite the horrors and frights, we can still manage to have fun.
Games have an awesome power in that sense. After all, not many pastimes have the ability to completely change one”s disposition amid such circumstances.
Our son was born prematurely Saturday, after having spent only 24 weeks in the womb to the day. He weighed one pound and six ounces. He has been hooked up to machines since he entered the world, all with the purpose of keeping him alive.
My wife and I start taking bets on how many mothers and couples we will see come and go during our time here. I say about 60, she says more. We never did find out who won.
We wager on how many fights we will hear from the pedestrians passing by below our window, or how many sirens will wail in the next hour.
Life becomes an ebb and flow between utter sadness and distraught and relaxation and joyfulness.
And we have games to thank for that. Without them we would have been doomed to melancholy attitudes, focusing on the bad parts of the situation — but because we were able to calm down and relax, we were able to be more optimistic and count our blessings. Our son is stable, and fighting for life. Cheating death with every passing minute.
We play one last game before going to bed, in the morning we will visit our son in the NICU and smile instead of sob. Tears are unavoidable, but they will be tears of joy and happiness instead of tears of fright and sadness.
