Part 12 (1/2)
Prevacid (lansoprazole), a proton pump inhibitor; Align/Culturelle probiotic supplement, for digestive upset and immune support; MiraLAX (polyethylene glycol), a laxative; Periactin (cyproheptadine), an antihistamine with additional anticholinergic, antiserotonergic, and local anesthetic agents; Neurontin (gabapentin), a medication used as an anticonvulsant and a.n.a.lgesic; rifaximin, a semisynthetic antibiotic based on rifamycin; Augmentin (amoxicillin and clavulanic acid), an antibiotic for bacterial infections; tramadol hydrochloride salt for moderate to severe pain; hyoscyamine, a tropane alkaloid and secondary metabolite; Celexa (citalopram hydrobromide), a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor...
”She's not on any of these,” I tell the nurse, who is astonished.
Anna and I smile at each other. We look smug, no doubt about that, but I'm certain she's experiencing the same rush of grat.i.tude I feel. We get to crow again when Dr. Nurko comes in. After proper greetings and more hugs and an uneventful palpating of Anna's belly, he glances at the unmarked list and asks, ”What's she taking now?”
”Nothing.”
”Amazing.” He looks at her, contemplative. ”Nothing at all?”
”Nothing.”
He studies her for a long moment. ”You look wonderful, Anna. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you so well.”
It is a graduation of sorts. A commencement.
That calls for celebration. Anna and I duck into the food court at the Galleria for strawberry banana smoothies and French fries. Because she can eat French fries! We spend the afternoon with Angela, tromping the Freedom Trail and visiting Anna's favorite places. At the Boston Children's Museum, she runs circles around Angela and me, taking in all the colors and taking part in all the activities that she is just on the verge of leaving behind. I know if we bring her back here even one year from now, she'll be too grown up to experience it the way she does today. She'll wise up like Abbie has, but I hope she won't lose her joy or her simple sweetness.
”Oh, look over here!” She dodges into a corner with a big magnetic letter board and asks, ”What should I make?”
”Whatever you want to tell the next person who comes along,” says Angela.
Anna thinks about it and then slides the letters into place, spelling out the words YOU MATTER.
As we wander the exhibits, a young woman calls Anna over and asks her if she'd like to partic.i.p.ate in a psychology study, and of course, Anna is immediately fascinated and willing. The topic is ”morality”; the yes-or-no questions have to do with basic right and wrong. Is it good or bad to make cookies, steal a cookie, copy an answer on a test, give a birthday present, accept a present when you're sick? Then the questions are repeated, asking, ”What would G.o.d think?”
And then the young woman asks Anna, ”Do you think G.o.d is real?”
”Oh, I know He is!”
Anna starts telling the young woman how she knows, but the young woman quickly wraps things up.
”This is a study,” she says, very sweetly but with not an inch of give. ”We don't want to skew the answers.”
”Oh! Okay,” Anna agrees readily, and dodges away to play in front of a green screen where you can see yourself on TV with Arthur and friends. She's never felt that she has anything to prove, and she doesn't pa.s.s judgment on anyone else's views. If you're willing to be kind, you're welcome at her pool party.
There's a wonderful line in The Song of Bernadette by Franz Werfel: ”For those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not believe, no explanation is possible.”
I suspect Anna will see a lot of both in her life. She has this thing in her heart-an intensely bright ”this little light of mine” s.h.i.+ne-that she wouldn't want to keep to herself, even if she could. Abigail and Adelynn are exactly the same way.
Abbie struggled for a long time with what happened, because her greatest gifts-her heart full of mercy and her staunch sense of responsibility-worked against her in that moment. I worried briefly that it might make her doubt herself or clamp a lid down on that wildly creative and adventurous spirit, but she worked it out in cla.s.sic Abbie fas.h.i.+on. In high school now, she excels in acting and debate and keeps her grades up, because she hopes to be a veterinarian like her daddy. I see so much of him in her. She devours books like a wood chipper. When she sees someone being bullied, she stands up and gets involved.
Kevin has taken both Abbie and Anna on long motorcycle trips across Montana, and each time, he brought headsets so they could communicate as they rode. Kevin says that when he was traveling with Abbie, they burned through the eight-hour battery life of the headsets every day. When he was traveling with Anna, at the end of the day, the batteries were still strong; they'd roll on for hours without saying a word.
When it's time for Adelynn's father-daughter trek, he'll probably have to bring spares. She has blossomed into an all-out-there theatrical diva who charms the socks off everyone she meets. Perhaps because she was shuffled around so much in her formative years, she's one of those people who fits in anywhere. She keeps the three- and four-year-olds entertained in the nursery at church and loves to ”work” in the front lobby at the veterinary clinic. It terrifies and thrills me to see her engage with anyone of any age as if they were part of her family. It's hard to teach a little girl to be wary of strangers when everyone she comes in contact with is instantly a friend-from the little old cat lady at the veterinary clinic to the punk rocker in line behind us at the grocery store.
As each has received a gift, says 1 Peter 4:10, use it to serve one another.
I'm confident that each of the uniquely gifted Beam sisters will be a remarkable woman in the world, but more than that, I cherish knowing that they will always be there for each other.
BAREFOOT AS USUAL, ANNABEL hops the gate and sets off down the road, but Abigail holds out her arms like a crossing guard and stops her little sisters in their tracks.
”We have just entered Narnia,” she says, and they proceed with due reverence.
”I want to be the good witch,” Adelynn pipes up.
”There is no good witch,” says Abbie.
”Then I want to be Dorothy!”
”There is no Dorothy in Narnia. No good witch. No Dorothy. You're confusing it with the Wizard of Oz.”
”I'll be the cowardly lion,” Kevin calls from the gate.
”Daddy,” says Anna, ”that's the Wizard of Oz, and you know it. You're being silly.”
”Oh, and we're all too mature for that now.”
”I am,” Abbie says to Annabel. ”I don't know about him.”
But I know. Kevin has definitely gotten his silliness back.
As I write this, 2014 is almost done. Three years have pa.s.sed since our world changed. I used to say ”since Anna fell” and later I started saying ”since Anna was healed,” but now even that has receded into a world of miracles, large and small, as countless as the stars-far more than any of us will ever know. One of the loveliest is Kevin's return to the joyful, playful, wonderfully silly daddy he was when Abbie was a baby. He still does the hard work and keeps the hard promises, but he never wanted to be the dreaded father in the ”just wait till your father gets home” scenario. He wanted his children to be happy when he walked in the door. And they are.