I was very sick on Sunday, 6th January 2013, and by Monday I sought out a doctor. By Wednesday I had seen 5. To crown everything, I had to be in surgery on Thursday. I was so scared. Charlie did his best to calm me down, I was in pain, and even little Kiddo braved leaving his sanctuary to walk with me to the TV room (10 steps) and make sure I was ok. That was so touching to me. Tim told me all of them knew I was in pain, and they were all worried. On the day of the surgery I was waiting in the ward, both Gran and Charlie were on the bed with me.
By 1:00PM I was wheeled to theatre, only Gran followed. I was discharged that evening, the procedures done and, of course, in a lot of pain. Gran and Charlie were with me every second. The Friday I felt bad for leaving my mom to defrost the fridge by herself, so I went to keep her company, but I couldn't be on my feet too long and at one point bent forward, holding onto my stomach. Charlie showed that image to Tim, boy was I in trouble for not being in bed where I belonged.
I slept a lot during the day, but at night my pain seemed to be worse, and I struggled to sleep. The Tuesday, 15 Jan, I struggled so long that I got mad and frustrated and then, suddenly, papers on my vanity started moving. And not in a "did I just imagine that?" kind of way. They moved all over. Then the curtain moved on the other side of the room, and, instead of being scared, I laughed and told Charlie I'd be ok, and the papers and curtains stopped moving.
On Wednesday evening Tim was telling me how roughly people actually get handled in theatre, and he said Gran felt she wanted to slap the doctor a few times when he was busy with me. When I asked him why he said:
"In her words, they are hurting my baby. And just before you ask, that's what she calls you."
This was such an amazing revelation to me; I had never thought that she had nicknames for any of us. I asked him what she calls my mom, and he said "Lientjie", which is a derivative of her first name. I never thought I'd be able to get to a point where thoughts of ghosts gave me warm and fuzzy feelings.
The same evening, my sister and her husband came to visit. My son, H, was sitting on the couch with them, but he was facing them, and looking over the back of the couch, looking past the treadmill to Kiddo\'s door. When suddenly, he exclaimed "Uncle P, there was a little white man by the couch!" This unsettled everyone. When I later asked Tim about this, he assured me that it was just Kiddo, coming out of his room to see what we were doing. Elaine said the one thing that Tim said about this, that is still very cryptic, is that H was 100 percent right when he described Kiddo as a little white man. When she tried to inquire whether it had to do with the fact that the little guy had burned to death, Tim just smiled and didn't elaborate.
All is active and well, spiritually speaking, in my home.
I made the mistake of trying to explain to the boys about Kiddo. After all, he is harmless, and he loves having them around, so I don't want them to be afraid of him. But I only succeeded in freaking them out. Tim warned me they were too young to grasp this concept. I made a bit of a mess of the situation.