It's Not Fair

This story is about living with a heart condition as a child and the lack of understanding.

November 2003

 

Outside, a bright, sunny day. Children are laughing in a nearby park: so happy; so healthy. Inside, a mother breaks down. She is held by her husband as he comforts her, yet at the same time tries to gather his thoughts and feelings after the shock diagnosis. They had only come to the hospital for a routine check-up, standard procedure after heart surgery. It was supposed to be the last one. But it was a mere dizzy spell in his son that triggered the doctor's concern.

 

“I need to see him! I need to see my baby!” the mother demands, her hazel eyes filled with a world of sorrows, the father her main support as they head towards the room where their son is lying, motionless on the bed, so peaceful it would have been hard to tell whether he was sleeping... or the other. She becomes weak around the ankles as she sees him, her child; her baby.

 

The doctor speaks from behind them. “He can make it, you know. He's a strong boy. We can treat this; let him live a relatively normal life. He doesn't have to die.”

“He's too young! He's only had four years!” She bursts into tears as her husband rocks her gently, back and forth, back and forth.

“It's my fault, it's all my fault. ” the father tells himself quietly. “I wouldn't have let him go through this if I had known. I would rather have had no child than a dead child.”

“It's not fair,” the mother repeats over and over to herself, as if it will make everything better. She looks at her son's fine head of hair under the hospital-issue blanket. “It's not fair.”

 

 

August 2007

 

Outside, a bright, sunny day. Children are laughing in the park, so happy; so healthy. A mother is sitting on a memorial bench. A group of young boys are playing soccer on the field. Two boys are in the sandbox, running trucks over hills they have made in the sand and crashing them into each other.

“Fraser!” the mother calls. “Your shoelace is undone! Come here and I'll tie it for you!”

“Mu-um!” Fraser whines. “I am eight you know. I can do things by myself!”

He puts the truck down for a second and ties his left shoelace, his dark eyes glistening with annoyance at being embarrassed by his mother, hoping the boys on the field haven't heard, his friend's sympathetic eyes a swimming hazel.

 

The boys on the soccer field call out to Fraser.

“Hey Fraser! Come over here and play with us. You can bring Midge too if you want.”

“Yeah, if you think we won't stand on him. I mean, we might not see him there...”

“Just ignore them. How about it Miles?” he asks his friend.

“I-I-I can't.” Miles stammers. “I-I-I'm not allowed to play soccer.”

“Oh yeah... right. Well I'm just going to go and play with them for a while, okay?”

“Umm... sure.”

Fraser runs off and leaves Miles, whose fine, floppy fringe is covering his now-tearful eyes and pasty forehead.

“Fraser! Where are you going?” Fraser's mother yells.

“To play soccer,” he yells back.

“Hang on a minute, mister. You know Miles can't play. You can't just leave him alone while you go and play with someone else.”

Fraser scowls. “Fine! I'll go and play in the stupid sandpit with stupid Miles!”

“Fraser!” his mother says. “You know it's not Miles' fault he has a heart condition. It's something he was born with, just like you have your birthmark.”

“Yeah, but my birthmark doesn't stop me from playing soccer,” he whines.

“Fraser, you will go back to that sandpit and keep Miles company NOW. And not another word!”

“But mu-um! The sandpit is so boring and-” he is cut off by the frown on his mother's face and retreats slowly.

 

He is tired of no-one understanding him. His mother is always telling him exactly what he can and can't do.

“You're only eight,” she says whenever he wants to do something. “You're too young.” And then there's his sisters, always getting him into trouble and getting away with it. That's the problem with being the baby and only boy of a large family. His mother thinks his five sisters are absolute angels, so they never get blamed for anything. He thinks his dad believes him, but is too afraid to stand up to his mother anyway. That's the problem with having a nerdy computer technician for a dad and a competitive discus-thrower for a mum. No love lost in his family... he doesn't know why they ever got married really. Maybe it was because his mum found out she was pregnant...

 

Fraser mooches back to the sandpit and sits, stony-faced and sour.

Miles looks at him with big, sorrowful eyes and utters just one word. “Sorry.”

The boys on the field look back once they realize Fraser hasn't joined them yet.

“Fraser! What are you waiting for? Leave Midge and come play soccer with us!”

“I can't just leave Miles. He doesn't want to play,” he replies, trying not to give away the fact that his mother won't let him. One of the boys comes over and tries to convince him to just play anyway.

“Come on, Midge isn't any good at soccer anyway,” he whispers.

“Okay...” Fraser steps tentatively towards the boy.

“Fraser!” his mother yells, her voice tired and aggravated.

“It's not fair!” he yells back, his indignant shadow towering over Miles.

“It's not fair,” Miles repeats softly in the shadow, curling up inside himself. “It's not fair.”