Loving Sam
Created | Updated Sep 21, 2008
Stephanie was determined that Christmas would be special. So she decorated the house with a plastic Christmas tree and brightly coloured streamers in time for the arrival of her family. The grey, dreary weather was the only disappointment. Suddenly, her house was full of people, and her sister’s son Ben rushed straight into the living room to find the presents.
A moment later, Sam started crying. Stephanie hurried into the living room to find Andy hauling Ben away from their son, who sat in his wheelchair with tears running down his face. He looked like a rag doll.
“Be gentle with Sam,” Andy said. “He’s not as strong as you are.”
Sometimes, Stephanie’s heart went out to her husband, who was very gentle, despite his considerable size. She knew that he would love to be able to teach his son to play football, ride a bike and pitch a tent but Sam would never be capable of any of these things. Fortunately, Zoe sat next to Sam and stroked his hair, which calmed him and brought a smile to his lips.
With the help of her mother and Kirsty, Stephanie managed to produce a splendid turkey, with potatoes, carrots, peas and cranberry sauce. Everyone applauded as she carried it into the living room, where Andy stood ready with a carving knife. Stephanie sat next to Sam and fed him a purée of turkey and potato. He choked on a piece of potato and she cleared mucus from his nose with a tube. The purée ran down his chin.
“Yuk,” said Zoe, who liked everything to be neat and pretty.
After dinner, Stephanie and her mother cleared up in the kitchen.
“Did you get that report from the doctors about Sam?” asked Dorothy.
Stephanie sighed. She and Andy had read the letter from the Health Authority so many times that she nearly knew the words off by heart. “They said that his higher mental functions are substantially impaired. We think that means he’ll never be able to do very much.”
“So are they going to send him to a special school?”
“We don’t know. It’s up to the Education Authority.”
Dorothy shook her head. “All these officials worrying over one little boy. You know, I sometimes think it would have been kinder to let him die when he was born.”
“Oh, how can you say that? It would have broken my heart.”
“Yes, but you would have got over it. Instead, you’re stuck with a seriously disabled child.”
“I love him, Mum.”
Stephanie’s mind returned to Sam’s birth. She and Andy were decorating the second bedroom of their small house when she doubled over with violent pains in her abdomen. Andy rushed her to hospital, where Sam was born fifteen weeks early. They stood and looked at the little scrap of humanity that lay in the incubator, draped with tubes and linked to various pieces of high-tech equipment. Stephanie had no particular religious faith but she still prayed with all her heart and power for him to pull through.
Over the weeks, Sam grew stronger and her hopes rose. When the doctors talked about the possibility of brain damage she took little notice of their warnings. He had survived and that seemed to be all that mattered. The problems emerged gradually. When Sam’s eyes failed to focus, the doctors said that he was probably blind, and when he didn’t respond to her voice they said he was deaf.
Stephanie, however, clung to the belief that his development was simply delayed. There was always hope that he would improve. Family and friends welcomed him home to a house decorated with balloons and cards and held a party in his honour. Now that Sam was almost five, she was running out of hope. There were times when her grief at the loss of the normal child she had wanted became almost unbearable.
When Stephanie and Dorothy returned to the living room, they found the men kneeling on the floor, helping Ben to assemble a car-racing track. Kirsty and Zoe were playing with a new board game. As Stephanie checked that Sam was comfortable she felt a sudden pang of envy of her sister that amounted almost to hate. How could Kirsty be so happy, with her normal, healthy children, while she worried about Sam? She had agreed with Andy that they could have no other children, as long as Sam needed so much care. It seemed so unfair.
At the end of Christmas day, Stephanie and Andy said goodbye to their guests and set about clearing their house of wrapping paper and crackers. Sam sat in his wheelchair with his presents in a pile beside him and cried with tiredness.
“I think that went pretty well,” said Andy.
“Yes, apart from my mother, who can be a real misery guts.”
“I’m glad you said that and not me.”
Stephanie laughed and hugged Andy, her fair hair brushing against his cheek. “You’ve been great.”
A few days later, Sam developed a cold and started struggling to breathe. As Andy was at work, Stephanie sat alone with their son, watching in case his airways became blocked. Sam was so weak and his hold on life was so fragile that she found the conversation with her mother playing itself repeatedly in her mind like a faulty CD. Suddenly, something within her snapped. She gently removed the pillow from beneath Sam’s head and held it against his face until his breathing stopped. Then she wept.
