From xangst@frii.com Fri Apr 25 17:37:40 1997
Subject: NF>  The Game (1/1)
From: Myth Patrol 
--------
**********

Summary:  A Mrs. Mulder story and my interpretation of how the
'choice' between the two children was really made.

Story
Conspiracy
Angst

Disclaimer:  Not me.  I didn't do it, nobody saw me do it, you can't
prove anything.  Not only that, but I didn't get any money for it, so
who cares?  In other words, no copyright infringement intended.

Warnings:  none.  No sex, no spoilers, no Scully.  Not even that
much bad language.  This is suitable for anyone, but I think the
mothers out there will understand it most deeply.  This is pure Mrs.
Mulder angst.

Archive as you wish.  XA and EMXC Disclaimers apply. 
Comments welcome.


The Game
By Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net

Rotary Park, Ball Field No. 4
Chillmark, MA
June 12, 1973  4:35 pm

     "Strike two!"

     I'm still not sure why I subject myself to this.  It's hot here in the
sun, the ball field is too far away to get the breeze off the shore. 
The grass is dry weeds, the sand gets caught in the trail of the
station wagons pulling into the gravel parking lot and kicks in the
air, creating a fine dust that covers everything, including the picnic
basket.  I'm hot and sticky and very tense.  Each thrown pitch
brings me out of my webbed lawn chair.  I look around me and
notice the stares.  They all think I'm overprotective.  But I ignore
them.  I have good reason to be terrified.  

     Bill often tells me that Fox is old enough to go by himself to his
ball games.  The field is only 6 blocks from our house.  But I don't
see it that way.  He's just a little boy.  He's not even twelve.  And
the look on his face, the grim determination in his eyes, when he's
doing something he likes, no, he *loves*--he loses all sense of his
own preservation.  It frightens me when he gets that look.  I can
almost smell the danger there.  He has that look now.  

     The pitcher's face is getting red and he lets the ball go with the
force of a rocket.  I see it hurtling toward Fox, I hear the thud as it
hits--not the crack of a bat, the thud of projectile hitting living flesh
and the sickening crack of bone.  A collective gasp rises around me.

     "Hit batter!"  

     Oh, my God, I'm on my feet and running out onto the field
before anyone can stop me.  The coach gets to Fox just seconds
ahead of me and Fox is lying on the ground, holding his leg.  He's
holding back the tears until he looks up and sees me and then they
fall down his cheeks because no little boy can hold his pain back
from his mother.  I'm cradling him and smoothing his hair as the
coach is running a hand over the leg.  Fox whimpers and then cries
out and I'm crying and I can't even see well enough to look for
myself, but I already know it's serious.

     "Mrs. Mulder, I'll get my car.  We'll get him to the emergency
room.  Don't worry."  Nice platitude.  A little late.  I was worried
before this happened, now I'm frantic.

     "Could someone call my husband?"  I'm actually surprised that I
have the presence of mind to remember to call Bill.  He's at home,
with Samantha.  He'll meet us at the hospital.  Fox is still
whimpering, but is calming a little.  I can tell the leg hurts him
badly, but the rest of the team has gathered around us and he
refuses to let them see him cry.  He grits his teeth as his teammates
gawk at his injured leg.

     "Geez, Mulder, you took that one *hard*!"

     "Hey, Fox, how come you never do stuff like that in the school
year?  That's gotta be worth a week home in bed, easy!"
 
     "Well, there goes our lead.  Without you in right field, Mulder,
we're creamed."

     It never ceases to amaze me how little boys can arrange their
priorities.

     "Gosh, d'ya think you're out for the rest of the season?!"   

     I notice my son flinch at that remark.  It's obvious that he hadn't
gotten past the pain in his leg.  Once again, the consequences of his
action are revealed to him far to late to affect the outcome.  At
least, I pray it would have affected the outcome.

     "Sweetheart, why did you stand so close to the plate?" I moan. 
A stupid question, I know.  

     Through gritted teeth, my son answers.  "I was tryin' to piss him
off , Mom."  At my stern glare, he amends his statement.  "Oh,
darn, I mean, make him mad.  Sorry."  He honestly thinks I'm angry
at his vulgarity and not the recklessness of his actions.  

     I shake my head and use a wet nap someone has given me to
wipe the grit and dirt from his face.  He's shivering and I look
around frantically, trying to find where the coach has gone, where
the car is to take us to the hospital.

       And he's there, with the car.  The umpire and the coaches from
each team lift Fox and carry him to the car.  Our coach's wife is
helping me up and steering me toward the car door, telling me that
she ran home to call Bill and he'll meet us at the hospital.  I sit in
the back, with Fox's head on my lap.  I notice not for the first time
how long his legs have gotten over the past year.  He's almost as
tall as I am now.  It's cramped in the back seat and his face is
getting ashen from the pain.

     "It hurts bad, mommy," he whispers.  I can't remember the last
time he's called me 'mommy'.  Far too long.  I know he doesn't want
his coach to hear him.  This is just for my ears.  He knows I'll keep
his secret.

     "Shhhh, I know baby boy, I know," I croon, softly enough so
that he can hear, but not loud enough for the person in the front
seat.

     "Will Dad be there?  At the hospital?" he asks, still quiet, but it
sounds weak to my ears.  He has no idea how much this is
frightening me.

     "Yes, sweetie, I'm sure he will be.  Mrs. Timons called him. 
He'll be there, Fox, I promise."  And I know Bill is rushing to get
there, even as we are rushing ourselves.  It seemed that Fox is
always getting taken to the emergency room or the doctors.  He's
not a clumsy boy.  He just takes risks no other sane person would
consider.  Always climbing the tree with the weakest limbs, always
swinging on the rope that's already old and frayed.  Always seeing
just how far he can push before he tumbles through the looking
glass.

     "Mommy, I don't feel so good," he murmurs.  I can see he's very
pale and I know what those words mean.  He's going to be sick.  I
search the backseat for something he can throw up into.  

     "Mr. Timons, he's going to be sick," I warned the coach.  He
glances back at me over his shoulder and sighs.  

     "Here, let him use this," Mr. Timons says, handing me a small
trash can that fits over the hump in the front seat.  Just in time.  Fox
has never had a strong stomach and pain manages to make it even
more sensitive.

     "I'm sorry, Mr. Timons.  I'm sorry," he moans when he's
finished.

     "Nothing to be sorry for, big guy.  Nothing at all.  We're almost
there, Fox.  Just a couple more blocks.  We're almost there," his
coach assures him.  I notice we are now exceeding the posted speed
limit.  I don't really mind.

     The screech of the tires alerts me to the fact that we are at the
emergency room entrance.  Mr. Timons runs in and tells the staff
that we need a gurney.  I sit and feel helpless as two nurses and an
orderly fumble to get my son out of the back seat.  He cries out as
they move him and I can't stop myself from trembling.  He's going
to be all right, I keep repeating to myself.  He's going to be all right.

     Bill is there now, helping me out of the back seat.  I barely
notice Samantha hanging on to his hand as we hurry through the
double glass doors.  No waiting room chairs for me this time.  The
staff pushes the gurney directly to the emergency room, behind
white curtains.  Bill nods to the door and I go through them alone. 
Fox is being surrounded by women in white pant suits, taking his
temperature, cutting his pants leg to expose the injury.  It's then
that I see the white bone sticking through pale skin and almost
clotted red blood that hasn't managed to soak through the rough
polyester fabric of his little league uniform.  The room gets
incredibly cold and dark gray and I'm falling, . . .

     I hate the acrid smell of ammonia that greets me as I open my
eyes.  Bill is leaning down over me as the nurse pulls back.  "I think
she'll be fine, Mr. Mulder.  It's pretty gruesome when you see your
first compound fracture.  I'd probably pass out cold if it was my kid,
too."  She's young, in her early twenties if she's a day.  And blond. 
Way too blond to be natural.

     "Yes, I'm sure she'll be fine.  Thank you.  I'll take it from here." 
Bill, ever efficient, is handing me a glass of water and helps me to
sit up on the sofa in the waiting room.  Samantha is sitting there
across from us, eyes wide, frightened.  I smile at her and she finally
smiles back.  

     "Gosh, mama, are you OK?" she asks, getting down off the chair
to come stand next to me.

     I pull her into my lap.  "I'm fine, pumpkin.  Just fine.  I just got a
little, ah, hot.  That's all.  The other room is awful hot.  So people
don't catch cold, probably."  It's a complete fabrication, but I don't
dare tell her the truth.  Samantha would be beside herself if she
knew the true extent of her brother's injury.  

     "Sammi, why don't you go see if you can find something to
watch on the TV over there and let Mama catch her breath, OK?" 
Bill guides Sam over to a chair close to the waiting room TV, far
enough away from us so that she won't be party to our
conversation.  She obeys happily.

     "What happened, Sweetheart?" he asks me, taking my hand in
his.  I almost start crying anew at the look of concern in his eyes.

     "Wild pitch.  Fox was crowding the plate and that made the
pitcher mad.  Has the doctor been out?" I ask.  I need to know
what is happening with Fox before I can answer any more
questions.

     "No," Bill says, glancing at the double doors at the far end of the
room.  "They said they were taking him to X Ray.  That was almost
a half hour ago.  What could be taking so long?"  I can tell my
husband is close to losing his patience.

     "It's a bad fracture, Bill.  I'm sure they want to get as many X
Rays as possible before they set the bone.  He'll need more stitches,
too, I suppose.  More for his 'collection'," I add with a grim smile. 
Bill pats my hand.  He knows how terrible this is for me.  Fox is my
biggest worry.  

     I've worried about him since I first found out I was pregnant
with him.  He's my first born, my beautiful baby boy.  He's always
been so headstrong, never thinking about what could happen.  So
smart and yet, he has never been grounded to the realities of life. 
I'm always afraid for him.  Worried that something awful will
happen to him.  Something that I can not stop.

     The double doors open and a man in green scrubs and a white
lab coat enters the waiting room.  I don't miss the smudges of blood
on his coat.  My baby's blood.  I close my eyes again, willing my
heart to calm down, my breathing to steady.  Be strong, be strong.

     "Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?  Hello.  I'm Dr. Leets.  I'm taking care of
Fox."  Dr. Leets shakes Bill's hand and nods in my direction. 
Samantha has come over to stare at him, her arms wrapped tightly
around Bill's leg.  She knows she'll be shooed back away, but for
the moment, she wants to be with us, perhaps to hear how her
brother is.

     "Dr. Leets, how is our son?"  I try not to let my panic color my
voice.

      Dr. Leets ignores my question and kneels down to Sammi's
level.  "Hey, young lady, why don't you go over to that door and
see if a nurse with red hair can't find you a coloring book and
crayons while I talk to your mommy and daddy?  Does that sound
good to you?" Dr. Leets speaks directly to Samantha.  I feel Bill's
grip on my arm.  Obviously, Dr. Leets is concerned that whatever
he has to say might upset Samantha.  That upsets me, as well.

     I watch my daughter look up to her father for reassurance.  Bill
reluctantly nods his approval, hesitating for a split second.  Almost
as if having Sammi near us will make the news easier to take. 
Sammi gives us both one last look and goes off to find the red
haired nurse.

     "Why don't we sit down over here," Dr. Leets says to us.  We
follow him over to the sofa and chairs we just vacated.  "Mr. and
Mrs. Mulder, your son is going to be fine.  He suffered a compound
fracture to the right femur.  The ball had to have been traveling
pretty fast to break the bone."  He shakes his head and reviews the
chart in his hands.  "That's the simple part.  Unfortunately, the
break occurred very close to the growth plate near the knee.  As
you are well aware, your son is growing, almost before your very
eyes, I'm sure.  They all do at this age.  So, I am particularly
concerned with this fracture.  I've ordered an operating room and
would like to set the bone, then immobilize it with steel pins.  We'll
keep Fox for a couple of days and then he can go home.  He should
be confined to his bed for a period of two or three weeks, until we
can safely remove the pins.  At that time, we'll see how the leg is
healing.  If all is going well, we'll put him in a walking cast and he
can start using crutches.  The bone will take anywhere from 4 to 6
weeks to heal completely, but if we run into complications, it could
take two months.  A heck of a way to ruin a summer, but these
things happen.  Too often, I'm afraid."

     "Should we consider moving him to Boston?  To an orthopedic
surgeon?" Bill asks.  I know his concern.  Chillmark is a small
town, the hospital is just a way station, at best.

     A frown crosses the doctor's eyes.  "Mr. Mulder, you have a
very frightened little boy in that room over there.  In a lot of pain. 
We can take care of him, have him prepped for surgery in about 15
minutes.  It's not a difficult procedure, I've done many of them
before.  Or, I can give him something that will probably just
dampen the pain, and then shuttle him off into an ambulance for the
one and half hour ride to a hospital in Boston, and that's if the Ferry
is cooperative.  Of course, it's your decision.  But I really think the
results will be the same.  I did my residency at one of the larger
Boston hospitals and I know all the doctors on staff.  I can call in
any one of them to consult on this case, if you wish.  But I think for
your son's sake, we should expedite this matter."

     I'm gripping Bill's hand so tightly that my own fingers begin to
tingle.  The tears are burning in the back of my throat and I'm doing
everything I can to keep from screaming at Bill to give his approval,
allow Dr. Leets to take care of Fox as quickly as humanly possible. 
I know Bill can sense what I'm feeling.

     "Of course," Bill says with a tired swipe at his forehead. 
"You're right.  Please, forgive me.  I'm just concerned for my son."

     Dr. Leets gives us both a reassuring smile.  "As are we all, Mr.
Mulder.  He's a very brave young man.  Now, I have some
arrangements to make.  You may go in to see him for a few minutes
if you like.  And, of course, I'll come talk to you again following the
surgery."

     Fox is lying so still on the gurney.  He's been dressed in a
hospital gown that looks too big for him.  There is an IV needle in
his hand, with copious amounts of tape around it.  It must be
bothering him and he wants the nurses to make sure it won't move. 
Even as he appears to be calm, I see the tear tracks down his face. 
How he must have hated to have these others, these strangers, see
him cry.  It breaks my heart.

     "Hi, Buddy," Bill says to him, brushing Fox's hair off his
forehead.

     "hi, dad," Fox says and tries to smile.  Then he looks anxiously
at me.  "mom, you OK?"  I take his hand and squeeze, nodding my
assurance.

     "Fox, we have to talk about your stance at the plate," Bill teases
mildly, and Fox's smile warms a couple of degrees.

     "i know, dad.  but with runners on all the bases and two outs, a
hit batter would have given us a run and a solid lead."  Fox
grimaces a little and sighs.  "dumb idea, huh?"

     "Not one of your better decisions, son, no," Bill says to him. 
"But I hope it taught you a lesson."

     "don't piss off a guy with a mean fast ball?" Fox says through a
lop-sided grin.

     "Always go for the hit, not the hit batter," Bill corrects him. 
"Deceptive plays will never win, Fox.  Remember that."

     Fox nods and closes his eyes.  When he opens them, he turns to
me.  "what now?  when can i go home?"  I recognize that voice.  I
know he's scared and wants me to make it all better.  My eyes fill
with tears and I look over to Bill to answer him.

     "Well, son, they have to fix that leg first.  You hurt it pretty
badly.  They're going to have to operate.  You'll be asleep and then
when you wake up, you'll have a cast on it.  They want to keep you
here for a couple of days.  Then we'll take you home."

     "how about the team?  when can i play?" Fox asks.

     "There'll be other summers, son.  You'll be out there next
summer, I promise."  Bill cups Fox's cheek in his hand and wipes
the silent tears away with his thumb.  "There now, it's going to be
all right.  We might have to move a TV into your room for awhile,
right Mother?  You're going to have to stay in bed a couple of
weeks.  But you'll do fine, I know it."  I choke on my own tears as
Fox swallows and nods, accepting his fate.

     "you'll be here when i wake up?" he asks, again turning to me
for the answer.  This time, I can't look away.

     "Of course, baby boy.  I won't leave here until you do, OK? 
They won't be able to drag me out."  I know the words are simply
meant to assure him, but I mean every syllable of them.

     The nurse comes in with a syringe and I hold his hand as he
closes his eyes against the shot.  I can see the tears brimming on the
edges of his eyelashes and it makes me ache inside.  I hate this,
every minute of it.  I would trade places with him, do anything in
the world to make this all a bad dream that we can both wake up
from.

     The orderly is getting ready to take him away from me, but not
before I lean over and kiss him on the cheek.  "Good night, Fox.  I'll
see you in the morning," I whisper in his ear.  It's our good night
ritual, I've done this a thousand times before.  I'll do it as long as
he'll let me.

     "night, mom," he murmurs and fades into a drug induced sleep.

     The surgery takes longer than we expected.  Sam falls asleep in
her father's arms.  I can't rest, I pace the waiting room, and every
time I close my eyes I see my son in my arms, tears down his
cheeks, in pain, looking to me to help him.  And I can't.  I can't help
him at all.

     After an eternity, Dr. Leets comes out to us.  He assures us that
everything went well, that Fox is going to recover with full use of
his leg.  I'm relieved, but I only want to be with him.  I promised
him I would be there when he wakes up.  

     I hurry up to the room and push open the door.  Fox is still
asleep and he looks so small and frail.  I drop into the chair next to
his bed and reach out of take his hand.
Bill brings Sam up to the room for a moment, she's tired, but climbs
up on the bed rails to lean over and place a kiss on her brother's
forehead.  Bill helps her down and tells her to wait for him in the
hall.

     "I can't do much more of this, Bill," I say, more to myself than
to him.  "I can't.  If anything were to happen to him, . . ."  The tears
I have been holding back are streaming down my face.  "I couldn't
live if anything happened to him, Bill.  You know that.  I couldn't
live."

     My concentration is on my son, I don't notice the look on my
husband's face.  But I hear him sigh heavily, as if a great decision
has been made, one that I am unaware of.  Bill then kisses me softly
on the top of my head and leaves for home.  He'll be back in the
morning.  I'll stay with our son tonight.

the end
Vickie

Is it May 23rd yet??



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