Conceited [H.S.]

THIRTY-FIVE

ANDREA WILSON

"Is it time yet?"

I stare down at the young boy looking up at me with hopeful eyes, wishing that I could give him the answer that he wants to hear to at least get him to go to sleep.

The poor thing is so excited for his parents to come today that he hasn't been able to fall asleep. So, here I am, trying to settle his excitement so that he can get some rest.

His parents being the way that they are didn't specify what time they would be here today. But I'm not complaining because at least they'll be here.

Thanksgiving Day.

Never thought I'd be so confused about what my exact plans are, well, I never thought I'd have plans to be confused about in the first place.

"You know sweetie, they didn't say what time exactly, but they'll be here," I reassure him softly, turning the small light in his room off for the third time now.

"You only call me that when you feel bad," he calls me out.

My mouth drops open in disbelief, knowing that he's right, but it's surprising that he's been able to notice that. I don't think I would have been able to notice something like that when I was his age.

To be fair, I didn't have to be as independent as he has been.

He is only slightly correct. I do feel bad, but I'm more annoyed at his parents. They could have at least come and stayed the night after they were finished with work.

At least they're coming.

"Hey, that's not true," I defend myself as I fix the pillow behind his body.

He gives me a look as if to tell me 'Yeah right.' He sits up onto his knees to face me, completely pushing the thin hospital sheets and covers off of his body. I let out a sigh and press my lips together in a flat line, hopefully letting him know that I am far from amused by his resistance to sleep.

I understand that the kid is excited, but he needs to sleep with the chemotherapy he started a few days ago.

"Can we just walk around? I'm not tired," he whines before sending me an incredibly persuasive pout.

Do not fall for it, Andrea.

"You can't walk," I remind him, knowing that Dr. Collins put him on bed rest up until his parents come.

She agreed to give him some more freedom than usual if he agreed to rest up a few days leading up to their arrival. He's been pushing it from time to time, but for the most part, he's done well.

He deepens his pout and looks down at his own lap, his small hands moving to twist his thumbs over and under each other.

"Come on, it's just a few more hours," I try to make him feel a little better. "Then your parents will be here, and you're going to have such a fun day. You don't want to be tired for that," I attempt to reason with him, but the frown on his face tells me that I'm not getting anywhere.

He crosses his arms over his chest aggressively before turning over on his side, laying down and pouting as his back now faces me.

Another sigh comes from me at his behavior, and I know he isn't going to let up unless I give in. But he can't walk, and if I'm seen rolling a pediatric patient around in a wheelchair at two in the morning, I'm screwed.

I turn around to talk out of the room, my right hand coming up to cover my face as I crack the door behind me. I know he'll be up again.

I rub my eyes as I sit back down in the rolling chair of the nurses' station, reaching for the Red Bull can in front of me. Horrible for me, I know. Do I care? Not one bit.