Dani's Story: A Journey From Neglect to Love (16 page)

Here, there was a long silence on Bernie’s end, and he had kind of a confused but happy look on his face as he listened to Garet. “Really? Are you sure? For how long? Really? That would be fantastic! . . . Sure, I’ll check with her, but I’m sure it’s okay. Just a minute.” He pressed the phone onto his leg and told me Garet wanted to know if we could keep her several more days. “Really? Is she sure? How long? Can we have her all week?”

Bernie got back on the phone. “Diane wants to know if she can stay for the week. . . . Yes, we’re sure. . . . Oh, really? That’s funny. No, we’ll keep her as long as we can. Sure, feel free to call in every day. . . . Yes, of course, I have your number. . . . Yes, we’ll call if we need you. Thanks so much, Garet.”

When he hung up, we beamed at each other. Neither of us had even talked about the fact that Danielle was supposed to go home the next day because it made us so sad. What a gift this was, to have her with us for the rest of the week. If we had known, I wouldn’t have tried to cram so many activities into two days.

Taking Danielle out of the shower, Bernie told her the good news. “Sweetie, you’re staying with us all week! “ As he was saying it, she turned to face him and let go with another dose of watermelon vomit. I handed him a towel. “‘We’ve not been cleaning up one end or the other since she got here, Bernie.
I’ve
been cleaning up one end or the other and everything in between. But thanks for offering. Here’s a towel for her and one for you. I’m going to start dinner. When you’re done with Danielle, she can watch cartoons with Willie while you clean out the pool. Thanks!”

Hoping not to stir up any more digestive issues for Danielle, I made breakfast for dinner, one of Bernie’s and Willie’s favorites. We found out that Danielle loves pancakes but not scrambled eggs. After a long walk with the dogs after dinner, chats with the neighbors—who all remarked on what good color Danielle was getting—and a big kiss for the giant Easter bunny, Danielle watched an hour of Nickelodeon on the sofa with Willie and Bernie, while I put all of the watermelon-scented bathing suits and towels in the wash and cleaned up after dinner.

I was in the kitchen when Bernie called me to the living room with some sense of urgency. I was expecting another eruption, but instead, Bernie and Willie had huge smiles on their faces. “Listen to this, Diane.” Bernie leaned close to Danielle and asked her if she was ready to go to bed. She didn’t respond. “It’s time to get ready for bed, Danielle. Remember. Ready, set, go!” She looked up at Bernie, and very softly she said, “Go.”

I froze, dishtowel in hand, staring at her. “Do it again, Bernie,” I urged. “Ready, set, go!” And from Danielle, “Go.” Her voice was flat, there was no inflection to the word like Bernie’s, but she had said a word that we could understand.

Danielle at the Easter egg hunt, the Saturday before Easter, on Bernie’s shoulders.

 

Bernie picked Danielle up in his arms to carry her to her room. “Let’s go,” he said to her. “Go,” she repeated as they turned the corner to the hall. Willie’s eyes were on the television. I wondered if he felt any jealousy over the attention we were giving Danielle. “Willie, come out to the kitchen with me and tell me what to put in your lunch for tomorrow. I want you to know how proud Dad and I are of you. We know it’s not easy bringing someone new into the family and especially someone like Danielle. You are being an amazing big brother, and we appreciate your help so much.”

“Okay. Do I have to go to school tomorrow? I can help with Danielle.”

“Nice try, Willie. Yes, you do have to go to school. I’ll manage. Now go get ready for bed.”

With Willie in school and Bernie at work, it was just Danielle and me, and I welcomed the opportunity for some alone time with her. She had already formed an attachment to Bernie, and Willie was her size. I felt a little bit like the odd man out, but I attributed that to her relating me—understandably so—with her mother. I would just have to overcome that.

Danielle let me hold her hand while we walked the dogs, but when I asked if she wanted to help and I put Cece’s leash in her hand, she dropped it on the ground. Back at the house, we circled the perimeter of the backyard so I could point out all of the tropical plants and flowers, naming each one as we stopped. A butterfly hovered over one, and remembering what Garet had told us about her reaction to the butterflies painted on the hospital wall, I made sure Danielle saw it, naming that, too. I led her to the dock, careful to keep hold of her hand. I did not want to have to dive into the canal to fish her out, and who knew what digestive disaster might occur if she drank that water? It was a good morning for the manatee, and there were nearly two dozen of various sizes around the dock. Their odd shape and habit of surfacing, then disappearing again, piqued her interest, and her eyes followed them as they slowly swam about. I kept a running commentary, explaining what a manatee is, what they like to eat and do. I felt like I was talking to myself or at best to an infant, but I hoped Danielle was absorbing something.

I had chores to do, so I let her watch
Blues Clues
and
Sesame Street
—before turning off the television and directing her to her room to play. I checked on her several times. She liked to lie on her back on the floor or her bed and swing something over her head, usually a sock, and bat at it with her other hand. I didn’t know what that represented or if it was something I should stop her from doing. Maybe I was reading a lot more into it, but I made a mental note to ask Mr. O’Keefe about it, then took the sock away and gave her one of her touch-tone toys to play with.

After lunch we went to the playground in the park, and we worked on her climbing up the slide’s stairs by herself. Danielle figured out that once she got up to the top, she got to slide down. I thought this showed that she knew one thing could lead to another and that nothing we do is independent of the other. An ice cream truck came through the park, and I bought her a popsicle, but she didn’t seem to like the cold. She put it in her mouth three or four times, trying it out, but finally dropped it onto the ground as if to show that she was done. I picked it up, put it in her hand, and walked her to the trash can, explaining all the while what we were doing and why. From the park we went to pick up Willie. I was going to take her into the school but decided that until we were sure, there was no sense introducing her to a bunch of new people. Plus, I didn’t want to embarrass Willie. It was one thing to have Danielle screaming at Target or on the beach with complete strangers and quite another to be at Willie’s school among his peers. We waited for him in the car rider line, with Danielle moaning softly and rocking in the backseat. She didn’t really acknowledge Willie when he got in the car, which I think hurt his feelings a little bit. We were all going to have to go on patience medication.

While Willie did his homework, Danielle swam in the pool, although she kept trying to take her life preserver off. That was one battle I would not let her win, and I thought that maybe one day Bernie could test her swimming ability without a life jacket as long as he was in the water with her.

After dinner—add mashed potatoes to the small list of what Danielle won’t eat—we walked the dogs, chatted with the neighbors, came home, got her showered and into pj’s, then watched
Sponge Bob.
Danielle was very relaxed and laid back, and when I told her it was time for bed, she stretched out her arms to me for the first time, her signal to be picked up. I lay down with her on the lower mattress of the trundle bed and read
Brown Bear
and
Good Night Moon.
I kissed her goodnight, turned out the light, and watched her from the hall. She was rocking but not nearly as badly as she had been the last several nights. It had been a very good day.

The rest of the week was more of the same, with accomplishments, setbacks, and a few surprises. As Danielle became comfortable in our home, she explored more, and her favorite place to explore was the refrigerator. Every time she came into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator door. She never took anything out; she just looked, transfixed by all of the food. On her fourth night with us, I woke up with a start to see a light shining from the kitchen. Danielle had opened the bottom freezer drawer and was standing barefoot in it, staring into the open double doors of the fridge. “Danielle?” She looked a bit startled but didn’t move. I picked her up and carried her to the kitchen counter to feel her feet. They were freezing! I was relieved that I had come in when I did, because I had no idea how long she had been standing there or how long it takes to get frostbite. While I was rubbing her feet, Bernie woke up and came into the kitchen. “What’s going on?” I told him how I had found her, and he cracked up. “It’s not funny, Bernie! She could have gotten frostbite! She was standing on the pork chop family pack!” Bernie tried, unsuccessfully, to stop laughing, but the more I said, the funnier he seemed to think it was. “Bernie, this is not something we want to encourage!” I huffed before I took her down the hall to bed.

Less amusing was my completely frustrated attempt to start potty training. I had never toilet-trained a girl, but I had heard that boys were easier, at least in teaching them to urinate in the toilet where they could make bubbles. I had heard of little girls with big brothers who had attempted standing up to pee, with the expected dismal results.

I thought it might help Danielle if I demonstrated, so when we were home alone during the day, I took her into the bathroom with me every time I had to go. I was deliberately drinking lots of water to provide many opportunities for observation. I explained what I was doing and told her that she could do it, too, and if she could, then she wouldn’t have to wear diapers anymore. When she paid attention, she seemed amused but not particularly interested. After I got up, I sat her down and talked to her. Nothing would happen until I relented and let her stand up. Then she would pee down her legs and onto the floor.

I sensed some conscious, deliberate resistance, and although that would have been maddening in any other child, coming from Danielle it was in a strange way encouraging. At least, it showed me she was capable of thinking something through, even if that thought was to show me she would learn this on her timetable and not mine. You are not the boss of me!

Bernie took a half day off so he could have some one-on-one time with her. They went to the bank and the park, then came home and got me, and we went to McDonald’s for chicken nuggets and fries. French fries seem to bring out the worst of her astonishing appetite. She makes such quick work of them. At home, she climbed up into the leather chair—the Daddy Bear chair—and threw up every fry she had inhaled, along with the chicken nuggets and the chocolate milk. Not pretty.

Another trip to the shower for Danielle, then a rest on the lounge by the pool while I did laundry and ironed. I told her she could take a swim before we went to pick up Willie, and she tried to undress herself, which was a first. I put her suit and life jacket on, and she tippy-toed to the pool. We had asked Mr. O’Keefe about that when we were in his classroom, and he said it was not uncommon in children like Danielle. She had never really been taught to walk and didn’t have much opportunity to do so in her mother’s house. I also wondered if it was a reaction to being barefoot on those disgusting bug-, feces-, and food-encrusted floors. I wouldn’t want to touch them either.

But she needed to learn to walk normally, or her calf muscles would tighten. “Flat feet!” I reminded her, as we had seen Mr. O’Keefe and his aides do in the classroom, and she lowered her heels, then jumped into the pool, content to splash around with the pool toys by herself. When I told her it was time to come out, I anticipated the usual—she would swim away and I would have to go at least partway in to pull her out. On this day, she willingly came to the end with the steps, walked out on her own, and tried to take her life jacket off by herself. I helped her out of it, then waited to see what she would do next. She grabbed a towel but seemed unsure of how to manage it. I wrapped her up tight, telling her over and over what a good, smart girl she was to do all that by herself!

Upstairs, she started to run around, and I told her she had to get dried and dressed first, then waited again to see what she would do. She went into the bathroom, knowing the next step was for me to peel off her wet suit. I asked her if she wanted to sit on the potty, but instead, she walked naked to her bedroom, ready for a pull-up diaper and clothes. I couldn’t wait to tell Bernie, so, while she played with her stuffed animals, I called him on his cell, giving him a play-by-play. He was so quiet, I thought the call had been dropped. “Bernie?” He was so moved, he couldn’t speak for a minute. And so excited that on the way home, he stopped at a toy store and bought Willie a new kit to make miniature furniture and a toy for Danielle that said “Peek-A-Boo!” when you pushed a certain button. Using towels and blankets, Willie had been playing peek-a-boo with her all week, making her giggle, so she was familiar with the words and loved pushing the button over and over again. I was pretty sure that within a day or so, I would be wishing the Peek-A-Boo game would go away.