"I don't what I would do without laundry facilities here," said the woman, holding a clear trash bag of little boy clothes. "My son pulled out his feeding tube three times today."
"I hear ya. My son just threw up on his blanket and his friends," I said. Normally, I shy away from or dry heave during any mention of vomit. But, puke stories seemed to be part of my initiation. No sorority sisters in sight, just a group of moms with brain damaged children.
As I lifted the washing machine lid and threw in Foxy Fox and Red Panda, I asked the woman if she needed a dryer sheet. She replied: "No thanks. I just never expected to be here. We are now on day 26."
"Really?"
"I was just playing in the park with my five-year-old and a three-hundred pound concrete statue fell on him. He had a severe, blunt traumatic brain injury. He has a metal plate in his head, cannot talk, eat or swallow. We will be here most of the summer."
Before I had a chance to reply, Erica, who is two doors down from us on the hall, came back to get a blanket that she washed for her fifteen-year-old son, who has had seizures since he was three. They drove from Montana to have her son's head cut open by one of the best pediatric surgeons in the country. A section of his skull was removed and 236 electrical wires were placed directly onto his brain to map seizure activity and determine an exact location for brain matter removal. Two weeks later, he still hasn't had a seizure.
"I folded it for you," I said.
"Thanks. See you at breakfast in the morning," she said.
She left and the buzzer went off. Time to move the fury friends from the washer to the dryer. No time to fuss and dwell on what has been lost when there is so much laundry to do.
