Untitled

The room was all but empty as a nurse scuttled in, telling us that Tommy needed another surgery at once, so he was taken to an open operating room.

“You have our okay to save our son,” Peter rumbled before taking in the otherwise crowded room. “Now before you go, can you please explain the story here?”

“Oh, these deliveries came since early this morning,” the nurse said with a smile. “Tommy is certainly a very popular little boy!”

“He is, yes,” I hummed as I was reading a card, wishing Tommy a speedy recovery. “Oh, my love, this person has a soup business in Downtown Brooklyn and wants to know if they can hand deliver some specially made soup for the family!”

“Yum,” Peter hummed as a doctor- this one being a middle aged woman with comically bright blue hair- came into the room after gently rapping on the open doorframe to grab our attention.

“Hello, my name is Doctor Yam, and I am a pediatrician plastic surgeon,” they introduced themselves with a sweet smile. “I was brought in to answer any and all questions that you might have.”

“How soon would Tommy need to wait until he’s ready to receive plastic surgery?” I inquired. “Also, I thought that the doctor said that they would be doing plastic surgery with the first procedure.”

“Given the damage and amount of scarring, I’d be comfortable recommending to wait about twelve to sixteen weeks before having the cosmetic plastic surgery done,” they explained in a gentle tone of voice. “Also, I looked over Tommy’s file, and I do believe that what the doctor was telling you is that he won’t have much scarring afterwords following the first procedure.”

“Oh, okay.” That made sense as I read another card, this one being in a foreign language that I didn’t know. I snapped a photo on my phone before using the reverse search function on Google. The note read, Carry onward and remain strong, brave little warrior in Norwegian, and I smiled at the idea that people from all over the world were uniting to show their love from the delightfully chubby little man. “Next question- how is Tommy going to be transported back to Brooklyn? The Doom Buggy 3.0, wee yoo wagon, floo powder…?”

“You’re asking the wrong person about that,” they confessed with a chortle at my Harry Potter reference. “But I can go and ask the doctor- I do believe that he’s off his shift in about seven minutes-”

“Go and hunt them down!” Peter ordered as he mosied up behind me. “Hihi there, sweetheart.”

“Hihi there, my love,” I smiled up at him before turning to the flowers. “My love, can you help me find all of the notes that came with Tommy’s war prizes and bring the flowers to the nurses’ station? I do think that the other patients would like to receive a little flowery goodness today!”

“As my sweetheart commands of me,” he told me before lumbering off to do as I had just asked of him.

The both of us met up once more with cards stacked neatly in our hands, which I had Peter settled into my purse-like basket, with the intension of creating a mass post up on my social medias, expressing many thank yous and warm hugs to people who had wished Tommy a speedy and healthy recovery.

Then, the both of us began to transport much of the flowers and toys out to the nurses’ station, telling them to distribute them among the other patients. I decided to keep a large bouquet of wildflowers and a little pale green elephant wearing a Type O Negative band t-shirt for Tommy to smuggle with.

~xoXox~

“My love, are you planning on taking the people who owned that dog to court and suing them for his medical costs?” I asked him later on as Tommy was returned to his room.

“Yes.”

My spine shivered at how dangerous and enraged my husband sounded.

“I’ll make them pay for Tommy’s medical procedures and then some,” he glowered. “It is not our responsibility to pay for their fuck up.”

“Indeed not.” Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes as I took in tiny little Tommy, wrapped seemingly from head to toe in bandages. “Poor little man.”

“Sweetheart, thankfully Daisy protected her puppy,” he reminded me. “I think Bitty will try to get her certified as a service dog.”

“A service dog for who though?” I questioned as the both of us took to sitting on either sides of Tommy.

“A family service dog, I don’t really know how that works,” he confessed as he offered our son a hand to squeeze.

“I think Elizabeth can best train Daisy to be her own personal service dog,” I explained as Tommy gave out a tiny whimper as he slowly woke up. “I mean, can one person have nine jobs simultaneously and be effective? Or even adequate?”

“Ah, good point sweetheart,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Nine different bosses, nine different individual task requirements…”

“Yeah, plus Daisy would be able to go places where most other four legged family members cannot go,” I added in, brushing the side of Tomy’s face as his hazel blue eyes fluttered open at last. “Hello there, mommy’s little man!”

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@elianafilthyrose

@ch3rry-c0la

@rockstarslutt