Heather happened to be visiting when Mom took the call. As Mom was attempting to determine how to deal with the situation, Heather volunteered, saying she helped nurses move people around at the hospital and could help me, too. Heather reasoned that if she came to our house after school, that would allow Mom to spend a couple hours a day at work.
* * *
The following Monday Heather stayed with me while Mom went to work at the hardware store. Heather said, “Mike, I’m so sorry you won’t be able to run track any more. I know how much you wanted to win the state championship.”
I answered with a sigh, “It’s not like the end of the world. In another three months, after my therapy and rehabilitation, I hope to be walking normally.”
“But I wish I could make you feel better now instead of waiting three months.”
Heather brought my assignments from school and we went over our homework together. It was the first time we’d been alone together for several weeks.
A couple hours after Mom left for the hardware store, I told Heather I needed to go to the bathroom.
Heather helped me get into a sitting position, handed me my crutches, and I headed to the bathroom. After I peed, while in the process of turning around and reaching for my crutches, I lost my balance. My first thought as I was falling was, “I have to protect my leg,” so I slid down the wall on my left side in the space between the toilet and the shower.
Heather heard the thump I made and clatter of my crutches. She came running into the bathroom. “Mike, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just lost my balance and fell. I’m not hurt.”
“Oh my!” she exclaimed as she saw me lying on my back with the bottom of my gown around my waist.
Heather reached down to give me a hand to get me into a sitting position. Then she helped me roll on my side so I could get on my left knee and grab the toilet to stand up. She pulled the gown down over my butt and handed me the crutches.
After I settled back in bed, Heather sat in the chair next to my bed. She didn’t say anything for several minutes, but I could tell she had something on her mind from the way she looked at me.
“Michael, do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Heather hesitated for several seconds as if she was too embarrassed to ask. Finally, she asked in a low voice, “When I helped you up in the bathroom, I couldn’t help but notice your penis looks different than all the baby boys I’ve babysat for.”
“Oh that,” I said. “They didn’t cut my foreskin off when I was born. Dad isn’t circumcised, and he didn’t want me to be, either.”
She scrunched up her nose like she always did when she was thinking. About a minute later she asked, “You mean all those little boys had skin on their penis when they were born, but it was cut off?”
“Yeah–that’s what happened.”
“But why would they do that?”
“Some religions that do it as a matter of course. Otherwise, I see no reason for it. My foreskin is extremely sensitive.”
Another minute went by while Heather digested what I’d told her. Then she said, “That’s a cruel thing to do to a defenseless baby.”
“Yeah, I agree. They should at least wait until they’re our age so they can make their own decision about whether they want to be circumcised or not. I’d say most guys would say ‘no.'”
“Would you mind if I looked at it again?” she asked.
With some hesitance, I answered, “Well, since you’ve seen it once, I suppose a second time wouldn’t make any difference.”