Bea and the Hospital Moon

A Bed With Wheels

Bea's hospital bed had wheels, buttons and sheets that crackled. It was clever, but it was not her bed. Her toy bear, Button, sat beneath her chin while Grandma unpacked the familiar red storybook.

“Hospitals do not know our bedtime,” Bea whispered.

“Then we shall teach this one,” Grandma said.

A nurse checked Bea's name bracelet and explained each thing before doing it. First the cool listening circle on Bea's back. Then the little light on her finger. Nothing had to be a surprise.

The Same Moon

Grandma read the story too loudly because the corridor trolley rattled. Bea corrected her on every voice. Button received a paper bracelet of his own.

When the lights dimmed, Bea could not see her bedroom stars. Grandma opened the blind. Above the car park hung the same round moon that shone through Bea's window at home.

“It came all this way?” Bea asked.

“It did not have to,” said Grandma. “The moon is already outside every window.”

Teaching the Room

They said the usual goodnight words. Grandma folded Bea's blanket the usual way. Bea placed Button on the usual side.

The room still beeped softly. The sheets still crackled. But now the hospital knew three pieces of Bea's bedtime.

Before Bea closed her eyes, the nurse peeked in. “Is there anything else this room should learn?”

Bea thought carefully. “In the morning, Button likes toast.”

The nurse promised to remember. The moon kept watch, Grandma turned one more page, and the unfamiliar bed became a place where Bea could rest.