Twilight Zone

So, I haven't really accomplished anything. Life is going as usual, and nothing really noteworthy has happened. And when that's the way things are, I blog about experiences from my past! Like the babysittees from the Twilight Zone.

When I was a teenager, a young family in my ward asked me to watch their four children for an evening. I accepted because I naively assumed that if they didn't think I could handle their children, they wouldn't ask me.

When I arrived, they introduced me to their children. Jason was six and had been diagnosed with ADHD. Mark and Tim were four-year-old twins. Mark was autistic and Tim was on the heart transplant waiting list. Anna was two and had no diagnosed conditions. When I heard about their special needs, I was a little apprehensive. But still, if it was that difficult to deal with them, they wouldn't be hiring a 14-year old, right?

The parents did their best to lay down the ground rules in a clear, non-intimidating way. They gave me their cell phone number. They gave me the number to page if the hospital called and said a transplant was available for Tim. They told me Tim had to drink something besides water with his dinner (Pedialite or Ensure or something). He was not to walk up the stairs, and everything should be fine.

Fine. I could handle that. Things went fine for a while. We had dinner. Tim had his special drink, and the other kids had water. We played with their legos, watched a short movie, and read a few books. Then it was time for bed. Tim pulled up his shirt and presented me with a hypodermic needle. "What's this for?" I asked.

Jason was ready with an answer. "You have to give him a shot in his tummy. If you don't, he'll DIE!"

I was unprepared for this. Deep down, I knew that if their son's life would be endangered by not receiving a shot, they would have told me about it before they left. But what if it was so commonplace to them that they just forgot? I called the parents. They informed me that no, I did not have to stab Tim in the stomach with a needle. I was grateful.

I carried Tim upstairs, and everybody brushed their teeth. As Tim was brushing, Jason warned me that if any water slipped down Tim's throat, he would DIE! I called the parents again. Again, negative on the death risk. But don't let him drink too much.

I got the kids into their bedrooms. There was a huge contraption in the corner of Tim and Mark's room. I asked what it was for. Jason came running in. "That's Tim's oxygen machine! If you don't help him put the tubes in his nose and get it turned on, he'll DIE in the night!" I asked Tim if this was true. He said it was, indeed, the truth. I asked Mark. Mark corroborated.

We got Tim hooked up to his oxygen machine. Five or six more times the kids called me up and informed me Tim's life was in danger if I didn't do X immediately! Each time I called the parents, and each time they said lack of X would not, in fact, endanger Tim's life.

Eventually the kids settled down. Later still, the parents arrived home. They went upstairs to see their kids. "Why is Tim hooked up to his oxygen machine?"

"Well, they all seemed to agree he needed it."

Apparently not. Apparently it was just for special occasions or something. Apparently the whole time there was no extra risk. And apparently they really didn't hire a 14-year-old for something incredibly dangerous and complex. And apparently they weren't too irritated by my multiple phone calls, because they asked me to babysit for them many more times after that, despite the episode always including real or imagined disaster at some point.