MELISSA
I get Liam and Claire set up with videos on the iPad, then treat myself to a chocolate-dipped granola bar and a box of orange juice. As I’m debating whether to eat a second granola bar, my phone pings with an email from my mother. She and Dad are loving Venice; apparently the canals smell like rotting fish, but everything else is wonderful.
I still haven’t told my parents about Claire’s appendicitis. I considered emailing yesterday, but since the surgery went well, I decided against it. If they knew, they’d probably try to come home early, and since Claire’s getting better, there’s no need to ruin their trip.
As promised, Claire gets regular food for dinner, and although it doesn’t look much more appealing than the jello, she eats it all. I take Liam down to the cafeteria and buy him a sandwich, and when we get back, the nurse is giving Claire a dose of IV antibiotics. Claire’s playing a game on the iPad, so I sit down with Liam and open a book.
Half an hour later, Claire tells me she feels sick.There’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead and her cheeks are flushed.
I move to her bedside. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Does your tummy hurt?”
Claire shakes her head. “No, but I feel like throwing up. And dizzy.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” I glance around the room, searching for a cardboard basin like they had in the ER, but I don’t see anything. I push the call bell for the nurse, and five minutes later, she appears. There must have been a shift change, because I don’t recognize this one.
“Hi, I’m Karli,” she says cheerfully. She looks like she’s a few years younger than me, with bleached blonde hair and heavy black eyeliner. “I’ll be your nurse for the night.”
“Hi Karli,” I begin. “Claire started feeling sick, just now. She’s having nausea and some dizziness, and–”
“I’m going to stop you there,” Karli says, in a voice that manages to be perky and condescending at the same time. “Your daughter’s nine years old, so I think we should let her speak for herself.” She turns to Claire with a big smile. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“I don’t feel good,” Claire says in a small voice.
“But what feels wrong?” Karli persists.
“I don’t know,” Claire says miserably, looking to me for help. She must really feel awful, because she’s normally a very articulate kid.
“She said she feels like throwing up and she’s dizzy,” I tell Karli again.
Karli keeps her focus on Claire and barely looks at me. “Are you feeling anxious, honey? Lots of kids feel anxious in the hospital, but there’s no reason to. We’re going to take care of you.”
“I don’t think this is anxiety,” I tell Karli, trying to keepmy tone polite but firm. “She was fine all day, until dinnertime, really. I think it’s something else.”
“It’s pretty common for kids to be anxious at night,” Karli says calmly. “Mothers too.”
And something in me snaps. Karli has a lot of nerve, dismissing Claire’s symptoms as anxiety without even considering other possibilities.
I’ve never liked conflict. I’m the woman who stays quiet when someone cuts in front of her in line, and eats an overcooked restaurant meal instead of sending it back to the kitchen. Troy was always telling me I needed to learn to advocate for myself.
But this isn’t about me, this is about Claire. Even though I’m not always good at advocating for myself, I’m sure as hell going to advocate for her.
“You need to call the doctor, Karli,” I say firmly. “Something’s wrong, and Claire needs to be assessed.”
Karli raises an eyebrow. “The doctors saw your daughter this morning, Mrs. Thompson. Dr. Carlton and his resident were both here, I read the notes.”
“It’s Ms. Lawrence,” I correct her. “And Claire was well this morning. She didn’t start to feel sick until this evening. So the doctor needs to come again. Dr. Carlton would want to know she’s not feeling well.” Unlike Karli, Luke actually cares about his patients.
“Dr. Carlton’s not on call tonight,” Karli explains. “And the doctor on call will be busy. I can’t call him unless there’s an emergency.”
“So call Dr. Carlton.”
“I couldn’t call him even if I wanted to,” Karli says, with smirk of satisfaction. “As I’ve explained,Ms. Lawrence, he’s not on call. Even if I tried, switchboard wouldn’t put me through.”
“He would want to know,” I insist. “There must be a way to contact him.”
“Well, if you can figure out how, go for it,” she retorts. “Otherwise, one of the doctors will be by in the morning.” She turns back to Claire, confident that she’s put me in my place. “If you need help in the night, just push the call button, honey.”
What a joke. It’s clear we’re not going to get any help from Karli, unless we’re looking for condescension with a side of attitude.
