Stacey's Emergency

  * * *

  At 3:15 that afternoon, Laine showed up. For the past three days, she’d come by to see me as soon as school let out.

  I know she was surprised to find me in bed in my nightgown, my hair uncombed. She couldn’t hide her surprise. But Mom and I tactfully ignored it, and then my mother excused herself to get a cup of coffee so that Laine and I could spend an hour or two alone together.

  “So?” Laine said, sitting down.

  “So I’m not feeling too great today.” I thought I owed her an explanation.

  “Maybe you’ll feel better tomorrow,” Laine replied with that tone of false cheer that I’ve heard too often whenever I’ve been in the hospital.

  “Maybe,” I echoed.

  Laine leaned down and reached into a shopping bag. “I brought you something.”

  “Again?” I couldn’t help smiling. Every time Laine came to visit me, she brought one or two weird things. My room was filling up quickly — with a camouflage-print hat that said “Daddy’s Little Hunting Buddy” across the top, a pair of light-up sunglasses, glow-in-the-dark jewelry, a pen that looked like a palm tree, and more.

  Laine handed me a box. “Open it,” she said.

  I lifted the top off. Inside lay a hand mirror. An ordinary, plastic mirror. I had mentioned that I wished I had a mirror in my room, but I was surprised to see such a tame gift from Laine.

  “Hold it up,” Laine instructed me.

  I lifted it in front of my face — and the mirror began to laugh at me!

  So did Laine. “Can you believe I found that?” she asked, trying to calm down. “It came from the same place that carries those cicada key rings.”

  I laughed helplessly, and Laine started up again. We spent the next two hours encouraging anyone who entered my room to look in the mirror.

  This one nurse practically fainted.

  By the time Laine and my mom had left and I was waiting for Dad to arrive, I felt better — emotionally, anyway.

  But that didn’t last long. Dr. Motz came back just as my supper was being placed in front of me.

  “Stacey,” he said gravely, “tomorrow we plan to start a new procedure with you. I’ll need to talk to your parents first, but I’m sure they’ll okay it.”

  “What are you going to do?” I couldn’t keep my voice from trembling.

  “Just hook you up to an I.V. for awhile. I want to see how you do with insulin dripping constantly into your veins.”

  “Goody,” I said.

  When Dr. Motz left, I began to cry.

  “There she is!”

  “No, that’s not her.”

  “It says ‘Stacey McGill’ by her door, you dweeb.”

  Was I dreaming? It was Saturday, I was pretty sure of that. I was also sure that I’d been awakened around eleven-thirty the night before when a nurse hooked me up to the I.V. Then I’d fallen asleep again and had all these weird dreams. Now I could have sworn I heard the voices of my Stoneybrook friends. But that couldn’t be true. Why would they be in New York?

  “Oh, my lord!” someone cried. “She’s got a needle stuck in her arm!”

  “SHHH!” said someone else.

  “She’s sleeping,” a whispered voice added.

  “No, I’m not.” I struggled to open my eyes — and found myself facing Claudia, Dawn, Mary Anne, and Kristy! “Are you really here?” I asked.

  “We really are,” said Claud.

  My head cleared as the four BSC members crowded into my room, hugged me awkwardly (since I was lying down), and dropped presents and packages all over the bed. My friends were beaming.

  “We took the train down early this morning,” Dawn informed me.

  “And we didn’t get lost in Grand Central Station,” added Mary Anne.

  “Jessi and Mal wanted to come, too, but their parents wouldn’t let them,” said Claudia. “They sent some things for you, though. And Jessi hopes you got the letter she mailed.”

  “Oh, wow! I can’t believe this!” I exclaimed. “I thought I was dreaming. But this is a dream come true.”

  “Boy, the hospital sure has made you maudlin,” said Kristy. She held up one hand and rubbed her index finger back and forth across the top of her thumb.

  “What’s that?” everyone asked.

  “The world’s saddest story played on the smallest violin.”

  I giggled. If I’d had the energy, I would have thrown a pillow at Kristy. Instead, I raised the bed so that I could sit up. I looked at the stuff strewn over my covers.

  “You guys are going to spoil me,” I said. “What on earth did you bring?”

  “Lots of things,” replied Claud. “But before you look at them, tell us how you’re feeling. You, um, don’t sound as good as when I talked to you on Thursday.”

  “I don’t feel as good as I did then.” I held up my arm. “They’re dripping insulin directly into my veins now. Maybe that will make a difference.”

  “Gosh,” said Mary Anne slowly.

  “Let’s not talk about it, though,” I went on. “I want to know how you guys are doing, and what’s been happening in Stoneybrook.”

  “Okay,” replied Claud. She was perched on my bed, Dawn next to her. Kristy and Mary Anne were seated in the chairs.

  “Wait,” said Kristy. “Before you start, Claud, let me try to make myself even more comfortable than I am right now. This chair is really incredible. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.” Kristy tried to adjust herself so that her spine and shoulder blades weren’t mashed up against the back of the hard chair. It was impossible. “Ah. I think I’d like a set of these for my bedroom,” added Kristy.

  The rest of us were laughing, and I said, “Sorry about that. If you want a padded chair, you have to leave the hospital.”

  “Are you guys finished?” asked Claud. “I want to tell Stacey what’s going on.”

  We tried to compose ourselves. “Okay. Go ahead,” I said.

  “Well,” Claud began. “First of all, everyone misses you. When you open some of these cards, you’ll be surprised to see who they’re from. People are always asking about you, wondering when you’ll be back home.”

  “Like who?” I wanted to know.

  “Like everyone. The Newtons, especially Jamie; the Perkinses, especially Myriah and Gabbie; kids at school, including … Ross Brown; Mr. —”

  “Ross Brown?” I interrupted. (I had this incredible crush on him.) “Does he know I like him?”

  Claudia shrugged. Then she grinned and said, “He likes you.”

  Wow….

  “Mallory’s been collecting the mail for you and your mom,” spoke up Mary Anne. Then she interrupted herself by saying, “My, these chairs are comfy.” (We laughed.) “Anyway, yesterday she gave me the interesting-looking stuff. That’s here along with everything else.”

  “Great,” I replied. “So what’s going on at school?”

  “Let’s see,” Dawn answered. “Alan Gray got suspended for setting off a cherry bomb in the boys’ room on the second floor.”

  “Gross,” I said.

  “And Cokie got a nose job.”

  “What?” I cried. “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. That’s why she’s been absent.”

  “So what does she look like?”

  “Like she got a nose job,” said Kristy. “You can always tell.”

  “That’s funny. You never noticed my nose job,” I said.

  Kristy turned pale. “Your nose job?” she whispered.

  “Just kidding,” I said.

  There was a moment of silence. Then we all began to laugh again. We laughed so loudly I was afraid a nurse would come in and kick my friends out. But nothing happened.

  “Okay, open your stuff,” Claudia finally managed to say. “Open the cards first. Then open the packages.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” I answered obediently. I picked up the envelope lying nearest to me and slit it open. Inside was a get well card, handmade by five-year-old Claire Pike. GET WELL SON it read, which mad
e us giggle.

  “Mallory warned me that the card was a little off. Claire didn’t want any help with it,” said Dawn.

  “I like it the way it is,” I announced. “‘Get well, son.’” (More laughter.)

  I opened up card after card. In the middle of this, a nurse came into my room (not Desma Diamond or whoever that other nurse was). She drew some blood, and then she left quickly. She didn’t say anything about my having four visitors, which is not allowed. This was because Claud and Dawn were hiding in the bathroom.

  “The coast is clear,” I called, as soon as the nurse and my blood sample were gone.

  Dawn and Claudia returned to the bed. I continued opening cards. I had never seen so many! There were homemade ones from some of the kids I sit for, and store-bought ones from the kids at school, the parents of some of my baby-sitting charges, and even three of my teachers.

  “Now for the presents!” cried Claud.

  “No, wait,” said Mary Anne. “You’re forgetting. Remember what’s —” She pointed to the hallway beyond my door.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Claudia. She dashed out of my room and returned carrying the world’s largest get well card. It was at least two feet by three feet.

  I felt relieved. I was a bit dizzy, and just the thought of opening the presents made me feel more tired than ever. I also felt sort of clammy. And shaky. It was weird. But I tried to hide this. I didn’t want to scare my friends.

  “Whoa!” I exclaimed, looking at the card that was so big it blocked my view of Claud. “Who’s that from?”

  “Everybody,” answered Kristy.

  And it was. The card had been signed by parents, teachers, kids, my friends’ brothers and sisters, and of course, my friends themselves.

  I was exclaiming over the card when that same nurse burst into my room again. She appeared so quickly that Dawn and Claudia didn’t have time to duck into the bathroom.

  Uh-oh, I thought. Now I’m in for it. I’ve broken the sacred two-visitor rule.

  But the nurse barely noticed my friends. She bustled to one side of my bed and abruptly turned off the I.V. drip, although she did not remove the needle from my arm.

  “What are you doing?” I cried.

  “Your blood sugar level is dropping,” the nurse replied. “Doctor Motz will be here any second. And your mom’s on her way up from the cafeteria.”

  As the words were coming out of her mouth, I heard a voice on the intercom system paging Dr. Motz.

  Claud and Dawn stood up. So did Kristy and Mary Anne. They backed away from the bed and huddled near the doorway.

  Nobody, except the nurse, said a word.

  Just a few seconds after the I.V. drip had been stopped, Mom raced into my room. She had beaten Dr. Motz. “Hi, girls,” said Mom as she whisked by my friends. Then she did a double take. “Where did you come from?” she asked. But she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she began whispering with the nurse.

  I felt a cold wave wash over my body and settle in the pit of my stomach, where it sat like a block of ice. I knew something was wrong. Again.

  Dr. Motz ran into my room then. He took one look at my friends and said, “Okay. Everybody out. Right now.”

  “Everybody out?” echoed Claudia.

  “On the double,” said Dr. Motz, not bothering to look at Claud. He began examining me and talking to the nurse.

  “We’ll see you later,” called Claudia in a trembly voice.

  “Yeah, we’ll wait outside until they let us come back,” added Kristy.

  “Okay. And thanks for all the cards and …” My voice trailed off because my friends had disappeared, wanting to escape Dr. Motz, I guess. But I had seen something awful on their faces: fear.

  They were afraid for me.

  So was I.

  * * *

  By the evening, however, I felt better. Also more optimistic. After a day of testing and consulting, Dr. Motz had come up with a new solution to my insulin problem. I was to start injecting myself with a mixture of the kind of insulin I’d been using before plus a second kind of insulin that I had not used before.

  And now that my blood sugar level was more normal, I had some energy and was hardly dizzy at all. I had even eaten dinner.

  “Mom?” I said when the frantic pace of the day had slowed down and just my mother and I were left in my room. “Can my friends come back now?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Mom replied. “They finally had to leave. Their parents wanted them home by six o’clock.”

  I didn’t answer her. I stared out the window.

  “Claudia said to be sure to tell you to open your cards and presents as soon as you feel like it. She said she’s sorry they had to leave, but that they’ll call you tomorrow or on Monday before the club meeting.”

  “Monday … I thought I’d be out of here by Monday,” I said.

  “Well …” Mom replied helplessly. And then she began to put on her coat. “Your father will be here any minute.”

  Was he working today, on a Saturday? I wondered. But what I said was, “Mom, can’t you stay here until Dad comes? I want the three of us to be a family again. Even if it’s only for five minutes.”

  “Stacey —” Mom said.

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupted her. “I understand that this is a bad time for you and Dad, but if we could all be together for awhile, then … well, it’s really important to me. Really important.”

  I knew I wasn’t playing fair. I knew that I was pressuring Mom because I was sick, and that she would give in because she felt guilty. But she did give in. She removed her coat and sat down again.

  “This evening may not be what you’re hoping for,” she warned me.

  “Yes, it will. It’ll be wonderful.” I couldn’t believe Mom was staying! “Maybe we can watch TV together, or —”

  I stopped talking. Mom wasn’t listening to me. She was looking at the doorway.

  My father had arrived.

  “Stacey!” Dad exclaimed. He strode across the room to my bed and gave me a big hug. “How are you feeling? I’m glad you’re off the I.V.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “Well, better anyway.” Since Dad had not spoken to my mother, I added, “Um, Dad, Mom is still here. She’s going to stay for awhile.”

  “Well, I could use some coffee,” my father said.

  “No, don’t go!” I cried. “Stay here with me. I want to see you guys together again.” (What I meant was, “I want to get you guys together again.”)

  “All right,” said Dad. He moved the vacant chair as far from Mom as possible — clear to the opposite side of my bed.

  That’s something, I thought. He isn’t leaving. It’s a start.

  But that’s all it turned out to be. A start. The rest of the evening was a disaster. Looking back, I don’t know whose fault it was. Maybe nobody’s. Or everybody’s. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.

  For about ten minutes my parents remained civil by speaking only to me. I was in the middle of two conversations, one with Dad and one with Mom. Dad asked a question about the hospital, and I answered him. Then Mom told me about a phone conversation she’d had with Mrs. Pike, and I asked her a question about Mallory. And so on.

  Things began to go downhill when Dad said, “So what on earth happened this morning, Boontsie?”

  To my surprise, Mom answered him before I could. “If you’d been here, you’d know yourself.”

  “I was working,” said Dad testily. “Besides, I thought we agreed not to visit Stacey together. You said you didn’t want to see me.”

  Mom ignored that last comment. “You were working on Saturday?”

  “Yes, I was working on Saturday. If I don’t do my job properly, I’ll get fired and then I’ll lose my insurance. Do you think we could afford to have such good care for Stacey if I didn’t have insurance?”

  “What a hero,” muttered Mom.

  “Excuse me?” said Dad.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing worth repeating,” I spok
e up.

  For a moment, Mom and Dad looked at me as if they’d forgotten I was there. Or as if they’d forgotten I was their daughter. Then they picked up the argument again.

  “Hospital care is not cheap,” said Dad.

  “I know that. So why did you put Stacey in a private room?”

  “Because I love her.”

  “Are you saying I don’t?”

  “All I’m saying is that last weekend Stacey arrived in New York from Stoneybrook looking sicker than I’ve seen her since she was first diagnosed.”

  I felt my cheeks redden hotly.

  “So?” Mom prompted Dad. She was trying to force him into saying something, but I’m not sure what the something was.

  Dad remained silent.

  “If Stacey got sick, that wasn’t my fault,” Mom finally said. “You know as well as I do that the doctors weren’t sure what course this particular kind of diabetes would take. Stacey is a brittle diabetic. The doctors have had trouble controlling her blood sugar from the start. Plus, she’s had the flu, and you know what infections can do to her. It’s a miracle she hasn’t —”

  Mom was cut off. By me. “Shut up!”

  “Anastasia,” my father said warningly.

  “You shut up, too!” I cried, even though I know that neither of my parents is fond of that term. And that certainly no one likes to be told to shut up.

  Mom and Dad just stared at me.

  I went one step further. “And get out of here. Right now. I’m not kidding.”

  A look of surprise, then anger, then confusion crossed Mom’s face. “Stacey.”

  “I mean it. Get out. I thought maybe the three of us could be together for fifteen minutes without an argument, but I guess not.”

  Dad stood up slowly. “You were not,” he said in a low voice, “brought up to speak to anybody that way, young lady. Whether you’re sick or well.”

  “I know,” I replied after a few moments. I glanced at my mother. She was crying. And both she and Dad were gathering their things together, putting on their coats. But they looked like they were moving in slow motion.

  I watched them until they were almost ready to leave. Just as they were about to walk out the door, I spoke up. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry. But you guys should listen to yourselves sometime.”