Stacey's Emergency (7 page)

I returned to my social studies essay, only to be interrupted by a nurse's aide bringing breakfast. So I set aside my books and tried to force down the disgusting food. Before I

had finished, Mom appeared in the doorway.

"Hi, lovey," she said, settling into a chair.

"Hi!" I answered.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Not bad," I replied. "But I know the doctors are going to fiddle around with the insulin again."

"Well, that's what you're here for."

"I guess."

"Have you been working already?"

I held up the paper with my half-finished essay on it. "I'm trying," I told Mom, "but I keep getting interrupted. Vital signs and breakfast."

"And me."

"No, not you," I said, but I saw that Mom was smiling. She wasn't serious. "Is Dad coming today?" I asked her. (Monday and Tuesday had been somewhat unnerving with Mom and Dad trying to see me but at the same time trying to avoid each other.)

"I don't think so," Mom answered. "I mean, not until later. He has a full day of meetings. I'll stay with you, though."

"Only if you want to," I told her. "Don't feel you have to sit in that chair all day. I have homework, and anyway, I'm much better."

"Okay." Mom actually did leave for awhile. She said she was going to have a cup of coffee somewhere and then take a cab to midtown

(where most of my favorite stores are located). She said she was on a secret mission. I hoped it involved clothes shopping — for me.

Mom left as the nurse's aide came to retrieve my tray. I picked up my essay again, and again I was interrupted, this time by a whole group of people in long white coats. I recognized only one of them. He was a doctor who'd examined me several times. He began talking, and the rest of the people took notes on clipboards they were carrying. I guessed that they were medical students or new doctors or something, and that my doctor was their teacher.

The doctor greeted me, then turned back to his class. "This patient," he said, "is a thirteen-year-old girl" (he didn't even use my name!) "with juvenile onset of diabetes. She was hospitalized last Saturday, at which time she was found to have an abnormally high blood sugar level, despite the fact that she's been taking insulin and has been on a strict diet since she was first diagnosed. ..."

The doctor went on and on, and the students scribbled away on their clipboards and sometimes glanced at me. I felt like a fish in a glass bowl or an animal in a cage at the zoo. The doctor talked about me as if I weren't sitting just three feet away from him.

Anyway, the group left my room after five

minutes or so. Once again, I settled down to work. And this time I was able to accomplish a few things even though a nurse came to check my blood, and even though I knew Jeopardy was on TV, followed by a rerun of The Beverly Hillbillies. After a bland, tasteless lunch, I worked some more. Then Mom reappeared with a Benetton bag. (Yea!) In it was a beautiful emerald-green sweater and a matching beret.

"Oh, thank you!" I cried. I tried on the new things immediately. Mom stayed with me until about four-thirty. Then she said she had to leave. I think she was afraid she'd run into my father, since she wasn't sure when he was going to show up that day.

By 4:45, I was alone.

At 5:00, the telephone rang. I reached over to pick it up.

"Hello?" I said. "This is the funny farm. To whom are you speaking?"

There was a pause. Then a giggly voice said, "I'm speaking to you!"

It was Claud. Even so, I said, "Oh. Well, who's this?"

"It's me! Claudia!"

"I know that," I replied. We were both laughing by then.

"How are you doing?" Claud wanted to know.

"Okay," I answered. "I feel a lot better, but I might have to stay here awhile."

I knew Claud wanted to ask, "Why?" I also knew that she could tell I didn't feel like talking about whatever was wrong with me. So after a brief, uncomfortable pause, Claudia said, "The rest of the club is here. Everyone wants to say hi."

"The rest of the club is there?" I repeated. "It's only five o'clock."

"I know. We all wanted to talk to you, so we met early."

"Hey, how are you guys going to pay for this phone call?" I asked suspiciously. "It's going to be an expensive one."

"With treasury money?" Claudia replied.

I sighed. Then I said, "Well, I guess I'm worth it."

Claud laughed. She put Kristy on the phone. Kristy announced that Emily Michelle had learned a new word: stinky. Only she pronounced it "tinky." Everything was tinky, according to Emily.

I talked to the rest of my friends. When Jessi got on the phone, I asked her how Charlotte Johanssen was doing.

"She's . . . fine," Jessi replied, and quickly handed the phone to Mallory.

By the time we hung up, it was nearly five-thirty. We were all talked out, and I was wor-

ried that the cost of a few more half-hour, long-distance phone calls would wipe out the treasury. Oh, well. I needed my friends. I could tackle the treasury problem when I returned to Stoneybrook.

Just as I was putting the phone back in its cradle, Laine showed up. But we barely had a chance to say hello when a package was brought into my room by a hospital aide. (You never know when you are going to get mail at the hospital. It seems to appear whenever it pleases.)

"A package!" said Laine. "Cool. Who's it from?"

I checked the return address. "Hey, it's from Charlotte!"

I ripped the brown paper off the box, then lifted its lid. The lid was labeled CARE PACKAGE. Inside I found the things that Claud and Charlotte had put together on the evening of my first day in the hospital.

"I think I'll call Char," I told Laine. I was remembering Jessi's response when I'd asked her how Charlotte was doing. Was something wrong?

I soon found out. Char was ecstatic to hear from me. At first. But soon her excitement changed to a series of questions, each one more anxious than the first. When was I going to get out of the hospital? When would I come

back to Stoneybrook? I was coming back to Stoneybrook, wasn't I? Why hadn't my insulin shots been working? Did I really feel better, or was I just saying so to be polite? Char's last question was, "Do people die from diabetes?" (I'm pretty sure she meant was 7 going to die?) But before I could answer her, she said, "Oh, that's okay. Never mind, Stacey. I'll ask my mom. She'll know the answer."

Gently, I turned the topic of conversation to the care package. But when I hung up the phone, I said to Laine, "I think I've got a problem with Charlotte."

Chapter 10.

Dawn hasn't baby-sat at the Johanssens' as much as some of the other members of the BSC have, but she knows plenty about Charlotte from listening to us (especially me) talk about her, and from reading the club notebook. Also, as she wrote in her own notebook entry, I called Claud after my conversation with Charlotte, and Claudia called Dawn. Dawn, knowing how attached Charlotte is to me, immediately understood that Char might be overly concerned about my health. She might be weepy or clingy.

Dawn was not, however, expecting to find that Char had become a hypochondriac, even though the Johanssens themselves warned her about it.

"I actually kept her home from school two days this week," Dr. Johanssen told Dawn. Dawn had rung the bell a few moments earlier. She had expected Charlotte to answer the

door, but she was nowhere in sight. Dr. Jo-hanssen had answered the door instead, and now she, Dawn, and Charlotte's father were holding a whispered conversation in the front hall.

"But she's not sick?" Dawn said.

"I don't think so. One day she said she had a sore throat. The next day she said her stomach hurt. Now she's complaining of a headache and an earache. She hasn't had a fever, and her appetite — even on the day she stayed home with the stomachache — has been just fine."

"Okay," said Dawn slowly. "In case she is sick, I'll keep her quiet tonight."

"That won't be hard," said Mr. Johanssen with a smile. "She's upstairs in bed. I think she plans to stay there." The Johanssens left a few minutes later. Dawn headed upstairs with her Kid-Kit.

"Charlotte?" Dawn ventured, as she reached the doorway to her bedroom.

"Hi, Dawn," replied Char.

It was only seven-thirty, and already Charlotte was wearing her nightgown. However, she was not actually in bed. She was sitting on the covers, looking through a book.

"How are you feeling?" asked Dawn.

Charlotte paused. Then she replied, "My neck hurts."

"Your neck? I thought your morn said you have a headache and an earache."

"I do. I mean, I did," Char answered. "But now my neck hurts."

"Are your headache and earache gone, or do you still have them plus the problem with your neck?" Dawn asked.

"I think they're gone. It's really just my neck. ... I hope I don't have a pinched nerve in my spine."

"A pinched nerve!" exclaimed Dawn. "How do you know about pinched nerves?"

"I know about a lot of things. Mommy's a doctor," Charlotte reminded Dawn.

"Oh," said Dawn. She sat on the edge of Charlotte's bed. "Well, if you have a pinched nerve, how do you think it got that way?"

Charlotte shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm pretty sure that's what it is. I should tell Mommy. I should be wearing one of those neck braces. And if the brace doesn't work, then I might need an operation ... in the hospital."

"Well, for now," said Dawn, "why don't you just try to hold your head still."

"Okay," Charlotte answered uncertainly.

"So what do you want to do tonight? Have you finished your homework already?"

"Yes," said Charlotte. "Only I don't think

it matters. I probably won't be in school tomorrow. You know."

"Yeah. What with the pinched nerve and all." Dawn hoisted the Kid-Kit onto the bed. "We'll do something quiet tonight."

"Good. I better not overexert myself."

"You better not what?"

"Overexert myself," Charlotte repeated. "That means that I — "

"I know what it means/' Dawn interrupted. "I'm just a little surprised that you know what it means."

"It's something my mom says sometimes," Char informed Dawn. From the Kid-Kit she had pulled a copy of an old-looking book called The Dachshunds of Mama Island. "What's this?" she asked.

"Oh. That used to belong to my mother," said Dawn. "She found it and gave it to me. The story is a little old-fashioned, but I think you'd like it."

"Okay. Let's read," said Charlotte.

Dawn opened the book, being careful of its tattered dust jacket. She began to read to Charlotte, who seemed interested in the story right away. After about ten minutes, though, Charlotte said, "Dawn? I don't feel too good."

"Your neck?" asked Dawn. "Why don't you lie down then."

Charlotte shook her head. "It isn't my neck. It's my stomach. It's sort of aching and burning. I think maybe I have an ulcer."

Dawn tried to come up with an appropriate response. Finally she said, "People your age hardly ever get ulcers. If you have one, it's pretty rare. What did you eat for dinner tonight?"

"Dawn, this is not indigestion," said Charlotte indignantly.

"All right. How bad is the burning?"

"Why?" asked Charlotte warily.

"Because I'm thinking that maybe I should call your parents to see if I can give you some Mylanta or Pepto-Bismol or something."

"Oh, no," said Char quickly. "You don't have to do that. But — but now I'm all tired and really thirsty. Do you think I have diabetes . . . like Stacey?"

What was this? Dawn asked herself. Sore throats, pinched nerves, ulcers, diabetes. She didn't think Charlotte was sick at all. But how could she convince Charlotte of that?

Then Dawn got an idea. "No, I don't think you have diabetes," she said quickly. "Listen, Char, do you still have your old doctor's kit?"

"Sure. It's in my toy chest."

Dawn located the black plastic bag and set it on Char's bed. "I better give you a checkup," she said. "I should find out what's wrong with

you before I interrupt your parents at their meeting."

"But — " Char started to say.

"No buts/' replied Dawn. "Hold still. I have to listen to your heart."

Dawn held the plastic stethoscope to Char's chest. She stuck a fake thermometer under her tongue. She used every instrument that was in the kit. She even wore the pair of red, glass-less glasses. "You're perfectly healthy," she announced several minutes later.

"Can I talk now?" asked Char.

"Yup."

"Dawn, that is a toy doctor's kit. And anyway, you aren't a doctor."

Dawn sighed. "Shall we read some more?" she asked.

"Okay. Even though I really do think I have diabetes. I may be anemic, too."

Dawn spent the next hour trying to convince Charlotte that she wasn't sick. Nothing worked. At last she told Char that a patient needs plenty of sleep, so she put her to bed. Dawn tiptoed downstairs with her Kid-Kit and worked on a school assignment until the Jo-hanssens returned.

"How was Charlotte?" asked Mr. Johanssen.

"Fine," Dawn replied, gathering up her books and papers, "except that she now thinks she has a pinched nerve in her spine, an ulcer,

diabetes, and possibly anemia."

Dr. and Mr. Johanssen exchanged a glance. "Hmm," said Char's mother.

"I hope I handled everything okay," said Dawn. She explained what she'd done.

"That sounds fine," Dr. Johanssen replied.

"Um . . . can I ask a question?" said Dawn.

"Of course."

"Why do you think Charlotte is acting this way? It must have something to do with Sta-cey, but I don't know what."

"We're not sure ourselves/' said Dr. Johanssen. "But I can guess. Charlotte misses Stacey an awful lot. She wants to see her. I have a feeling that somehow Charlotte thinks — although she's probably not aware of it — that if she gets sick enough, she'll wind up in the hospital with Stacey. Then she can spend time with her, and also reassure herself that Stacey is all right and that she really will come back to Stoneybrook."

"Wow," said Dawn. "What are you going to do?"

"We've been thinking about that," said Mr. Johanssen. "We've just decided to be extra patient and understanding with Charlotte. And to let her be in touch with Stacey as often as she likes."