Stacey's Emergency (9 page)

"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 made 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 wiU. 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.

Ill

Chapter 13.

"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 worfcing," 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 spoke 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."

Mom dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. My father fumbled around for a handkerchief. I couldn't believe it. I'd made him cry, too. For

a moment, I felt the anger rise up all over again: I had the power to move two adults to tears, but not to make them act civilly toward one another.

I pushed the anger away. "Can you," I said to Mom and Dad in a steady voice, "come back on Monday, instead of tomorrow? I need some time to think."

"So do I," said Dad.

"So do I," said Mom.

"Okay. So I'll see you on Monday?"

My parents nodded. Then they left, Mom slightly ahead of Dad. I watched them to see if Dad might rest his hand on Mom's back. Or if Mom might send a flicker of a smile to Dad. But they were isolated, living in separate worlds.

Ordinarily, after a scene like that, I would have given into tears. I might even have enjoyed them, let them run down my cheeks in salty tracks, not bothered to wipe them away. Not that night, though. I was feeling too angry. And, I realized, too strong. My body was getting better, so I allowed my mind to get better, too.

"Look out for number one," I murmured. Where had I heard that? I wasn't sure. But I did, suddenly, know what it meant. And that's exactly what I was doing — looking out for number one, for me. I was putting me first,

along with my thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

How, I wondered, did I really want to spend Sunday? Out of the hospital, I answered myself. But that wasn't possible. Okay. Next best thing? With my friends, forgetting about my parents. Well, that might be possible. I could find out in just a few minutes, with two or three phone calls.

I dialed Claudia first, praying that she was home.

She was. She answered on the first ring. "Hi, Dawn," she said.

I paused. "Claud, it's me."

"Stacey?! I was expecting Dawn to call me back. She — Oh, never mind. It's a long story. How are you? You sound okay. I mean, you sound good."

"I'm feeling pretty good," I said truthfully. "And I was wondering something. I know this is a lot to ask, but would you and Dawn and everyone want to come back tomorrow? Would your parents let you?"

"Come back? To New York? Well . . . sure. I mean, I guess so. I mean, yes, definitely, but I have to see if we have enough money and everything."

I laughed. "I know what you mean. If you guys could come, I would love to see you. But I know that's asking a lot."

"Not so much/' replied Claud. "Let me talk to the others. I'll get back to you."

"Okay," I replied. "I'm going to call Laine in the meantime. You don't mind, do you? I mean, if Laine comes over for awhile tomorrow? I thought it would be fun if we all got together."

"Fine with me," said Claud.

We hung up then, and I dialed Laine.

"Hi," I said. "It's Stacey. Um, is my mom back yet?"

"No," Laine answered.

"Oh. Well, she probably will be soon. And she might be uspet." I told Laine what had happened earlier.

"Wow," said Laine when I'd finished. "So do you want her to call you when she gets here?"

"No," I replied. "I really do need to wait awhile until I talk to my parents again. But I was wondering if you could visit tomorrow. Claudia and everyone might be here, too. If they get permission from their parents, and if they can get by the nurses."

"Great!" exclaimed Laine. "See you tomorrow."

On Sunday I woke up early. Everyone had permission to visit. (Well, not Mallory and Jessi, but the others. Plus Laine. I couldn't wait.)

I asked a nurse to help me wash my hair in the sink. Then I put on fresh clothes. I even put on some makeup that Laine had sneaked to me a few days earlier. I added jewelry and, when I checked myself in the mirror, thought I looked like the same old Stacey. The same old reasonably healthy Stacey.