Chapter 24
CHAPTER
NEW YORK CITY
Elsa couldn’t remember the last time she’d called in sick for work. But even before Ivy insisted she see a doctor today, she’d already decided to do so. Just because she’d had a terrible experience with Dr. Stanhope didn’t mean she didn’t need help after inhaling smoke and overexerting herself.
“Miss Reisner, is it? Am I saying that correctly?” Dr. Clay must see more than twenty patients a day at this walk-in clinic. The fact that he still cared enough to pronounce her name correctly made her hopeful he’d pay attention to other details, too.
“That’s right.” Elsa’s throat still hurt, but not nearly as much as it had last night.
He scanned the notes the nurse had taken from Elsa moments ago, then looked her in the eyes. “Please tell me why you’re here, and what I can do for you.”
She licked her dry lips and briefly told him what had happened last night.
Dr. Clay turned to the water cooler in the corner of his office and gave her a glass to drink. “It says here you had polio as a child, with lasting effects on your leg and lungs.”
“Yes.” She sipped the cool water. “That’s one of the reasons I thought I should come in. I didn’t know if inhaling smoke might have made my lungs worse.”
He nodded. “It’s always wise to get checked out. Do your airways feel tight and swollen?”
She shook her head. She had only breathed in smoke for less than five minutes, although at the time it felt much longer.
“Let’s take a listen.” He used his stethoscope and asked her a series of questions.
“The good news is that the smoke inhalation wasn’t prolonged or severe enough to warrant treatment, other than fresh air, plenty of fluids, and as much rest as your body calls for,” he declared.
“But let’s talk about those other symptoms you mentioned.
Your polio symptoms became worse this summer? Please tell me more.”
She swallowed. This wasn’t why she’d come, but she could really use a second opinion. “Do you think it’s all in my head?”
Dr. Clay’s eyebrows knit together. “I have no reason to believe that. In fact, I’ve seen this before in other patients. I’d like to hear your story and see how it compares to theirs. I’m collecting data on this previously unstudied phenomenon.”
Elsa’s jaw dropped open in shock. Mastering her composure, she quickly closed it again. She would never wish this condition on anyone else. But the idea that she wasn’t alone in it brought an unlooked-for reassurance, somehow.
She told him everything. He took notes, asked questions, nodded, and generally made her feel heard and seen. “What do you think?” she asked at the end of it. “Am I like the others you know?”
“In what you have described, you’re more alike than different.”
Her heart beat faster. She wondered if she might ever meet these other patients.
Would she recognize them by their limp if she saw them by chance on the street?
Would the doctor consent to put them in touch with each other or perhaps facilitate some kind of group discussion? But those questions could wait.
Elsa took another drink of water, then asked the one that could not. “What will become of us?”
Dr. Clay set his clipboard and notebook aside. “I wish I could give you a clear answer. But we’re now noticing a pattern emerging among some of our patients. It’s too soon to be able to chart a trajectory.”
“But you must have noticed something, anything, that you can share with me. Is what I’m experiencing a stage, or will this become normal?
Will I—” She swallowed the catch in her throat.
Her hand rested on her left knee, the hard edges of the leg brace sharp beneath her palm.
“Will I get worse? Will I eventually need a brace for the other leg and crutches?”
The lines on his brow bespoke compassion. “I understand the compulsion to know what lies ahead. What we plan for, we can prepare for, yes? That’s the idea, anyway. I’m sorry I cannot give you that. All I can offer is what I’ve seen in other patients whose cases are similar to yours.”
She nodded. “Yes. Tell me.”
“One of them has become far less mobile. He uses braces on both legs now and crutches since neither knee bends freely.”
Tears welled in Elsa’s eyes, not just from fear for herself but from genuine sadness for the other person. She could imagine what he was going through and figured not many other people truly could.
“But another patient is more like you. She has grown weaker but, so far, has not needed additional braces or crutches. In fact, she has held steady like this for three years.”
Hope sparked. “Is it possible she could stay like she is forever? Could she even improve?”
A small smile touched the doctor’s face. “As I said, at this point, we really don’t know. I’ve only been tracking these patients for three years, myself. I can’t say she won’t eventually get worse. But neither can I rule out the possibility of improvement.”
“Then maybe if I keep working at strengthening my body . . .” She trailed off when she noticed his expression change.
“Pushing your body to the brink of your ability isn’t the answer,” he told her. “That’s only a path to breaking down faster.”
She dropped her gaze to the gloved hands in her lap. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But it rang true in a way her own wishful thinking never had. “Then what can I do to get better?” She had to get better. She must do something.
“Some ailments are of our own making, which means we can also unmake them. But this, Miss Reisner, isn’t one of them.
You didn’t cause this. The minute I learn of something that you or I can do to improve your condition, I’ll share that.
The best advice I can give now is to pay attention to what your body is telling you.
Push less, not more. And please schedule follow-up appointments so we can track how you’re doing.
Live within your limits instead of fighting against them. ”
During the cab ride home, Elsa considered what Dr. Clay had said.
She might stay at this level of weakness for years.
She might possibly improve, although he hadn’t seen a precedent for that yet.
She might get worse. And there was nothing she could do about that, except possibly wear herself out quicker by being in denial of her true condition.
Elsa couldn’t see the future. She was tempted to feel like she was in that locked dark room all over again, but she held up the light of the truth.
She hadn’t been abandoned by God in the secret den at Elmhurst, and she wasn’t now, either.
If one door in her life was locked closed, God would lead her on another path. He would be with her the entire way.
Just because she didn’t know where it would lead didn’t mean she couldn’t trust Him. Be my light, she prayed again. Show me the path.
The first step was obvious. There was one question she needed to ask herself: Knowing her mobility may decrease in the future, how did she want to spend the time she had now?
By early afternoon, Elsa had made up her mind about what to do with the information Dr. Clay had given her. She needed to tell Ivy, Luke, and her parents. She also needed to talk to her boss.
She rose when she spied Mr. Chapman pushing through the revolving door to enter the Beresford lobby. She had called his office requesting a meeting, and he insisted they hold it here.
“Miss Reisner.” He doffed his homburg. “Shall we sit?”
They moved to a pair of wing chairs, and she thanked him again for coming.
“After the ordeal you had last night, you should be resting. Having our conversation here is the least I can do.”
The American Museum of Natural History was such a short distance from here, but he was right that she was too worn out for it, not to mention the long walk required to reach his office once inside the massive building.
In fact, after this meeting, she planned to go back to bed and wouldn’t mind staying there until tomorrow.
“You saw a doctor, I hope?” Mr. Chapman went on. “I must say I was shocked to hear you went back to Elmhurst after your work there was done. I’m sorry this happened at all, but I must ask, will you be blaming the museum for putting you there in the first place?”
“Not at all. I was there on my own time last night. My errand had nothing to do with work. If anything, Mr. Chapman, I owe you my gratitude for assigning me that project. It breathed new life into my passion for birds and people.”
He leaned back in his chair, likely relieved not to have the museum involved in a scandal. If anyone was to blame for the danger she’d been in, it was Archer for locking her away. But she didn’t have the energy to deal with him yet.
“Then what is this about?”
“My time. And my passion for birds and people.” She felt as confident in her decision as her boss appeared bewildered. “I recently asked you if I might serve as the museum’s guide for bird-watching groups in Central Park, and you said no. Would you reconsider?”
His eyelids flared, and his mustache twitched. “No. I still say no to that, Miss Reisner. I require your skills in skinning and dissecting birds and managing inventory.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d say that. In that case, I’m giving you my notice that I need to reduce my hours with the department and only work part-time.”
Color drained from his face. “Is this an ultimatum?”
“No, I promise you it isn’t. It’s the result of consultation with my doctor. I need to work fewer hours at the museum. I’ll lead bird-watching groups on my own, as my health allows.” She’d already been doing it.
But she couldn’t keep working so hard at the museum and have energy left to do what she loved most. She had no idea how many months or years she had left before her mobility might be further compromised.
She didn’t want to spend all the time she had left in an office with dead birds.
She wanted to be out with the living ones.
She had been asking God to get better, but He was showing her how to live better.
The answer wasn’t trying harder to do more and keep up with the razzle-dazzle, fast-paced city she lived in.
It was doing less, to make room for what really mattered.
She was placing her own priorities above any hope of promotion.
She knew it. And she felt at perfect peace about it.
“Our department can scarcely keep up with the work as it is,” he pleaded.
She hadn’t expected him to place her health above the productivity of his department. That was her job. No one else could do that for her.
“Then hire another part-time worker, or even another full-time,” she suggested.
“Bring in a university student. You’ve said yourself you have stacks of applications sitting in your inbox.
Handle it however you choose, but I’m choosing to only work twenty-five hours a week.
That is, if you’ll still have me on those terms.”
He leaned forward, then back against the chair again, his gaze roaming the lobby. At last, he muttered, “For now. But if I find someone else with your skillset and expertise willing to work the full forty and then some, I may have to let you go. Are you willing to accept that?”
She took a deep breath. “I am.”