Chapter 40
Forty
Inside the hospital, Johnna’s girls went to find Susan while they left me in a wheelchair. She appeared in her white uniform and nurse’s cap. “Oh, Cussy, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you now. You’re in good hands.”
Otilia turned to Frankie. “Hurry, get hold of the Claxtons.”
“Thank you, ladies. Cussy, we’re going to get you to a room where the doctor can examine you,” Susan said.
Frightened of prying hands, more examinations, I shook my head. “I need to leave. Leave right now.”
“You had an accident and could have serious injuries, hon. We need to make sure you’re okay. Aunt Effie will be here soon.”
Otilia appeared at my side. “I’ll stay with you, Miss Cussy.”
Susan started to protest, but Otilia said, “I better stay with the librarian. Mrs. Claxton would not be happy if I up and abandoned her.” She laid her hand on my shoulder.
I was wheeled into a room. Susan helped me onto the bed. “Let me get you a gown. I see your skirt’s been ripped. You’ve got yourself some nasty scratches on your legs.”
I examined the ragged skirt with a torn pocket, alarmed.
Patting both pockets, I realized the coin purse with my change, lipstick, and stamps was gone.
Shaking my head, I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling the moans.
Ashamed I’d lost the librarian’s generous gifts and that I couldn’t complete her one simple task.
Susan retrieved a folded cotton shift from a white apothecary cabinet in the corner and tried to pass it to me.
“No, I’ll not take off my necessaries for doctors again.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, ma’am.”
She looked at me, bewildered, as she pulled the long hospital curtain around us, sealing us off. “I’m going to take some blood work—”
“No more tests.” I struggled to sit up. Otilia gently pushed me back onto the pillow. “It won’t hurt, and it’ll be over in an instant.”
“It’s just a small prick, and I promise I won’t take a lot,” Susan pressed. “Then we’ll clean up your legs.”
An hour later, Mrs. Claxton swept past the curtains. “Chile, oh my goodness, are you okay? I should’ve never left you on Walnut Street alone.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get Reverend’s suit. I lost track of the time.”
The despair knotted in my belly, leaving me to cast my eyes away, afraid to witness the disappointment in hers.
She sat down on the bed and grasped my hand, tucking locks of hair behind my ears, fussing over me. “Such a fright you gave me.”
Feeling her gentle touch, I sorely missed my mama, the heaviness landing, leaving me wrecked with homesickness. My shoulders quaked as I fought back tears.
“Shh,” Mrs. Claxton soothed and drew me into her arms, stroking my hair.
I sobbed softly, unable to hold back the months of loneliness. Mounting heartbreak. The losses had piled on and were still being stacked, and I was toppling under the crushing weight.
When she finally eased us apart, she said, “How is she, Susan?”
“She won’t allow us to do tests,” her niece said as she passed tissues to me.
“Hear now, Cussy, it’s only a pinch, and then as soon as we see the doctor, I can get you home,” the librarian promised. “I know a certain pup that’s been watching out the window, waiting for her friend.”
“I’ve been poked all my life. Ever since I was a babe, doctors have been trying to snatch pieces of me, force examinations on me. Even holding me down and stripping off my necessaries in the big Lexington hospital!” I blurted, suddenly struck by a stabbing pain to my head.
Alarm flashed across Susan’s eyes. “You need to stay calm. You’re safe here.” She rubbed my arm. “I won’t hurt you or take away your undergarments, I promise.”
“Cussy, Susan always keeps her word,” Mrs. Claxton said. “She’s smart and won’t harm a hair on your pretty head.”
Otilia echoed her words.
After a few more pleas and several more promises, I agreed and held up my arm. The nurse took blood; checked my temperature, eyes, and ears; cleaned and swabbed my banged-up legs with the stinging Mercurochrome antiseptic.
“Mrs. Claxton…” I looked down at my ripped skirt. “I lost your change purse. I’m sorry.”
“It was yours once I gave it to you. Don’t fuss it. We can always get another, but never another like you.”
In between checking my limbs for any sprains or breaks, Susan wrote down notes on a clipboard. “How’s your headache, hon?”
“It still hurts some, Susan.”
“I’ll bring you a Coca-Cola until the doctor can prescribe medication.
That usually helps a headache.” She pressed down on my belly and then placed her stethoscope against it, leaving me squirming and the baby suddenly awakening with a faint quiver.
Susan turned away to scribble down more notes. I felt the child lightly stir.
The babe was alive. I squeezed back a tear.
Susan reached inside the apothecary cabinet and passed me a paper cup. “If you could go into the lavatory and give me a urine sample, we’ll be done,” she said cheerfully. “Likely, the doctor will send you home with pain medication, but he’ll need to check your test results first.”
I started to ask why, when Otilia grabbed my arm. She and Mrs. Claxton helped me to the tiny washroom tucked on the other side of the room.
When I handed her back the sample, Susan said, “We’ll get these tests, and then the doctor will stop by to see you.
” A few minutes later, she came back into the room and pulled out a tall tray at the end of the bed, rolled it over my lap, and left a glass of Coca-Cola with crushed ice. “Drink up. Doctor’s orders.”
Mrs. Claxton settled into a chair beside my bed, thanked Otilia, and sent her home.
“If you need anything, here’s Miss Johnna’s telephone number, Mrs. Claxton,” Otilia said, slipping her a note. Mrs. Claxton firmly wagged her head as if she’d rather not pursue the acquaintance. Still, Otilia pushed it into her hand. “Get well, Miss Cussy.”
***
A few hours before midnight, I bolted upright from the bed when the doctor and nurse entered the room. Mrs. Claxton slumped in the hospital chair beside me, softly snoring. Susan gently touched her aunt’s shoulder, and she shot up from the chair, blinking her puffy lids.
The doctor listened to my heart and peered into my eyes with a light, lingering. “Pretty peepers—an unusual bluish gray,” he said, then studied the chart. “It looks like you were extremely lucky.”
“Yes, sir. I’m feeling much better.”
“Any nausea or vomiting?”
“I got sick right after the accident. But I’d had too much lemonade.”
“Hmm. You took a bad hit, but nothing that a little rest won’t cure. We’re going to keep you overnight so the nurses can observe you. You may have a mild concussion, and I want to make sure you’re safe before I sign off on your release.”
“The Coca-Cola took care of my headache, and I feel pert, sure enough. I’m ready to leave now.” I swung my legs over the bed.
“All the same, I’m ordering hospital rest till tomorrow.” He smiled kindly, but his words were firm as he adjusted his spectacles and peered over the chart again. “Get some rest. Your Hogben test says you both need it.”
Mrs. Claxton straightened and gawked at the doctor, and then her eyes latched on to mine. Silently, she rolled the word both over her lips.
I tucked my head away from her quizzical stare.
The doctor turned to Susan. “The patient appears healthy. You’ve listed congenital methemoglobin in the notes.
But as you know, we’ve only recently seen the color like hers in the one patient.
And his color quickly returned after administering the drug.
We’ve never had one like her.” The doctor glanced over at me.
“We have a responsibility to the safety of other patients and hospital staff. Best play it safe. Hang a quarantine sign on this door. No visitors.” He stopped and adjusted his spectacles to peer at me.
“Yes, Doctor, right away. And I’ll personally see to the patient’s needs.” Susan frowned behind his back.
Why, I was surprised the city doctor hadn’t been schooled on methemoglobinemia, what my mountain doc know’d long ago.
I looked at his pale face and again repeated the words I’d been saying all my life. “You can’t catch color, sir.” I raised an arm to Mrs. Claxton and Susan’s brown faces, then pointed at my own darkened blue.
Mrs. Claxton said, “An educated man such as yourself should know as much. I promise you, sir, her color’s not contagious. Or contaminating. The same as mine and your nurse here. Though Lord knows, I’ve sometimes wished it were,” she snapped to boldly deliver a stern admonishment.
Susan peered down, hiding a smirk that had sprang to her lips.
“Nurse, help the patient into a clean robe,” he said curtly. “I’ll be at home if you need me. Otherwise, you’ll see me again in the morning at six. Until then, no visitors are allowed for this patient.”
“I’m not leaving my charge,” Mrs. Claxton huffed.
“I ain’t staying!” I said as our sentences rose together in tangled quarrels.
The doctor stared at us for an uncomfortable moment, trying to decide whether his long night was about to get longer. “I’ll allow the one visitor,” he clipped and turned to the door, his white coattails dismissing any further discussion.
Mrs. Claxton stood and exhaled loudly when the doctor left. “What the devil is that doctor talking about?”