Chapter 4
Riley
“All we need is antibiotics,” I tell the woman at the counter.
“I’m sorry ma’am. I can’t just give you Amoxicillin without a prescription. And you can’t get a prescription without seeing a doctor,” she argues back.
“So let me see a doctor. My son is sick,” I snap, bringing my fist down on the counter before thinking better of it. I’m fully aware that my behavior seems a little over the top. But as I glance back at Noah, my five year old dressed up like the Hulk because it’s Halloween, I am fueled with rage.
“Ma’am. It’s a free clinic. Everyone here is sick or hurt or something else. It’s also why we are so busy today. Halloween is always busy. I think it’s the full moon or something.”
“My son is not sick because of the moon,” I enunciated. “My son is sick because he has cystic fibrosis.”
“I thought you said he has the flu,” she says and with that, I lean in.
“Flu-like symptoms can be fatal with CF. He needs antibiotics.”
“He needs a prescription,” she bullets back. “And for that, he needs to wait in line like everybody else.”
“This is bullshit!” I bark out. I’m not usually this feral but right now, I’m at the end of my line.
Cystic fibrosis isn’t something to mess around with.
The fact I even have him at this cess pool is a mom fail in itself which is why he is sitting alone wearing a mask and gloves.
I’m aware that it’s a free clinic but I’m also a single mom with shitty insurance and $102 dollars in my bank account that has to last me another week and a half.
A little overreaction feels merited right now.
Unfortunately the girl behind the desk doesn’t agree. And neither does the security guard who was apparently called.
“There,” the woman points at me. “The one with the unsavory nurse costume.”
A man approaches me with squared shoulders, like I’m going to pick a physical fight with him. Honestly, I might at this point.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to sit and wait your turn.”
“I don’t have time to wait behind five hundred people with booboos,” I argue, earning me dirty looks from about six people.
Right now, I really don’t give a shit though.
Because save for a kid with a Justin Bieber haircut and a skateboard and what appears to be a broken wrist, I am pretty sure there’s no one in this room with problems more urgent than ours.
“If it’s a true medical emergency–” he starts in robotically but I cut him off.
“I know the drill. If it’s a true medical emergency then we need to go to the ER.
But here’s the thing. I am a single mom with a shitty job and a terminally ill child and I can’t afford to take him to the ER especially when I know that all they are going to do is give us some antibiotics and I just need him to be seen before it turns into something worse. ”
“Ma’am, I understand your concern for your child. But there are many people here who have been waiting long–”
“Do you though? Do you really understand my concern? Do you have a child with cystic fibrosis?”
He blinks. “No.”
“Do you have children at all?” I ask.
“...no. But ma’am.”
“Well, then you don’t have a leg to stand on, do you?” I blurt out. His eyes narrow down at me and he presses the button on his walkie mumbling something about backup when suddenly a man with a grin and green eyes and black and silver hair steps in front of him.
“Hello, I’m doctor Reinhart. Cameron to patients and friends. You seem like you’re in distress,”
I check his tags. He doesn’t have a white coat on or anything but the scrubs are the designated doctor color so he might be telling the truth. “You’re a doctor?”
“Las time I checked yes,” he says, walking around me and crouching in front of Noah who has melted into one of the waiting room chairs. “And this little Hulk is looking not so Hulkish. How are you doing buddy?”
“I’m alright…” Noah sighs and my heart tightens in my chest. Because Noah will always say he’s alright no matter what.
“Yeah?” the doctor asks, while pressing the back of his hand to Noah’s forehead before pressing the stethoscope to his chest. “It’s sounding a little rough in there to me. Like when Lightning McQueen revs his engine.”
“You’ve seen Cars?” Noah asks, perking up as much as a kid can perk in his condition.
“I have. Good movie. What do you say we get you checked out, yeah?”
“Hey!” some guy calls out. “We have been waiting here a lot longer than this kid and his crazy-ass mom.”
The doctor stands up. “Which is why he is going to the emergency room and not cutting in line here at the clinic. Come on buddy, I’ll give you a hand.”
“Wait,” I say, scooping Noah up into my arms. He’s floppy and snuggles into me like he did when he was a baby. “I can’t go to the ER.”
“I really think it would be best,” he argues.
“But I can’t afford it,” I say through clenched teeth, keeping my voice low for sake of dignity.
“We can worry about that later,” he smiles casually and it’s infuriating.
He’s good looking. Like TV show doctor good looking.
And right now it’s only icing my fake of frustration and panic.
Then, he looks down at my costume. It’s a nurse outfit I found in a Halloween bin at Goodwill.
It seemed harmless enough but I didn’t realize till I got it home that it ran small.
And considering my curves, it fits me more like one of those bedroom costumes than a Halloween party costume.
“Also, if you’re looking for a job, that’s not really the dress code for nurses here.”
My glare flares up three notches.
“Do you think you’re funny?” I ask as I shift Noah in my arms.
“A little,” he half shrugs while also half smirking. I’m half ready to kill him, even if he is very, very attractive.
“Well, I don’t. My kid needs meds and I’m sick of having to beg for them.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want you begging,” he says while scrolling through a tablet. “Which is why the two of you should just skip the ER and make your way straight to the pediatric floor. We will get your little Marvel Man here some meds and run a full check-up, just to be safe.”
“I already said–” I start but he cuts me off.
“Don’t worry about the cost right now. Care first, cost later. That’s how we do it here at Reinhart.”
I want to stand here and argue. I want to tell him and his smirk and the whole room to go to hell because no one gets it. But Noah rubs his hot little face against my neck and I know we need to listen.
“Fine,” I say, as I march around him. “But not because you told me to. Because it’s what’s best for my kid.”
“I understand,” he salutes me, farthing my irritation. At least if we go to pediatrics, we can get away from him. As I head down the hall towards the main hospital, he calls out to me. “Also, your ass is hanging out.”
I stop, my jaw unhinging at the audacity of this man who claims to be a doctor. But also because something about his words is strangely familiar.
“Mommy, I don’t feel good,” Noah whimpers into my neck.
“I know, baby. Let’s go get some medicine,” I say, patting his back as I keep walking.