24. Lillian
“Good morning,”I greet the receptionist with a smile. “We’ve got a twelve o’clock. Grace Wilson.” Every time I have to use Talia’s last name for Grace, I cringe. I call her by my last name to everyone else. To family and friends. Because that’s what she is. But for doctor’s appointments or legal papers, she has to be a Wilson. For now.
“Good morning,” she smiles back and then glances through her appointment book on the computer in front of her. “Ah, there she is. We’ve got her in to see Doctor Carter.”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry. She sees Doctor Hendricks.” She’s been her doctor since I moved back home to Flagstaff with Grace.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Hendricks is on vacation. We can try to reschedule you for when she’s back if you’d prefer.”
I look down at Grace, who is still holding my hand, and remember the way she hacked up a lung all weekend. I sigh.
“It’s fine. We’ll see Doctor Carter.”
She nods. “He’s great, you’re in good hands.” Then, I’m handed paperwork to fill out for insurance and regular patient information.
I fill it out quickly and hand it back to the receptionist, then take a seat next to Grace as she plays with the toy set in the waiting room. Although the room is mostly quiet, there are only two empty chairs. All the rest are filled with worried-looking parents and kids sitting next to them or on their laps.
I take my phone out and think about calling Lincoln. But he’s working, and I don’t want to bug him. Instead, I scroll through social media. There are a few posts from my mom and Kim. My mom took a quick weekend vacation with my dad, so her posts of sandy beaches and Pina Coladas make me jealous. Scrolling through the pictures and videos Kim posted of Nicky playing catch in the backyard with Jim makes me laugh. Jim isn’t the most athletic dad out there. He can fix just about anything with a motor, but sports aren’t his forte. So watching him catch and throw with his son looks so awkward it’s funny.
Before I know it, almost forty minutes have passed, and we still haven’t been called back yet. One by one, the other chairs have emptied, though. We can’t be that much further behind.
I walk up to the receptionist and ask how much longer it’s going to be.
“Just a little bit longer. I’m so sorry. With Doctor Hendricks out, we’re swamped. We’ll be with you as soon as we can.” She looks genuinely apologetic, and they did squeeze us into their schedule, so I walk back to my seat, reminding myself to relax.
Ten minutes later, a nurse peeks her head out from the door that leads into the back. “Grace Wilson?”
“Grace,” I call as I stand up and walk toward the nurse. We follow her back, where she has Grace step on the scale and then measures her height. We are led into a cold, clinical exam room where Grace hops up on the bed, the sheet covering it crinkling under her weight.
I answer the nurses questions about what brought us in, and then she leaves us to sit there again while we wait for Doctor Carter.
“Mommy?” Grace says, drawing my attention.
“Yeah, sweets?”
“My throat hurts,” she says matter-of-factly.
“I know, that’s why we’re here. We’re going to get you some medicine.” I hope, at least. Let it be just the flu or even strep. Though this is the first time I’m hearing about a sore throat, so probably not strep.
“Can we get ice cream after?” She bats her lashes at me. Ah, so maybe not a sore throat after all. Little brat knows how to get what she wants. And because she truly has been sick, I cave.
“Sure.”
She grins nice and big just as the door swings open and a young man in a white coat strolls through. Jesus Christ.
This is her doctor? He looks eighteen. Just out of med school.
“You must be Grace!” he says to my daughter. “Woah, that’s one big smile. Are you sure you’re sick?” he teases her, but to my horror, she shakes her head no.
“Yes, she is,” I interject so he doesn’t get the wrong idea. “She’s been sick all weekend. Coughing so much she can’t sleep.”
“Okay, well let”s take a look then,” he says as he squirts out some hand sanitizer and rubs his hands together. “Any other symptoms, Mom?” He says as he walks over to Grace, takes something off the wall, and looks in one ear and then the other with it.
“She had a runny nose and a little bit of a fever the first day or two. Wouldn’t eat anything and just said something about a sore throat.”
He nods along with my words and tells Grace to open up and say ah. “There’s a little bit of redness, but nothing too bad.” With his fingers, he massages up and down Grace’s throat, checking for swelling. When he seems satisfied there, the stethoscope settles in his ears as he listens to her heart and lungs. “Big breath, Grace.” She breathes in on command, and as she exhales, she coughs again. It shouldn’t make me feel good that she does. But I want him to see what it sounds like so he can diagnose her properly.
“That doesn’t sound good, huh?” His words are said to Grace, and she giggles.
“Well, Mom, everything looks good. Obviously she’s got the cough and red throat. But has she gotten her appetite back? Been drinking plenty of fluids?” I nod. “Good. Just a small flu, you’re doing everything right. I’d give it another week or so and if the cough doesn’t disappear, come back and see us, okay?” He squirts more hand sanitizer and starts to leave.
“Wait. That’s it?” I ask incredulously.
“That’s it. Nothing we can do for the flu besides what you’re already doing. It’ll pass.” He gives me what I’m sure is meant to be an encouraging smile and then walks out the door.
Grace and I leave the office, and twenty minutes later, I still feel annoyed. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but whatever it was, it was more than that.
I pull up my favorites on my cell and hit call. It rings for a few minutes, and Lincoln answers in a tone that embodies exactly how I’m feeling. “Hey.”
“Woah. Bad day?” I grumble.
“You don’t know the half of it. I got fucking served. My dad and mom are suing Becca, trying to put her into a conservatorship.”
My mouth pops open in shock. “Can they even do that?”
A humorless laugh meets my question. “Of course, they can. She’s bipolar, and her entire trust fund is made up of their own money. With the incident at the ranch that just happened, it’s not even going to be that hard of a sell.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” What a damn day, I think.
I hear him take a big breath, and when he blows it out, his voice is calmer, more sure. “No, I’m taking care of it. The good news is the date isn’t for another month. So we have time to get a case put together. The bad news is I called the judge and the ranch and they both say Becca has to stay put until the hearing. So she can’t move in yet.” A pit forms in my stomach at the news. It feels like a bad omen, somehow.
“Ugh. Lincoln, I’m sorry. That sucks. Is she doing okay with the news?” I hope she’s okay. I’m not sure what kind of triggers bipolar disorder has. Maybe that’s something I should read up on…
“She seems okay. Annoyed more than anything.”
A half-hearted chuckle. “I get that. Well, let me know if I can help.”
“Thanks, Frasier.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “How’d the appointment go?”
I roll my eyes. “They said it’s the flu and to come back if it doesn’t improve.”
“Oh. Well that’s good news, right?” he asks me, probably confused by my tone.
“It is.” I hope.
“Good. Well, I have to get back. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
“Sure, love you.”
“You too, Frasier,” he answers back in a much happier voice than when he picked up. The call disconnects, and I look back through the rearview mirror at my sleeping daughter, hoping the doctor is right and she kicks this cold soon.
Sobbing wakes me up hours later. Tapping my phone screen, it’s the middle of the night, and there is Grace right next to me with tears streaming down her face, snot covering her nose, and a red color to her that immediately has me jolting out of bed.
“Grace, hey. Look at me, sweets.” I say, half in a panic.
She does, but it’s the way her chest is heaving as if she’s trying to get a breath down but can”t. The tears are silent now, and it looks like she isn’t even breathing.
Pure, unadulterated panic wracks me. “Breathe, baby. Come on,” I say and then take a breath in for her to follow it. She tries, but what leaves her is more akin to hyperventilating.
That’s it. Flu, my ass.
I scoop her up and rush out the door, barely bothering to grab anything other than my shoes and phone. The hospital is only a few miles down the road, so I don’t bother putting her in her carseat.
She sits right in my lap, I buckle us both in together, and pull out onto the road. All the while, I’m trying to get her to take a breath, to get some air into her lungs.
Mercifully, after a few minutes, she manages to stop crying and has taken several normal breaths. The hyperventilating has stopped, and the blue tinge to her lips is receding. Not deterred in the slightest, I pull into the parking lot next to the emergency entrance and walk in with her cradled against my chest.
Straight ahead through the doors is a group of nurses or receptionists huddled behind the desk, and I beeline for them.
“Excuse me,” I call out. None of them turn, and in my already anxious, stressed state, a little attitude slips through. “Excuse me?” I yell louder.
They all look my way, annoyed at the interruption. “Yes?” one shoots back, and I want to bitch at her for her complete lack of professionalism at work.
“My daughter can’t breathe. She needs to see a doctor.”
“Ma’am, this is an emergency room. You can take her to your primary care physician in the morning,” one of the shorter nurses answers this time.
“This is an emergency. She was just blue in the fu–freaking face two minutes ago because she. Can’t. Breathe. And I took her this morning. They said she has the flu.”
Each one gives me an unimpressed look as if to say, so what do you want us to do?
I take a breath. It doesn’t help my own nerves or rising annoyance. “Look, I’m not leaving until someone gets me a damn doctor to examine my daughter.”
You’d think I asked them to chop off a limb, but one of them leads us back to a room, bringing the paperwork for me to fill out with her.
Twenty minutes later, a much kinder, older-looking physician walks in. I’m honestly not sure if she’s a doctor or a nurse, but her bedside manner is much more approachable, putting me at ease immediately.
Or as at ease as I can be right now.
Grace is still in my lap, but I turn her around to face the older lady as she walks over and kneels in front of where we’re sitting in the cold, plastic chair. “They said she’s having trouble breathing?” she confirms as she pulls her stethoscope out and places it under Grace’s shirt to take a listen.
“She’s breathing okay now. But she woke me up with a red face and blue lips not even thirty minutes ago.”
The nurse closes her eyes as she listens to me and Grace at the same time. After a few seconds, she pulls back, stands, and walks over to grab something from inside one of the cabinets.
She comes back with something that looks like two beakers side by side with a tube sticking out of it. “Can you blow into this as hard as you can, sweetie?” She points to the end of the tube for Grace.
She wraps her lips around it and blows hard. The breath is no longer than a second, and a tiny whistle rings out as a ball flutters up in one of the tubes then drops back down as Grace dissolves into another coughing fit. They sound even more mucusy than yesterday, and I look at the nurse to see what she thinks of the sound, but she’s looking at the tube Grace just blew into with a worried look.
“Okay, there’s definitely some fluid in her lungs. I’m going to need to order some x-rays of her chest, and we’re going to get started on admitting her. I want to watch her for at least the next twenty-four hours.” She stands to leave but must see the panic on my face because she stops. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get the scans ordered and know more in a few hours.”
So try not to panic, right? Un-freaking-likely.