Chapter 13 - The Nurse Said I Did Everything Right
The parking lot off the county road was already half full by nine. I sat in the passenger seat with my arm cradled against my stomach, the dish towel from last night replaced by clean gauze Dad had taped that morning. The boys were quiet in the back, their backpacks at their feet because we'd told them school would wait an hour.
"You sure you don't want me to drop them first?" Dad asked. He had the engine off, keys in his hand.
I shook my head. "They stay with me until I'm back out. That's the deal."
He nodded. He didn't argue. We'd made that rule last night and neither of us wanted to be the first to break it.
Inside, the urgent-care clinic smelled like coffee and disinfectant. A TV played the weather with the sound down. I checked in at the front desk with my ID and insurance card while Dad got the boys settled into the orange plastic chairs by the window. One of them brought his little choo-choo train in his pocket. He didn't play with it, just held it.
The nurse called my name after fifteen minutes. "Come on back, mom."
Dad stood. "Can we all - "
"Two at a time in the back," she said, not unkind. "Waiting room's visible from the hall though."
I looked at the boys. "Stay right here where I can see you when I come out, okay? Dad'll be right there."
They nodded. Dad sat back down between them, and I followed the nurse.
The exam room was small and bright. Paper crinkled under me when I sat up on the table. The nurse was maybe fifty, short gray hair, gloves already on. She set a tray down and peeled back the gauze carefully.
"Tell me what happened," she said.
"Bookshelf tipped last night. I caught it. Something sharp on the edge caught my arm."
She nodded and looked, not at my face but at the cut. The butterfly strips from home were damp at the edges. Dried blood outlined the gash along my forearm. It looked angrier under the fluorescent light than it had in our bathroom.
"How long did you hold pressure?"
"My husband did for about twenty minutes. Then we wrapped it."
"Good," she said. "That's exactly right."
She cleaned it with saline, and I had to breathe through my nose to stay still. It stung in a clean way, different from last night. She blotted, measured it with a little paper ruler, then pressed the skin gently together to check depth.
"You did a good job at home," she said. "It's open, but it's straight and clean. I think we can close this with adhesive strips. No stitches needed."
Relief moved through me so fast my eyes watered. I blinked it back.
She applied the closure strips one by one, lining up the edges. "When was your last tetanus shot?"
I had to think. "Maybe four years ago? At my physical. I'm pretty sure I'm current."
She checked my chart on the computer. "You're good. You don't need a booster."
The doctor came in a few minutes later, a young man with a tablet. He introduced himself and looked at the nurse's work.
"You shielded two kids from a shelf?" he asked.
"Yes."
He glanced at my arm, then at me. "Quick pressure like that makes all the difference. You protected them and you kept it clean. That's why this looks as good as it does."
I didn't know what to say. Dad always apologized. Strangers didn't usually praise me for bleeding on the carpet.
"Thank you," I said.
He typed notes and printed papers at the little desk. "Keep it dry for forty-eight hours. No soaking it. Come back or call your primary if you see spreading redness, fever, increased pain. We'll give you a handout on securing heavy furniture to walls — with little ones at home, you want brackets, not just pushing it back."
The nurse handed me a zip bag with extra strips, gauze, and the discharge papers. Aftercare instructions on top, shelf safety sheet underneath. I folded them into my purse like receipts I meant to keep.
Out in the hall, Dad stood the second he saw me. The boys pressed against the window of the waiting area, watching. When I walked out with my arm properly wrapped in white bandage and tape, the younger one said, "Is it fixed?"
I sat down between them for a minute right there in the orange chairs. "It's fixed enough to go home. The doctor said Dad and I did everything right."
May you like
Dad put his hand lightly on my shoulder, careful not to jostle the bandage. "Ready?"
I nodded. The papers rustled in my purse as I stood. My arm throbbed, but it was manageable now, a dull ache instead of fear. We walked out together into the bright parking lot, the boys close on either side of me, and got back in the car for the short drive home.
