Chapter 7
I stared at my leg. Blood had dried dark at the edge. Room smelled like rubber and paper sheet. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead. My hands stayed tight on the cot.
Nurse stood near the door. She didn't touch the splint again. She'd put it in a clear plastic bag. Blue plastic shone through. Black straps folded inside.
PA came in. He wore a gray fleece over scrubs. Clipboard in hand. He knelt level with my knee. Didn't smile too big.
He said, "We need better pictures than we got here."
Nurse nodded. She said, "No X-ray in this building."
PA looked at my shin. He didn't press it. He said, "Bone might be cracked under that. Wound goes deep. Infection risk high if we wait."
I heard hallway footsteps. I knew those shoes. Dad's work boots squeaked on tile. He'd been waiting in chairs by Visiting Petitions sign.
Dad pushed door open. He carried my hoodie. He looked at PA, then at bag with blue splint.
Dad said, "We can head home. I'll keep it clean. I got gauze."
PA stood. He kept voice even. He said, "This needs ER. County hospital has wound care and imaging tonight."
Dad's jaw tightened. He looked at me. He said, "Buddy, you want to ride home with me? Better than ambulance."
I didn't answer. My throat felt dry. I looked at nurse. She gave small nod, stayed near cot rail. Her hand rested light on bed, not on me.
Dad lifted blue bag. He said, "I can put this back on. Holds still. He likes the colors. Keeps pressure off."
Nurse said, "We need to keep it off. Bagged as belonging now."
Dad said, "It's mine. I gave it to him."
PA stepped between. He said, "We documented timeline. Injury happened before splint went on. That changes care plan. ER needs to see wound bare."
Dad stared at my leg. He said, "He fell at the apartments. On the sidewalk. I wrapped it after. That's care."
Room went quiet. Light buzzed. My breathing sounded loud. I pulled hoodie over my knees. I wanted blue back. I didn't want ER.
Knock came. Woman in navy cardigan entered. ID badge clipped high. Short hair, calm voice. She held a folder.
She said, "I'm Ms. Alvarez, county caseworker. Clinic called for medical consult."
Dad turned. He said, "We don't need that. We need discharge papers."
Ms. Alvarez didn't argue. She spoke to PA. She said, "Recommendation stands?"
PA said, "Yes. Urgent transfer. Possible fracture, deep abrasion, contamination."
She turned to nurse. She said, "Parent wants to transport private?"
Nurse said, "Father requested to take him home, reapply splint."
Ms. Alvarez knelt near cot. Not too close. She looked at me, not just my leg.
She said, "Hey. I'm here to make sure you get checked safe. No ambulance alone, okay? Nurse rides with you. I ride too."
I nodded small. My hands shook. I said, "Don't leave blue."
Dad said, "He wants his colors."
Ms. Alvarez said, "We keep blue with him. Bagged, goes on stretcher. No one throws it away."
Dad said, "You saying I can't drive my own kid?"
PA handed him paper. He said, "Medical hold for transport. Means ER transfer with escort. You can follow car to hospital, meet in family area. You can't transport alone tonight."
Dad read paper. His hand tightened on hoodie. He looked at window in door, then at me. He didn't yell. His voice dropped.
He said, "I was trying to help. Blue was supposed to help."
Ms. Alvarez said, "We note that. Follow to county, we talk there."
Two EMTs came with a small stretcher. Wheels clicked. They wore navy shirts. One asked my name, my age. I said seven. He said, "Cool truck, huh?" I stared at ceiling tiles.
They lifted me. Sheet crinkled. Nurse walked beside, held bag with blue splint on my chest. Plastic pressed light against my shirt. I held it with one hand.
We moved to hallway. Cool air hit my leg. Wound burned. Dad walked behind, boots loud. Ms. Alvarez walked beside dad, not behind him.
Ambulance bay doors opened. Evening air came in. Gas station light glowed across parking lot. Ambulance lights flashed but no siren.
EMT said, "Short ride. Ten minutes."
May you like
Nurse squeezed cot rail. She said, "I got you."
Dad stood at bay edge. He couldn't step in. EMT shut door halfway. Dad called through gap, "Buddy, I'll meet you there." I clutched blue bag tighter. Door closed. Engine hummed. We rolled toward county hospital, blue with me, dad in rearview.
