Chapter 5
The gray-haired woman stepped closer to the rail and I could smell her perfume over the rubbing alcohol. It was powdery and sweet, the kind my grandma kept in her bathroom. Her hands were shaking where she held the metal bar behind my bed.
"She's burning up," she said. She didn't look at me. She looked at the nurse. Her voice was thin and fast. "She's had a fever for two days. She doesn't know what she's saying. You need to give her the medicine and let her rest."
I tried to shake my head but the cannula tugged at my nose. The blanket felt too hot on my legs. My throat was dry and my two fingers were still up. My right wristband dug into my skin.
The nurse didn't move. Her gloved hand was still holding my left arm. She kept her eyes on my face.
"She's not that hot," the nurse said quietly. "And she's tracking me. Look at her eyes."
"Of course she's tracking," the older woman said. Her voice got sharper. "She's scared. We're all scared. Please, just do what the doctors said."
I felt my chest get tight. I knew that voice. It was the voice adults used when they wanted me to stop talking. I had heard it at home when I tried to say 313 the first time.
The braided girl behind the rail hadn't said anything yet. She was standing half behind the older woman, her hands twisted in the bottom of her shirt. She had the same brown braids I remembered from the kitchen table at home. She was watching my hand.
The nurse turned her head just enough to look at her. Not at the older woman. At the girl.
"Honey," the nurse said to her, soft but clear. "Do you know what your sister is doing?"
The older woman answered for her right away. "She's confused. They both are. This has been a hard day."
The braided girl flinched. She looked down at the floor tiles, then back up at me. I kept my two fingers up. I blinked slow, the way I had practiced with her in our room.
Her mouth opened. She swallowed.
"She did it at home," she whispered.
The room went still under the fluorescent light. The EMERGENCY sign buzzed red over the double doors. I could hear my own breathing through the cannula.
"What did she do at home?" the nurse asked. She didn't raise her voice. She kept her hand steady on my arm.
The braided girl glanced at the older woman, then back at the nurse. Her eyes were wet.
"She practiced it," she said. Her voice was barely louder than mine. "In our room. She kept holding up numbers. She said three one three. She made me watch. She said if anything happened I had to remember it."
The older woman's hand tightened on the rail. Her knuckles went white.
"That's enough," she said to the girl. "Stop making things up. You are not helping her."
"I'm not making it up," the braided girl said, and this time her voice cracked. She looked at me and I saw she was scared to say it out loud. "She wrote it on paper. She taped it to the mirror. Three one three."
I felt tears sting my eyes but I didn't let my fingers drop. The rash on my cheeks itched. The navy man by the doors shifted his weight but didn't come closer. The two doctors were still by the bed with the small white and blue box, watching the nurse now instead of me.
The older woman leaned in toward the nurse. "Don't listen to a child," she said. "Children repeat things. They don't understand. Give her the medication, please. That's what we're here for."
The nurse finally let go of my arm just enough to turn her body. She put herself between me and the rail. Her navy scrubs blocked the older woman from my view for a second. The RN badge on her chest caught the light.
"Ma'am, I hear you," the nurse said. Her voice was calm and even, the kind that didn't let anyone talk over it. "You want what's best for her. The doctors want what's best for her. Right now, what I need to do is separate what your family is asking for from what her body is asking for. Those are two different things. I need a minute with my patient without pressure to give a medication she hasn't consented to and doesn't understand."
"It's just fever medicine," the older woman said.
"It's not just anything until she can tell me yes or no," the nurse said.
My hand was still up. It was starting to shake from holding it. The nurse looked down at me again. Her blonde bun had come a little loose. Her eyes were still wide but now they were focused.
She opened her own hand near mine, palm toward me, and waited.
"Hey," she said to me, quiet. "Is your sister telling the truth? Did you practice this at home? You don't have to talk. Just squeeze my hand."
She slipped her gloved fingers under my left hand. My wristband pressed against her glove.
I squeezed. I squeezed as hard as I could with my cold fingers. I didn't let go right away. I held on and looked right at her so she would know I meant it.
She nodded once. She didn't smile. She just breathed in.
"She did," the nurse said. She turned her head to look at the braided girl. "Thank you for telling me. That took guts."
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The braided girl nodded, her braids swinging. She stepped a half step closer to the bed, away from the older woman's side. She was now on the nurse's side of the rail, not behind it.
The older woman stared at the two of us. Her mouth was open like she wanted to say something else, but no sound came out. The medication box in the doctor's hand stayed closed.
