“That's swollen,” Lillian agreed. Nevaeh Harford had a very swollen right hand in the picture on her mom’s phone.
“I know. Some days it's so big she can't even move it. Other days it looks like none of this ever happened.”
“And we tried a couple different things.” According to the chart and other visits, including ones with the head of General Pediatrics Dr. Gallo, she’d been x-rayed, splinted several times, and gotten a steroid shot in the ER twice. She’d seen pediatric ortho—‘no fractures, pursue other etiologies,’ and Allergy—‘skin and blood immunoglobulin testing did not indicate IgE mediated allergy.’
“Please, Doc. We got to do something. You believe me. We’re living at the doctors’.”
“Yes, I do.” Lillian understood the concern in the mom’s voice. Showing up at the doctor’s office with swelling that had disappeared and asking for a workup put the mom in a tough spot. “I’m going to start over and try to think about a different angle on this. Think she can stand more blood work?”
“Another lab draw? My hand is fine.” Nevaeh wrinkled her nose and waved her not-currently swollen hand. There was nothing remarkable about it other than her chewed up nails. “I don’t want it.”
“You're going to get it,” her mom said.
“No, I'm not. Blood hurts.”
“You’re right. It does hurt,” Lillian agreed. “I sometimes have to get blood drawn, and it hurts. But we want your hand to stop hurting and getting so big, so we need to ask your blood some questions.”
The girl was quite skeptical. “My blood doesn't talk.”
“Your clothes don't talk either, but they’re telling me you love Elsa.” The girl was indeed wearing Queen Elsa dress, shoes, and beads in her hair. Lillian had done the same as a kid, but she’d wanted to be the Arwen from Lord of the Rings.
The little girl giggled. “I love Elsa.”
“I'll also let you have a juice box and a flower from my office.” Lillian was not above sweetening the pot. The rose extravaganza was gone and this morning a tasteful bouquet of pink calla lilies and a basket of limes had been quietly delivered to her office.
The juice box must have been the deciding factor because Nevaeh happily skipped to her office. Security guard Murphy escorted them to the door.
His clumping footsteps made the little girl turn back. “Is your leg hurt?”
“No, it's not hurt,” he said in his lispy voice.
“Is it swollen?” the girl asked.
He looked over at Lillian.
“Her hand was swollen. She wants to know if your leg is swollen.” It occurred to Lillian how this conversation could sound very very dirty to an outsider.
Or she simply had sex on the brain because it was absolutely inappropriate to talk to a guy about which parts of his bodies were swollen.
“No, my leg isn't swollen,” he said.
“You might need labs,” the little girl said. “Do you need a juice box too? I'm getting a flower.”
One juice box and hand-picked flower later, Nevaeh was off and Lillian was entering orders.
Clarissa and Avigayle popped into her office. “You got more flowers.”
“Yes, I got more flowers.”
“And the very fancy basket.” Avigayle picked up a lime. “Is this an American thing I don't understand yet?”
“Guys do not send you limes,” Clarissa said. “They send flowers, like these. ”
“Can we not broadcast the flowers?” She’d endured a few days of jokes from her nurses about the roses.
“You should have told that little girl then. She showed everybody her flower,” Clarissa said. “Twice in one week… wait—did you meet him at the Halloween party?”
“Umm. Yes. I didn’t get his number so he sent it with the flowers,” Lily admitted.
