‘That’s it,’ she says a little later and sets the suture kit aside.
‘Do I get my lollipop now?’ Hoping my question has made her laugh, I get up from the examination couch and turn around.
‘When was your last tetanus shot?’ she asks, even though she definitely knows that paramedics receive regular prophylaxis.
‘A week ago, no booster needed.’
I can’t believe my eyes when I see her reaching for a blood-draw kit. ‘Sit back down, we’re not done yet.’
Hang on, that bit about the blood work earlier was a joke. Right? And what about the head CT? Is she actually planning on doing that too?
Even though I never finished medical school, I know for sure that no doctor in the world would order these tests for this kind of injury. ‘As much as I’d love to stay, there’s a damn hot blonde waiting for me at home, and she’s going to be furious if I keep her waiting,’ I say quickly.
She gives me a quick once-over, her eyes sparkling. ‘Nice try,’ she replies, motioning for me to sit back down on the couch. ‘Anundetected infection could lead to blood poisoning, you know that as well as I do.’
Maybe so, but a blood panel is still unnecessary. ‘It’s just a little scratch.’
It’s not my first, and nobody has ever taken blood from me because of it.
I’d better make sure I get out of here before she adds a lumbar puncture to rule out an absolutely impossible meningitis to her list of unnecessary tests. But as I head for the door, she squeezes past me and plants herself in front of me.
With one hand on her décolleté, she holds my gaze. ‘A scratch that was full of wood splinters and sawdust.’
Yes, that’s true too, but that’s no reason for her to freak out like this. ‘You really have a talent for turning a scrape into a three-act drama, don’t you?’
‘I’m trying to save your life,’ she replies.
It’s just a laceration, for God’s sake! There’s not even the slightest talk of saving a life here. ‘Then prescribe me an antibiotic. If I have an infection, the pills will solve the problem.’
She can’t argue with that, and she doesn’t like it; I can tell by the little crease that forms between her brows.
‘All right. But only if you promise me you’ll actually take the pills.’ She pulls a prescription pad out of the breast pocket of her coat, and I notice that her name tag is missing.
‘Tell me, do you even work here?’ I ask jokingly, nodding toward the empty spot.
She doesn’t react; instead, a few seconds later, she holds the prescription out to me. I reach for it, but she doesn’t let go.
‘Even if, as a one-percent person, you don’t get it: this is about your health. And your health is important,’ she says.
If she was hoping I’d ask what the hell a one-percent person is supposed to be, then she is so very much mistaken.
‘If you don’t let go, I’m not taking the prescription with me. That’s fine by me too,’ I say.
With her lips pressed together, she releases the paper. ‘See you next time, superhero.’ At last, she steps aside, her expression shifting from caring to imploring. ‘Take care of yourself.’
I look into her eyes for a breath too long, see only things I don’t need—worry, unease, reason—and still can’t look away.
‘See you, Miss Worst Case.’ A little too dazed, I fumble for the door handle. ‘Don’t forget to smile,’ I say, and leave the examination room.
Chapter Five
NYLA
The thermometer beeps, I take it out of my ear and read the temperature.
36.8 degrees, I note in my journal under today’s date, then set the thermometer aside and place my fingers on my neck. To better focus on the size of the lymph nodes, I close my lids.
My thoughts immediately drift to the follow-up exam. Five more days, then I’ll know.
