I nod, taking that seriously. “Oh, I see. And I bet she doesn’t like to be alone, does she?”
She shakes her head again, more empathetic this time.
“It’s okay to be scared.” I lean in a little. “I get scared too. So what if I hold her then? Would that help? Because we don’t need a picture of Ellie. We need a picture of you.”
She pauses, and her fingers loosen just a fraction on Ellie’s ear.
I try again. “Ellie can even push the magic button to do the picture, if she wants.”
That gets her attention. Amber sniffles. “She can do that?”
“Only if she’s very, very careful.”
She considers it. “Would you keep her safe?”
Something in my chest pulls tight, and I reach out to cup her uninjured elbow. “I promise you, sweetie, I’ll keep her very safe.”
She studies my face with as much seriousness as a four-year-old can manage. Her mom shifts impatiently, clearly wanting to get this over with. The little girl must be in so much pain, and all she can think about is her elephant.
I hold the child’s gaze, patient as can be.
Finally—reluctantly—she holds Ellie out to me.
I take the stuffed animal as if it’s the most fragile thing in the world, tucking her to my chest with one arm.
“There we go. You can hang out with me, Ellie. I’ll get you back to your friend as soon as I can.”
A single tear slips down the child’s face, and she quickly brushes it away.
“Alright.” I shift into work mode, keeping my tone warm. “Let’s get you set up.”
I guide her onto the X-ray table, moving slowly so she doesn’t feel rushed. “Can you put your arm right here for me?”
She does as I ask, her movements stiff and cautious. She’s hiding her pain better than some adults who come through. But that’s a gymnast for you. They learn to push through the pain, even at a young age.
“You’re doing great. Seriously. Like, gold-medal worthy.”
That earns me the tiniest flicker of a smile.
Adjusting her arm in the strap is a little more complicated while trying to hold Ellie, but I’m not about to hand the stuffed animal off to someone else either. Amber winces.
“I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’ll be over soon. I’m gonna step behind that wall for just a second.”
“With Ellie?”
I hug the elephant. “With Ellie and your mom. Then the machine is going to take your picture.”
Her eyes dart to the wall, then back to me. “Don’t go.”
“I have to.” I point to the window. “You’ll still be able to see us right there.”
I gesture for her mother to follow me behind the barrier, keeping Ellie tucked securely against me. I give Amber a big thumbs up.
“Okay. Hold still.” I take the elephant’s hand and lean down, pushing a button on the keyboard. The few seconds it needs to take the picture seem to stretch on forever, but the little girl doesn’t move. Not even a twitch.
“She’s so brave,” I say under my breath to her mom.
“You have no idea. That girl was jumping off furniture before she could walk.”
