Page 25 of Dark Ugly Places

Shrug. A wriggle of her shoulders so my hand falls away. “My head is killing me.”

I look around and spot her bottle of pills on the counter. “You took your pills?”

“Yes,” she answers and groans. “They aren’t doing anything.”

Emmy pushes the cereal away from her and lowers her head to the counter. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Is it the scar like before or a different pain?”

She rolls her head to the side. “It’s the scar like before but more all over. Like my whole head is one big scar.” Her hands brace the sides of her head. “It won’t stop thumping.”

I check Emmy’s temperature and realize she’s burning up. “We need to get you to Dr. Ching,” I tell her. “Something isn’t right.”

She groans quietly and holds the sides of her head. “I really don’t want to, Mom.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I say and rub the upper part of her back. “Come on,” I say and lift her from the kitchen stool.

She rises and steadies herself, then rushes to the kitchen sink and vomits violently.

“Mom!” she cries out. “What’s wrong with me?”

I don’t want to tell her what I think it is. So I say nothing, and instead, we clean her up, get in the car, and drive to Cedars-Sinai.

We wait forty-five minutes in the small, cramped office that looks like someone’s grandmother’s living room. I sit holding Emmy close, rubbing her back while we wait. At last, we’re taken into another waiting room, and Dr. Ching enters right away, her expression calm and collected. She gives us a once-over, then looks at our files. “How are we today?” she asks cheerfully.

“Not so good,” I say, trying to stay calm. “Emmy has been in a lot of pain lately.”

“My head is killing me,” Emmy moans. “It’s unbearable.”

“I see,” says Dr. Ching, unmoved. She pats the examination table. “Hop up here and let’s take a look.”

I watch as Dr. Ching puts on gloves and pokes around the scar. Emmy winces when she touches a large pink lump in the center.

“What’s wrong with it?” Emmy asks.

Dr. Ching examines her for a moment longer before removing her gloves and answering. “It doesn’t look compromised, but I’m going to put you on antibiotics just in case.”

Emmy’s face falls.

“What about the pain?” I ask.

“Could be just regular headaches,” Dr. Ching answers. “Of course, we know that patients with head trauma will get headaches from time to time. We’ll up your pain medication.”

“Great,” Emmy mumbles.

“She already has trouble taking the medication,” I explain. “It makes her nauseous.”

“Most pain meds do,” Dr. Ching explains, her voice unsympathetic. “Take them with food. That will help.”

She jots something down on a prescription pad and hands it to me. “She can take the tramadol at the onset of the pain. The sooner the better.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can give her instead?”

Dr. Ching thinks for a moment. “Skin graft patients can benefit from HBOT. Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy. But most insurance companies won’t cover it.”

“So that’s it? Just more pills?”

Dr. Ching looks at me, her expression flat. “I’m afraid so.