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They moved to his office when they were done. The X-rays loaded on his computer and he pulled them up. “Here you go,” he said.
“My finger is broken,” she screeched when she saw the crack between the first and second knuckle. She went a little white too.
“Sit down,” he said, pushing her into his chair. He didn’t expect to be doing any ER work tonight.
“Sorry,” she said. “I mean I knew it was broken but looking at that and then down at my finger…”
“Don’t look,” he said when she glanced down again.
She took a deep breath. “What if it just falls off and hangs there?”
He shouldn’t have laughed. He thought she was joking, but she was serious. “It’s not going to. It’s connected and covered by tendons. It’s just a crack, not a complete break. It still could take two months to heal.”
“Dipping dots!”
“What?” he asked. Did she want ice cream?
“That’s my version of swearing. I just shout what comes into my head. I’ve been looked at as if I’ve got Tourettes before. I don’t.”
He snorted. “Okay. Whatever works. I might swear more than I should. Or so my mother tells me.”
“I’ve been told enough it’s not ladylike. I’ll confess I do swear though when I’m emotional.”
“So you’re not mad about your finger?”
“Oh, I’m mad, but not like other things. When someone close to me is hurting or has been hurt, that burns me. That is when I swear. I try not to, but sometimes the body wants what it wants.”
He didn’t want to take those words to another level, but it was hard.
“Sounds like you’re creative in more ways than one,” he said.
“I’ve been told that before too,” she said.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked. “You didn’t come in a wheelchair and I should go get one.”
“No,” she said firmly.
“I don’t want you falling down on me and then maybe breaking another bone.”
“Not going to happen, but I might break something fighting you off over putting me in a wheelchair,” she said.
He thought she was joking, but she was dead serious. “Let me get you some water before we try to walk back. I’ll take you rather than call a nurse.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He went to the water cooler, got a cup and filled it, then handed it over. She already had more color to her face but was holding her hand close to her chest as if she was afraid to move it.
“You good?” he asked after a minute.
“Much better. Thank you for being so kind. I’m not being a baby,” she said. “Well, maybe about my finger and I’m glad it’s my left hand, but not about the wheelchair.”
“People have all sorts of phobias in life. That doesn’t mean they are being a baby.”
“I know,” she said.
She wasn’t adding why she felt that way. He hadn’t seen anything in her medical records that showed any injuries in her past.
He helped her up though she didn’t seem to need it. Then they started to move to the hall and back to the ER. “I can deliver the results to Hudson in person, but I did send them off to him.”
