When You're Ready (Ready #1)(2)
"Baby, you already are the best ballerina I know!"
"Well duh, Mommy!" she replied. Such sass. I had no idea where she got that from. Absolutely none. She must have inherited that one from her father. Definitely not me. Nope.
I left her in her bedroom to be ballerina extraordinaire while I ran around the house picking up the epic mess a young child managed to create when I heard it...that heart-wrenching sound no parent wants to experience. I raced upstairs after hearing her hit the floor. As a parent, you learn quickly that the more delayed the scream, the worse it’s going to be. It’s like the child is working through the shock and winding their way up to the scream. It felt like a full hour before I heard that blood curdling scream. I was already at her bedroom door.
“Baby, are you okay?” I picked her up and brought her into my arms. Looking back, I realize that was probably not the most intelligent thing to do. Aren't you supposed to leave them still in case of spinal damage or something? I don't know...my parental instinct was to pick her up, so that’s what I did. She cried and I consoled. This went on for a few minutes, and then she calmed down a bit so we could talk.
“What happened, Maddie? How did you fall?” I asked, looking over at her ballet barre positioned right next to her bed, putting all the pieces together in my head as she looked up at me.
“I don't know Mommy, I just fell,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“Mmm, well...it wouldn't have anything to do with this ballet barre, would it?”
“Um, no?” I could see her mind going, trying to figure out something, anything that could get her out of this...but nope, her four-year-old brain wasn’t fast enough, so she reverted to an old favorite, the pathetic pouty face. It works on everyone except me. I’m Mommy, therefore I’m immune.
“Okay, well I'm going to tell you what I think happened and you can tell me if I'm close or not, okay? She nodded in agreement. “I think someone, possibly you, thought it would be fun to climb on their ballet barre and perhaps sit on it like the monkey bars at the playground.”
Her eyes widened. Yep, bingo.
“Considering that isn’t the safest thing for a little girl to do, I think it might be time for the ballet barre to take a vacation until we can find something safer for you to practice on.” I knew I shouldn't have taken that hand-me-down plastic ballet barre from my Mom’s friend, but she insisted. I don’t know why, but everyone felt this overwhelming need to give toys and clothes to the widow. If I showed any of them my monthly bank statement, they’d probably have a different opinion. Ethan was a planner, and he made sure we’d be taken care of no matter what. I could choose to never work another day in my life and we’d be fine. But being a young widow, I was still the ultimate charity case. It’s been almost three years and I think there might still be enough frozen casseroles in my freezer to last through an apocalypse.
Maddie, though sad, had agreed, and we relocated the ballet barre. She was pretty bummed over losing it, I could tell. But she handled it like a champ.
“Mommy, if my Daddy were here...could he build me a ballet barre?” I nodded, unable to form words, staring at those stupid hospital walls, a reminder of everything lost. That’s exactly what Ethan planned on doing when she had gotten old enough, but plans, being the bitch that they are, have a way of changing.
“Madilyn Murray?” the triage nurse called from across the room. I rose from the chair, juggling Maddie in my arms, and followed the nurse through the double doors to a small room on the left.
“We need to weigh her. Can she stand?” the petite blonde nurse asked as we entered the room.
“Oh, yes.” I placed Maddie’s petite body on the scale, stepping back just slightly. I didn’t want to be too far away in case she fell.
“Okay, you can take her now,” the nurse said, writing down the information on a notepad.
The triage nurse, whose name I learned is Nicole, goes through the many triage procedures, taking her temperature, pulse and blood pressure and asking if Maddie’s allergic to anything. I always find this a strange question to ask for a young child. I mean, how many medications can a normal four-year-old possibly have taken to know a definitive answer to this question? Maddie’s probably taken a grand total of maybe five medications in her short life, and I’m supposed to say no, she not allergic to anything.
“Okay, let’s go over all her symptoms so I get everything into the system,” Nicole said, transferring information from her little notepad into a computer.
I went over the events of the afternoon with her, the ballerina routine, the fall, flying up the stairs, and how it happened. She continued to type on the keyboard and listen. Occasionally she asked questions.
“After she settled down, we went downstairs to cuddle on the couch and start a movie. About an hour or so later, she became quiet and lethargic, which is very un-Maddie like. I was about to call the on-call pediatrician when she became violently ill. So, I packed her in the car and came here.”
Nicole leaned forward, examining Maddie, completely oblivious to our stench, and it was strong. There was no way someone could miss it. People who worked in hospitals must have nostrils of steel.
“Bless your little heart. How ya doing, baby girl?” Nicole’s southern accent was strong. She was not originally from here. Richmonders don’t have that much twang.