Page 76 of Big & Lily
“Is this necessary? I’m nearly fifty, and she’s, well...”
“Are you postmenopausal? Has it been at least a year since your last period?”
“Well, um, no.”
“Big, it’s okay.”
“You know what? I don’t think we need X-rays right now. How about you bandage us up and send us on our way?”
“It’s fine. Let’s get it over with. And I’ll take her in,” she says to the nurse, “I got her down a mountain, I can watch her on a toilet.”
In the bathroom, as we fumble with the cups and my balance and her injured hand and the breath-stealing pain in her side, I beg my sister not to let this do the damage I think it will. “I’m so, so sorry, Lil. Please don’t let it get to you. Think about all the stuff we talked about on the trail. You are so strong now.”
“Stop panicking, Mom. We both know the results already. Let ’em do the test, I couldn’t care less.”
I wish I could believe that. This adds insult to injury. My sister sticks her tongue out at me, washes her hands, and throws the damp paper towel at my face. She does put on a good show.
The nurse collects us and our cups of pee and shows us to two open beds next to each other. “The doctor will be in with you shortly,” she says, closing the flimsy blue curtain around us.
“Wait until Ruth sees us,” Lily says.
“The I-told-you-so’s will come fast and furious. If we can pool some of our pain meds and slip them in her coffee, we might be able to slow her down.”
Lily giggles and then groans and holds her side. “Don’t make me laugh.”
I lean my head back on the pillow and pull the thin white blanket up to my chin. “This is the coziest bed I’ve been in since we got here.”
Lily repeats the giggle and the groan. “Hey, Big? I am sorry I locked you out of the cabin. That was, I just... I think my brain just turned off.”
It wasn’t her finest moment, but if she hadn’t locked me out into the cold night, I wouldn’t have had that evening with Brick where everything started to shift for me. Just like if Lily hadn’t picked the wrong fork on the trail, we might not have connected on this trip the way I’d hoped to. I guess some lessons come with a side of bumps and bruises.
“Well, I’m sorry I pushed you into the ravine. Call it even.”
“You admit it! You did do it!”
We are still giggling when the doctor slides open the privacy curtain. “Well, we don’t usually have our emergencies roll in here laughing.”
Except for the stethoscope around his neck and the ID badge clipped to his pocket, our doctor could be anyone we’ve met this week. No white lab coat—a flannel shirt, pair of jeans, and work boots. Add his red cheeks and redder beard, and he might have just stepped off the trail.
“Ladies. I’m Dr. Brown. Who wants to tell me what brings you here today?” he asks as he glances down at an iPad. I suspect he’s got the basics.
Lily obliges him, leaving out everything pre-ravine. I think we both realize that part of the story stays with us. When she’s done, I ask, “Is there some kind of wall of shame you’re going to put our photos on?”
“There is not,” Dr. Brown offers, resting a gentle hand on my good foot. “If there were, you wouldn’t make the cut. We love our tourists here in Alaska, but some of them get into real messes. Bottom line, it’s always best to follow your tour guide’s instructions.”
“Did Brick Malone tell you to say that?”
“Why, yes. Yes, he did.” Now he smiles. “Brick and I are old friends. And he’s been in here with a few too many risk-takers over the years.”
Is it wrong that I’m flattered to be called a risk-taker?
“Let me put in the order for the X-rays, and someone will be back for you soon. I’ll come talk to you after I read the films.”
Within minutes (again, nothing like a Jersey hospital) a man in pink scrubs comes and wheels me out of the cubicle, gurney and all. “See you on the other side,” Lily says, waving.
The orderly, who turns out to also be the radiologist, makes small talk as he helps me onto the table and positions my ankle this way and that. “Let me guess. Slipped on ice? Got stuck between rocks in a scree field?”
“Nope. Fell into a ravine.”
