Handle With Care Read online

  When you were born and had a Dexascan reading for bone density, your score was minus six. Ninety-eight percent of the population fell between plus and minus two. Bone constantly makes new bone and absorbs old bone; pamidronate slowed down the rate at which your body would absorb the bone; it allowed you to move enough to build up strength in your bones. Once, Dr Rosenblad had explained it to me by holding up a kitchen sponge: bone was porous, the pamidronate filled in the holes a little.

  You'd had over fifty fractures in five years with the treatment; I couldn't imagine what life would have been like without it.

  'I've got a good fact for you today, Willow,' Dr Rosenblad said. 'In a pinch, if you need a substitute for blood plasma, you can use the goop inside coconuts.'

  Your eyes widened. 'Have you ever done that?'

  'I was thinking of trying it today . . .' He grinned at you. 'Just joking. Got any questions for me before we get the show on the road?'

  You slipped your hand into mine. 'Two sticks, right?'

  'That's the rule,' I said. If a nurse couldn't get the IV inserted in your vein in two tries, I'd make her get someone else to do it.

  It's funny - when I went out with Sean and another cop and his wife, I was the shy one. I was never the life of the party; I didn't strike up conversations with people standing in the grocery line behind me. But put me in a hospital setting, and I would fight to the death for you. I would be your voice, until you learned to speak up for yourself. I had not always been like this - who doesn't want to believe a doctor knows best? But there are practitioners who can go an entire career without ever running across a case of OI. The fact that people told me they knew what they were doing did not mean I would trust them.

  Except Piper. I had believed her when she told me that there was no way we could have known any sooner that you would be born this way.

  'I think we're good to go,' Dr Rosenblad said.

  The treatments were four hours each, for three days in a row. After two hours of multiple nurses and residents coming in to get your vitals (honestly, did they think that your weight and height changed in the span of a half hour?), Dr Rosenblad would be called in, and then you'd give a urine sample. After that came the blood draw - six vials while you clutched my hand so hard you left tiny half-moons with your fingernails on the canvas of my skin. Finally, the nurse would administer the IV - the part you resisted the most. As soon as I heard her footsteps in the hall, I tried to distract you by pointing out facts in your book.

  Flamingo tongues were eaten in ancient Rome as a delicacy.

  In Kentucky, it's illegal to carry ice cream in your back pocket.

  'Hey, sugar,' the nurse said. She had a cloud of unnaturally yellow hair and wore a stethoscope with a monkey clipped to the side of it. She was carrying a small plastic tray with an IV needle, alcohol wipes, and two strips of white tape.

  'Needles suck,' you said.

  'Willow! Watch your language!'

  'But suck isn't a swear word. Vacuums suck.'

  'Especially if you're the one doing the housecleaning,' the nurse murmured, swabbing your arm. 'Now, Willow, I'm going to count to three before I stick you. Ready? One . . . two!'

  'Three,' you yelped. 'You lied!'

  'Sometimes it's easier to not be expecting it,' the nurse said, but she was lifting the needle again. 'That wasn't a good one. Let's give it another try--'

  'No,' I interrupted. 'Is there another nurse on the floor who can do this?'

  'I've been putting in IVs for thirteen years--'

  'But not in my daughter.'

  Her face frosted over. 'I'll get my supervisor.'

  She closed the door behind us. 'But that was only the first stick,' you said.

  I sank down beside you on the bed. 'She was sneaky. I'm not taking any chances.'

  Your fingers ruffled the pages of your book, as if you were reading Braille. One factoid jumped out at me: The safest year of life, statistically, is age ten.

  You were halfway there.

  The nice part about your being kept overnight in the hospital was that I didn't have to worry whether you'd wind up there, courtesy of a slip in the tub or an arm hooked on the sleeve of your jacket. As soon as they had finished the first infusion and flushed the IV and you were sleeping deeply, I crept out of the darkened room and went to the bank of pay phones near the elevators so that I could call home.

  'How is she?' Sean asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

  'Bored. Fidgety. The usual. How's Amelia?'

  'She got an A on her math quiz and threw a fit when I told her she had to wash the dishes after dinner.'

  I smiled. 'The usual,' I repeated.

  'Guess what we had for dinner?' Sean said. 'Chicken cordon bleu, roasted potatoes, and stir-fried green beans.'

  'Yeah, right,' I said. 'You can't even boil an egg.'

  'I didn't say I cooked. The take-out counter at the grocery store was just particularly well stocked tonight.'

  'Well, Willow and I had a culinary feast of tapioca pudding, chicken noodle soup, and red Jell-O.'

  'I want to call her before I go to work tomorrow. What time will she get up?'

  'Six, for the nurses' shift change,' I said.

  'I'll set my alarm,' Sean answered.

  'By the way, Dr Rosenblad asked me about doing the surgery again.'

  This was - no pun intended - a bone of contention for Sean and me. Your orthopedic surgeon wanted to rod your femurs after you were out of your spica cast, so that, even if there were future breaks, they wouldn't displace. Rodding also prevented bowing, since OI bone grows spirally. As Dr Rosenblad said, it was the best way to manage OI, since you can't cure OI. But although I was gung ho about doing anything and everything that might save you some pain in the future, Sean looked at the here and now - and the fact that a surgery meant you'd be incapacitated once again. I could practically hear him digging in his heels. 'Didn't you print out some article about how rodding stunts growth in OI kids--'

  'You're thinking of the spinal rods,' I said. 'Once they put them in to combat the scoliosis, Willow won't get any taller. This is different. Dr Rosenblad even said the rods have gotten so sophisticated, they'll grow with her - they telescope out.'

  'What if she doesn't have any more femur breaks? Then she's having the surgery for nothing.'

  The chances of you not having another leg break were about as good as those of the sun not rising tomorrow morning. That was the other difference between Sean and me - I was the resident pessimist. 'Do you really want to have to deal with another spica cast? If she winds up in one when she's seven or ten or twelve, who's going to be able to lift her then?'

  Sean sighed. 'She's a kid, Charlotte. Shouldn't she be able to run around for a while before you take that away again?'

  'I'm not taking anything away,' I said, stung. 'The fact is, she's going to fall. The fact is, she's going to break. Don't cast me as the villain, Sean, just because I'm trying to help her in the long run.'

  There was a hesitation. 'I know how hard it is,' he said. 'I know how much you do for her.'

  It was as close as he could come to alluding to the disastrous visit in the lawyer's office. 'I wasn't complaining--'

  'I never said you were. I'm just saying . . . we knew it wouldn't be easy, right?'

  Yes, we'd known that. But I guess I also hadn't realized it would ever be quite this hard. 'I have to go,' I said, and when Sean said he loved me, I pretended I had not heard.

  I hung up and immediately dialed Piper. 'What's wrong with men?' I asked.

  In the background, I could hear the water running, dishes clattering in the sink. 'Is that a rhetorical question?' she said.

  'Sean doesn't want Willow to have rodding surgery.'

  'Hang on. Aren't you in Boston for pamidronate?'

  'Yes, and Rosenblad brought it up today when we saw him,' I said. 'He's been urging us to do it for a year now, and Sean keeps putting it off, and Willow keeps breaking.'

  'Even though she'