Stacey's Emergency Part 5

Dawn hasn't baby-sat at the Johanssens' as much as some of the other members of the BSC have, but she knows plenty about Charlotte from listening to us (especially me) talk about her, and from reading the club notebook. Also, as she wrote in her own notebook entry, I called Claud after my conversation with Charlotte, and Claudia called Dawn. Dawn, knowing how attached Charlotte is to me, immediately understood that Char might be overly concerned about my health. She might be weepy or clingy.

Dawn was not, however, expecting to find that Char had become a hypochondriac, even though the Johanssens themselves warned her about it.

"I actually kept her home from school two days this week," Dr. Johanssen told Dawn. Dawn had rung the bell a few moments earlier. She had expected Charlotte to answer the door, but she was nowhere in sight. Dr. Jo-hanssen had answered the door instead, and now she, Dawn, and Charlotte's father were holding a whispered conversation in the front hall.

"But she's not sick?" Dawn said.

"I don't think so. One day she said she had a sore throat. The next day she said her stomach hurt. Now she's complaining of a headache and an earache. She hasn't had a fever, and her appet.i.te - even on the day she stayed home with the stomachache - has been just fine."

"Okay," said Dawn slowly. "In case she is sick, I'll keep her quiet tonight."

"That won't be hard," said Mr. Johanssen with a smile. "She's upstairs in bed. I think she plans to stay there." The Johanssens left a few minutes later. Dawn headed upstairs with her Kid-Kit.

"Charlotte?" Dawn ventured, as she reached the doorway to her bedroom.

"Hi, Dawn," replied Char.

It was only seven-thirty, and already Charlotte was wearing her nightgown. However, she was not actually in bed. She was sitting on the covers, looking through a book.

"How are you feeling?" asked Dawn.

Charlotte paused. Then she replied, "My neck hurts."

"Your neck? I thought your morn said you have a headache and an earache."

"I do. I mean, I did," Char answered. "But now my neck hurts."

"Are your headache and earache gone, or do you still have them plus the problem with your neck?" Dawn asked.

"I think they're gone. It's really just my neck. ... I hope I don't have a pinched nerve in my spine."

"A pinched nerve!" exclaimed Dawn. "How do you know about pinched nerves?"

"I know about a lot of things. Mommy's a doctor," Charlotte reminded Dawn.

"Oh," said Dawn. She sat on the edge of Charlotte's bed. "Well, if you have a pinched nerve, how do you think it got that way?"

Charlotte shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm pretty sure that's what it is. I should tell Mommy. I should be wearing one of those neck braces. And if the brace doesn't work, then I might need an operation ... in the hospital."

"Well, for now," said Dawn, "why don't you just try to hold your head still."

"Okay," Charlotte answered uncertainly.

"So what do you want to do tonight? Have you finished your homework already?"

"Yes," said Charlotte. "Only I don't think it matters. I probably won't be in school tomorrow. You know."

"Yeah. What with the pinched nerve and all." Dawn hoisted the Kid-Kit onto the bed. "We'll do something quiet tonight."

"Good. I better not overexert myself."

"You better not what?"

"Overexert myself," Charlotte repeated. "That means that I - "

"I know what it means/' Dawn interrupted. "I'm just a little surprised that you know what it means."

"It's something my mom says sometimes," Char informed Dawn. From the Kid-Kit she had pulled a copy of an old-looking book called The Dachshunds of Mama Island. "What's this?" she asked.

"Oh. That used to belong to my mother," said Dawn. "She found it and gave it to me. The story is a little old-fas.h.i.+oned, but I think you'd like it."

"Okay. Let's read," said Charlotte.

Dawn opened the book, being careful of its tattered dust jacket. She began to read to Charlotte, who seemed interested in the story right away. After about ten minutes, though, Charlotte said, "Dawn? I don't feel too good."

"Your neck?" asked Dawn. "Why don't you lie down then."

Charlotte shook her head. "It isn't my neck. It's my stomach. It's sort of aching and burning. I think maybe I have an ulcer."

Dawn tried to come up with an appropriate response. Finally she said, "People your age hardly ever get ulcers. If you have one, it's pretty rare. What did you eat for dinner tonight?"

"Dawn, this is not indigestion," said Charlotte indignantly.

"All right. How bad is the burning?"

"Why?" asked Charlotte warily.

"Because I'm thinking that maybe I should call your parents to see if I can give you some Mylanta or Pepto-Bismol or something."

"Oh, no," said Char quickly. "You don't have to do that. But - but now I'm all tired and really thirsty. Do you think I have diabetes . . . like Stacey?"

What was this? Dawn asked herself. Sore throats, pinched nerves, ulcers, diabetes. She didn't think Charlotte was sick at all. But how could she convince Charlotte of that?

Then Dawn got an idea. "No, I don't think you have diabetes," she said quickly. "Listen, Char, do you still have your old doctor's kit?"

"Sure. It's in my toy chest."

Dawn located the black plastic bag and set it on Char's bed. "I better give you a checkup," she said. "I should find out what's wrong with you before I interrupt your parents at their meeting."

"But - " Char started to say.

"No buts/' replied Dawn. "Hold still. I have to listen to your heart."

Dawn held the plastic stethoscope to Char's chest. She stuck a fake thermometer under her tongue. She used every instrument that was in the kit. She even wore the pair of red, gla.s.s-less gla.s.ses. "You're perfectly healthy," she announced several minutes later.

"Can I talk now?" asked Char.

"Yup."

"Dawn, that is a toy doctor's kit. And anyway, you aren't a doctor."

Dawn sighed. "Shall we read some more?" she asked.

"Okay. Even though I really do think I have diabetes. I may be anemic, too."

Dawn spent the next hour trying to convince Charlotte that she wasn't sick. Nothing worked. At last she told Char that a patient needs plenty of sleep, so she put her to bed. Dawn tiptoed downstairs with her Kid-Kit and worked on a school a.s.signment until the Jo-hanssens returned.

"How was Charlotte?" asked Mr. Johanssen.

"Fine," Dawn replied, gathering up her books and papers, "except that she now thinks she has a pinched nerve in her spine, an ulcer, diabetes, and possibly anemia."

Dr. and Mr. Johanssen exchanged a glance. "Hmm," said Char's mother.

"I hope I handled everything okay," said Dawn. She explained what she'd done.

"That sounds fine," Dr. Johanssen replied.

"Um . . . can I ask a question?" said Dawn.

"Of course."

"Why do you think Charlotte is acting this way? It must have something to do with Sta-cey, but I don't know what."

"We're not sure ourselves/' said Dr. Johanssen. "But I can guess. Charlotte misses Stacey an awful lot. She wants to see her. I have a feeling that somehow Charlotte thinks - although she's probably not aware of it - that if she gets sick enough, she'll wind up in the hospital with Stacey. Then she can spend time with her, and also rea.s.sure herself that Stacey is all right and that she really will come back to Stoneybrook."

"Wow," said Dawn. "What are you going to do?"

"We've been thinking about that," said Mr. Johanssen. "We've just decided to be extra patient and understanding with Charlotte. And to let her be in touch with Stacey as often as she likes."

"All right," replied Dawn. But she was worried.

Chapter 11.

On Friday morning, my first thought as I woke up was, Oh, no. It's back.

What's back? I asked myself, and realized that I didn't have an answer. I just knew that, although I was still lying in bed (I hadn't even sat up yet), and although I'd slept for almost nine hours, I felt incredibly tired - as if I couldn't move a muscle.

Impatiently, I slapped at my alarm clock. When it stopped ringing, I glared at it. "I don't like you this morning," I told the clock. "And I will not obey you. I am not going to get up."

Actually, I thought, I couldn't get up. I didn't want to admit this to myself, but ... I . . . felt. . . rotten. The idea of getting dressed and doing school work seemed beyond reason.

I rang for a nurse. Five minutes later, one hurried into my room, pausing briefly to check the nameplate outside my door. She didn't even know who I was. And I wished desper- ately to be with someone who knew me.

I was scared.

I read the nurse's name tag. Darlene Desmond. A movie-star name.

Okay, so now we each knew the other's name.

"Stacey?" said Ms. Desmond.

I couldn't tell whether that was her way of asking what was wrong, or whether she wanted to make sure that I really was Stacey McGill, as the nameplate said. Oh, well. What did it matter?

"I don't feel too good," I told the nurse. "For the past few days I was feeling a lot better. But now ... I don't think I can even get out of bed."

That was bad enough. But when Darlene Desmond asked if I needed to go to the bathroom and I said yes, she brought me a bedpan. A freezing cold, embarra.s.sing bedpan.

And she stayed with me while I used it.

After I was finished, I said, "I'm supposed to get up, get dressed, and start my homework." But even as I said that, my eyelids were drooping.

"Not this morning," replied the nurse. "You can go back to sleep. I'll talk to your doctor as soon as I can."

"I don't have a doctor," I mumbled. "I have three million of them." But either the nurse was already gone, or I just dreamed those words. At any rate, no reply came.

I fell fast asleep. I slept right through Vital Signs.

I didn't wake up until the carts carrying the breakfast trays began to rattle up and down * the hallway. Usually, I enjoy meals. They're never any good, but at least they're a distraction. That morning, though, I had no appet.i.te. I pushed the bed table away and leaned against my pillows. I wasn't tired enough to go back to sleep, but I didn't have the energy to do anything - even to turn on the television.

So when Mom arrived a little while later, that was how she found me; just lying in bed in a quiet room, my uneaten breakfast sitting on the table.

"Are you okay?" Mom asked before she even took off her coat.

"Not really," I replied. I hate seeming weak around my parents, but just then I was too worried to care.

"What's wrong, Stacey?" Mom's face was the picture of alarm.

"I don't know. I feel almost as bad as I did last Sat.u.r.day."

"I'll go find a doctor," said Mom quickly.

"No, don't. I mean, you don't have to. This nurse - her name was Ruby Diamond or something - said she'd get a doctor for me."

"How long ago was that?" Mom wanted to know.

"I'm not sure. I fell asleep. She came in right after my alarm clock rang. What time is it now?"

"Nine," my mother replied. "The doctor should already have been here."

She stood up, looking furious, just as a man named Dr. Motz strode into my room. I tried to remember if I'd seen him before.