In
pediatrics, creativity is a precious commodity. And candy.
Henry Turner, master of the Seabrig Pediatric Clinic front office, echoes this warning every morning before flinging open the doors to a small clutch of reluctant children being pushed towards the threshold by mothers on a mission. They want to be here about as much as he does. Even before the waiting room’s breached, he scurries back behind the counter as if barricading himself against insurgents.
Henry’s a good guy, but I question why he’s even here. His administrative skills are impeccable, but he avoids the rest of the clinic like the plague. I don’t think even think he likes kids. I’ve never much cared for guys who don’t like children, even if they are kind of cute.
Henry’s not the only one here who doesn’t really seem to “get” children. We’ve also got the formidable battle-axe, "Nurse Doris", along with our well-meaning, but totally inept, junior phlebotomist, "Bloody Suzie". Doctor Seabrig is a kind and compassionate man, but how he managed to accumulate this ill-suited bunch is beyond me.
Back to school is vaccination time. With the crew we’ve got, my head nursing skills are reduced to running tissue and lollipop interference. By afternoon, we’ve been listening to children wail for six solid hours and the lollipop jar has crickets. I am raiding the staff refrigerator for treats.
“Henry,” I say, “the Killian boy needs blood tests and his last experience was not good. I may need extra help with him.”
“Right. I’ll send Doris in.”
I sigh in exasperation. Asking Doris to reassure a frightened child is like asking Freddy Kruger to calm the babysitter. “Henry, Doris is busy intimidating children elsewhere. Kindly forsake your precious counter and help me!”
“He’s just a little boy,” Henry says, “how hard can that be for you?”
I see red. Henry obviously doesn’t fathom the seriousness of the situation. I state his position more clearly. “I realize you’re not medically trained and you’ve been allowed to hide behind that desk for...well, forever...but I need you. Billy’s not going to bite. Room two please. Now!”
For the first time ever he looks straight into my eyes. I barely notice how strikingly green his are through the flicker of panic I detect before, finding no escape, they ice over. Launching from his chair as if spring-loaded, he heads for room two, mumbling something about a rash.
Inside Room 2, Billy Killian is happily drawing dinosaurs when Suzie rattles in with her metal tray full of tubes and needles which she’s arrayed like a rolling torture exhibit. Billy’s oblivious so far, but so is she. She rolls it right up under his nose. Aw hell.
When its contents register, Billy’s shaky voice squeaks, “Uhhh…Mommy, what’s she doing?” Before anyone can answer, Billy bolts. Mom loses her grip, but unbelievably, Henry’s managed to throw one arm around Billy’s chest, evading his thrashing feet and fists. Together, they resemble a large pretzel.
“LINDA!” Henry cries. If Henry can’t hold him, this kid’s headed for Mexico… “HELP ME!"
I can’t resist. “He’s just a little kid, Henry. How hard can it be?” Henry hunkers down over the flailing child, immediately proving my pronouncement wrong. Billy does bite.
Henry rebounds swiftly, gently pressing the child’s head against his shoulder as he spins. “Hey! Is that your dinosaur?” Billy looks down, sniffling his assent. “That’s AWESOME! Can you teach me to draw one?” A string of snot stretches toward the pencil. Somehow the energy has just changed. I watch their interaction as Billy and Henry enjoy an art lesson. Henry catches me and winks.
Unfortunately for us, Suzie gets impatient and moves in for the kill. She almost makes it, too. She’s fast, but Billy’s faster. He pounces to the floor, scrambling beneath the examining table screaming, “Getaway!Getaway!Getaway!” Billy’s new plan appears to include clawing his way through the wall. We’ve got to control this before the neighbors call the cops.
“BILLY!” Henry shouts suddenly. “How ‘bout if I do it first, Billy? If I do it, will YOU?”
Billy pauses in his exit strategy, intrigued.
Henry looks at Suzie. Suzie nods back. Oh my God, Henry. You’re brilliant, but is this even legal? He looks over, daring me to stop him. Billy and Henry high five. Ok, Ok, Suzie, that tiny baby needle, in and out quickly! Show Billy there’s nothing to fear.
Suzie fishes in her drawer, extracting what resembles a railroad spike. Billy doesn’t notice, eyes tracking Henry, who, with a perceptible shudder, offers up an arm.
Suzie inserts her enormous needle and everything goes swimmingly as we all await the speedy removal, but then, again, Suzie does the unthinkable. She reaches for a vial.
Billy watches in horror, as viscous fluid flows darkly into the glass. “BLOOOOD! OH!NO!NO!NO!NO!” He screams. His mother grabs him by the hand and just flees the scene, as Dr. Seabrig skids into the doorway. The chaos is punctuated by Henry, who drops to the floor like a sack of rocks.
I ransack the break room for orange juice and lunch-leftovers while Seabrig coaxes Henry back to consciousness. Combined in the blender they’ll provide a dandy pick-me-up. Back in the room, I search Henry’s ashen face for answers. Even horizontal he looks half-way heroic.
“Aichmophobia,” he says.
Seabrig pats his shoulder. “Henry has a strong empathy for children, but his fear of needles keeps him from being a pediatric nurse. He’s the best office manager I’ve ever had though, and his efficiency allows the rest of you to utilize your own special talents to better effect.” He leaves, and I wonder what Suzie’s special talent is as Henry sips his smoothie.
“I always thought you hated kids.”
“I love kids. I just can’t bear to witness their pain. That’s why I assign the vulnerable ones to you, not Doris. He sizes me up with those gorgeous sea-green eyes, and grins charmingly. “Ummm…really unusual smoothie, Linda!”
I offer him a wayward lollipop. I just love a guy who cares about children.
~taree Belardes
NYC Flash Fiction Challenge 2016
Round 2
Genre; Romantic Comedy
Location; A pediatrician’s office
Object to include; A blender
1000 words
48 hrs.
No comments:
Post a Comment