17
Tuesday, June 6, 2006 – 8:10 a.m.
365 Walnut Drive
Red. Brilliant red. Brilliant flickering red. Maisie Atwater’s brain registered nothing but red as she came out of a sound sleep Tuesday morning. Unfortunately, her brain also registered pain, excruciating pain…again. Opening her eyes, the field of red changed to brilliant orange and yellow as the morning sun now shown directly on her retinas instead of being filtered through her eyelids. The tree outside her window swayed gently in the morning breeze causing the sun’s rays to flicker between brilliant and bright.
Ten-year-old Maisie attempted to sit up, but the pounding inside her skull was almost unbearable. She was at the mercy of another brain-crushing headache. In fact, this was the third time this month. Over the past several months, the headaches had been getting steadily worse. She didn’t know why and neither did her mother. She’d been to the doctor a few times, but he didn’t find anything wrong either. He prescribed some heavier medication and said to keep an eye on it. If it persisted, then he’d have a specialist look into it. Barely able to move because of the pain, Maisie slowly reached over to her nightstand and gently picked up the two-way radio her mother had put in her bedroom for emergencies. A deep, dull throbbing rolled through her head in waves sending searing pain into her eyes and behind her ears. Laying her head down softly on the pillow didn’t lessen the pain either. Instead, the slight pressure of her pillow under her head caused ripples of pain to race through her brain. She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut hoping the diminished lumens piercing her windowpane would befriend the internal pain and send it somewhere else. It didn’t work. Very slowly, like someone trying to avoid setting off the indicator light on a motion detector, Maisie brought the two-way up to her mouth. Carefully squeezing the transmit button she whispered for her mother.
“What’s wrong baby?” her mother replied. The volume on Maisie’s radio was up too loud when her mother replied so when she answered Maisie’s call her voice sounded like a jackhammer instead of the soothing sounds of ocean waves on a sandy shore as Maisie had hoped. Maisie quickly and with painfully excruciating effort turned it down.
“My head is hurting real bad,” Maisie barely whispered. Even squeezing the transmit button made her head throb.
“I’ll be right there,” a tinny whisper replied.
Maisie slowly let her hand drop to the bed the radio still being held in a painful grip. A few seconds later, the door burst open. Karen Atwater exploded through the door. The increase in decibels caused Maisie to cringe and shrink back from the sound. Her eyes were squinted into tiny slits and her furrowed brow and rustled hair indicated the level of pain that was searing through her head.
“Is it hurting really badly?” Karen queried.
“Not so loud,” Maisie said, her eyes squeezed tight and tears trickling down her face. Barely audible, she said, “I can’t move because it hurts so badly.”
“Okay,” her mom whispered, her voice so quiet that the air movement wouldn’t even have caused a candle flame to flicker. “I’ll call an ambulance and get you to the hospital.”
Maisie didn’t reply. She tried to lie as still as a corpse. She kept her breathing to a minimum to avoid movement. Her mom scurried out of the room and down the hall to call 911.
Five minutes later, an aid car sat in front of Maisie’s house. While on the phone, Karen had explained the situation, and the EMT’s had arrived without sirens. Now they entered the bedroom as if they were walking on eggs.
Gently leaning down beside Maisie, one of the EMT’s asked her some questions as to the intensity of the pain, where it was and how long it had been hurting. She answered the best she could and with a minimum of words. The second EMT took some blood pressure readings, checked her pulse and heart rate and made a few brief notes. Then, carefully, as if Maisie were part of a collection of marbles rolling freely around on a flat board that couldn’t be tilted or tipped to prevent them from falling off the edges, the two EMT’s placed Maisie on a stretcher and slowly took her out the door. Instead of going left down the hall and then left again and out the front entry, the EMT’s went right out of Maisie’s bedroom and directly into the garage. Then it was a straight shot right into the back of the aid car. Once inside, Maisie’s mom and one EMT climbed in beside Maisie. The other EMT shut the back door quietly and climbed in the front to drive. The drive to Aspen Memorial Hospital was about eight minutes from her house. Traffic was light, so there were no delays.
Arriving at the emergency room, Maisie’s head was still pounding, but not quite as persistently and powerfully as it had been. On a pain scale of one to ten, she’d dropped from a twelve to a nine. The EMT’s rolled her through the automatic doors taking care to avoid as many bumps and jolts as possible. They didn’t want their precious little marble to roll off the edge and shatter. Doctor Henry Johansen met them in the hall.
“What have we got?”
Maisie cringed at the sudden influx of noise and commotion. Squinting her eyes shut tight and mentally trying to stop the irritation caused by the cacophony of voices and sounds, Maisie did her best to keep the pain at bay.
“We have a ten year-old female who complains of an excruciating headache. Vital signs are normal. She’s alert and coherent. She has no known reactions to any medications. She appears very healthy. Her mother says the headaches have been coming and going for the past several weeks, but she’s had none this bad. Her headache this morning has been persistent and constant since she awoke about a half an hour ago. She’s been given nothing for the pain yet.”
“Okay, let’s put her in curtain two. I want to run a few tests before we can do anything for the pain.” Looking at Maisie, Henry said in a much quieter and more soothing tone, “I’m sorry sweety, but I need to check a couple of things first. I can’t give you anything for the pain until we know what’s going on. It shouldn’t take very long, okay?”
A look of affirmation emanated from Maisie’s damp eyes. She squeezed Henry’s hand in an “I understand” kind of squeeze.
“Nurse, have Dr. Slaterbaugh paged immediately. I need him down here now!”
“Yes doctor,” the nurse replied. She turned and hurried toward the nurses’ station to make the call.
Karen stood by Maisie, a worried expression on her face.
“Will everything be all right?” she asked Henry.
“I can’t say for sure, but I’ve seen cases like this before. Most of the time it turns out to be something simple that some medication and a little time will take care of. Other times it’s more serious. That’s why I want to run a few tests first. Dr. Slaterbaugh should be her in a few minutes. He’s the head of the Neurology department. He’s been here for a number of years and is an excellent doctor. He’s very good with kids.”
“Can I stay with her?”
“Absolutely. That’s not a problem. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
With that, Henry left. Karen looked at her baby laying there in the oversized hospital bed. Maisie’s eyes were shut. Periodic fluctuations in her forehead indicated worms of pain were still crawling through her brain. Karen wished she could take the pain away as she hated seeing Maisie suffer so. She reached out and grabbed hold of Maisie’s hand. Maisie squeezed it. Karen smiled.
Strolling into curtain two, Ken Slaterbaugh glided up next to Karen, a gentle, caring look of concern etched in his brow. Putting out his hand he quietly introduced himself, understanding the need for minimal noise and maximum comfort His kindly manner and gentle disposition gave Karen an immediate feeling of consolation and relief knowing the situation was under control. Looking down at Maisie’s newly prepared chart, Ken stood at the side of the bed reading and stroking his mustache. An occasional “hmmm” drifted from his closed mouth as he studied the chart’s contents. Included was medical information from Maisie’s visits to her family doctor over the past several months.
A slight sound of discomfort issued from Maisie. Ken turned toward her. Walking up next to the bed, he put his hand lightly on her forehead. She felt cool, but not enough to cause alarm. Her eyes blinked a few times before she opened them slightly and looked up at Ken through slits. Staring for a few seconds, Maisie’s face had a bewildered look to it.
“Papa?” she asked in a whisper.
“I’m doctor Slaterbaugh, but you can call me Ken.”
A puzzled look still stuck to her face. Maisie again said, “Papa?”
Ken looked quizzically at Karen.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, having been out of earshot when Maisie had spoken.
“I’m not sure. She keeps looking at me and saying ‘Papa.’”
Looking at Maisie and then at Ken, Karen said, “She’s right. You do look like Papa. That was her grandpa, my dad. He was her favorite. She and he used to do things together all the time.”
Karen’s eyes pooled with tears. Ken reached over and handed her a tissue.
“My dad died about four months ago. She’s had a hard time ever since. So have I.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Karen.” Ken put his arm around her and Karen turned and grabbed him in a bear hug. She clung to him for several seconds before regaining her composure and stepping back.
“I’m sorry,” Karen sputtered wiping the tears from her face. “It’s been so hard not having him around. He was living with us. Maisie’s dad left over a year ago, and then when my dad moved it, it just seemed to make us a family again. Now that’s he gone, well, it’s just hard.”
“I’m sure it is,” Ken replied. “It will take some time. You seem like quite a mom though. Maisie is quite fortunate to have you to take care of her.”
“I try, but it’s not easy.”
“You mentioned that your dad passed away about four months ago?”
“Yes, why?”
Maisie had shut her eyes again. Lying quietly in the bed, she moved as little as possible to avoid causing painful aftershocks to ripple through her ice-cream headache pain.
“When did Maisie’s headaches begin?” Ken glanced at Maisie who was still resting trying to combat the pain and block out the noise.
“I don’t really know. Maybe three or four months ago. Why?”
“Well, it’s very possible that her headaches are a result of the loss of her grandfather. Emotionally she may be holding in her deepest feelings, unwilling or unable to let them out. Has she talked to you or anyone else about this?”
“She’s talked to me some, but not a lot. She’s a fun-loving little girl. Loves to play, independent, acts like a 20-year-old. She tells me it’s all right. Tells me not to cry. In fact, she often comforts me more than I do her. She’s got such a strong personality, as if nothing can break through.”
“It’s common for anyone, but especially someone so young to hide their feelings. These kinds of symptoms can be indicative of holding in all their feelings and emotions. I’ll run a few tests, but I’d also like to set you up to speak with a grievance therapist. Maybe Maisie will open up and talk and that might just help relieve this tension. It might help you too.”
Karen didn’t say anything. She just stood staring at Maisie in the bed. Maisie had drifted back into a semi-sleep state, somewhere on the edge of consciousness and dreaming.
“When will you do these tests?” Karen asked.
“I’ll order them in just a few minutes. After that, if her pain is still strong, I’ll give her some medicine to help temper it. Then we can go from there.”
“Okay. But hurry. I don’t like seeing her hurt so much. It makes me hurt just seeing her this way.”
“I understand,” Ken said, once again putting his hand on Karen’s shoulder. His strong hand and grandfatherly appeal did remind her of her dad. It was almost difficult to look at him.
“Thanks,” Karen said shifting her eyes toward the floor. Maisie moved in the bed. “Can I stay here with her?”
“Sure, that’s no problem.” Ken’s reassuring voice re-inflated Karen’s confidence once again buoying her eyes from the floor back to him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I have one other appointment upstairs. When I get back, I’ll talk with you and check on Maisie. In the meantime, can I get you anything? Coffee, breakfast, something to eat?”
“No thanks, not right now,” Karen said. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait, maybe a coffee would be nice, thanks.”
“I’ll have one of the nurses bring you a cup. How do you like it?”
“A little sugar and cream will be fine.”
“Okay.” Ken turned and pulled the curtain shut behind him. The more Karen thought about it, the more he did remind her of her dad. His build, his reassuring voice and demeanor, his gentle touch and deep concern. They were all qualities her dad possessed. It was almost eerie, as if her dad had come back from the dead. Of course, she knew better than that. Still, it was strange.
Karen turned back toward Maisie. She reached over and held her hand. Maisie whimpered quietly in her bed. “Papa, Papa.”
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