“Does Michelle have aplastic anemia?” blurted Cathryn.

“Absolutely not.” Dr. Wiley was perplexed at her response. “We want to do the test in order to try to make a diagnosis, but I can assure you Michelle does not have aplastic anemia. If you don’t mind my asking, what made you ask that?”

“Just a few minutes ago I visited our neighbor’s child who has aplastic anemia. When you said bone marrow, it…” Cathryn struggled to complete her own sentence.

“I understand,” said Dr. Wiley. “Don’t worry. I can assure you that aplastic anemia is not a possibility here. But we still want to do the test… just to be complete.”

“Do you think I should call Charles?” asked Cathryn. She was relieved that Michelle couldn’t have aplastic anemia and grateful to Dr. Wiley for eliminating it as a possibility. Although Charles had said aplastic anemia wasn’t infectious, its proximity was frightening.

“If you’d like to call Charles, by all means. But let me explain a little. Bone marrow aspiration is done with a needle similar to the one we use for drawing blood. We use a little local anesthesia so it’s practically painless, and it only takes a few moments. And once we have the results we’ll be done. It’s truly a simple procedure, and we do it often.”

Cathryn managed a smile and said they could go ahead with the test. She liked Dr. Wiley, and she felt a visceral confidence in the man, especially since Charles had undoubtedly picked him from a group of pediatricians he knew well, back when Chuck had been born. She signed the forms where Dr. Wiley pointed, then allowed herself to be escorted out of the office and back into the crowded waiting room.

Michelle lay very still on the examining table. Even with her head propped up on the pillow her view was mostly ceiling with frosted glass over fluorescent lighting. But she could see a little wallpaper, enough to make out images of laughing clowns, rocking horses, and children with balloons. There was a sink in the room, and although she couldn’t see it from where she was, she could hear the water dripping.

For Michelle the hospital had lived up to her fears. She’d been stuck with needles three times. Once in each arm and once in a finger. Each time she’d asked if it was the last but no one would say, so she was afraid it might happen again, especially if she moved too much, so she stayed very still.

She felt embarrassed to be dressed so scantily. She had on a nightie of sorts, but it was open in the back, and she could feel her skin on the paper which covered the table. By looking down, she could see the mounds made by her toes beneath the white sheet that covered her. Even her hands were under the cover, clasped together over her stomach. She’d been shivering a little but didn’t tell anyone. All she wanted was her clothes and to go home. Yet she knew the fever was back and she was afraid someone might notice and then want to stick her again. They had told her that the reason they needed her blood was to find out why she kept getting the fever.

There was a scraping sound, and the door to the examining room opened. It was the fat nurse, and she was backing into the room so that her form filled the doorway. She was pulling something, and Michelle heard the telltale sound of metal jangling against metal. Once clear of the door, the nurse swung around, pushing a small table on wheels. The table was covered with a blue towel. As far as Michelle was concerned, it didn’t look good.

“What’s that?” she asked anxiously.

“Some things for the doctor, sweetheart,” said Miss Hammersmith, as if she were talking about treats. Her name tag was pinned high on her shoulder like a battle ribbon, above the band of her bosom which went around her chest like an innertube. There seemed to be as much flesh in the back as the front.

“Is it going to hurt?” asked Michelle.

“Sweetheart, why do you ask that kind of question? We’re trying to help you.” Miss Hammersmith sounded offended.

“Everything the doctor does hurts,” said Michelle.

“Now that’s hardly true,” scoffed Miss Hammersmith.

“Ah, my favorite patient,” said Dr. Wiley, opening the door with his shoulder. Coming into the room he kept his hands away from his body because they were wet and dripping onto the floor. Miss Hammersmith broke open a paper package, and Dr. Wiley carefully pulled out a sterile towel with his thumb and forefinger. Most alarming to Michelle, he was wearing a surgical mask.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her eyes opened to their physical limits. She forgot her resolve about staying still and pushed herself up on one elbow.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve got good and bad news,” said Dr. Wiley. “I’m afraid you have to have one more little needle stick but the good news is that it will be the last for a while. What do you say?”

Dr. Wiley tossed the towel onto the counter by the sink and plucked out a pair of rubber gloves from a package Miss Hammersmith held open for him.

With growing dismay, Michelle watched him pull the gloves onto each hand, snapping the wrist portion into place and tugging on each finger in turn.

“I don’t want any more needles,” said Michelle, her eyes filling with tears. “I just want to go home.” She tried not to cry but the harder she tried, the less successful she was.

“Now, now,” soothed Miss Hammersmith as she began stroking Michelle’s hair.

Michelle parried Miss Hammersmith’s hand and tried to sit up, but she was restrained by a cinch about her waist. “Please,” she managed.

“Michelle!” called Dr. Wiley sharply, then his voice softened. “I know you don’t feel well, and I know this is hard for you, but we have to do it. It will be over in a moment if you help us.”

“No!” said Michelle defiantly. “I want my father.”

Dr. Wiley gestured to Miss Hammersmith: “Maybe Mrs. Levy could come in here for a moment and give us a hand.”

Miss Hammersmith lumbered out of the room.

“Okay, Michelle, just lie back and relax for a moment,” said Dr. Wiley. “I’m sure your dad will be real proud of you when I tell him how courageous you were. This is only going to take a moment. I promise.”

Michelle lay back and closed her eyes, feeling the tears run down the side of her face. Intuitively she knew that Charles would be disappointed if he heard that she’d acted like a baby. After all, it was going to be the last stick. But both her arms had been punctured and she wondered where they would do it.

The door opened again and Michelle propped herself up to see who it was. Miss Hammersmith came in followed by two other nurses, one of whom carried some leather straps.

“We won’t need restraints, I don’t think,” said Dr. Wiley. “Okay, Michelle, now just lie back quietly for a moment.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” cajoled Miss Hammersmith, coming up alongside Michelle. One of the other nurses went around to the opposite side while the nurse who had been carrying leather straps went down to the foot of the table. “Dr. Wiley is the best doctor in the world and you should be so thankful he’s taking care of you,” said Miss Hammersmith as she pulled Michelle’s sheet down over the child’s legs. Keeping her arms stiffly against her side, Michelle half-heartedly tried to resist when Miss Hammersmith pulled up the nightie to expose the child’s body from her nipples to her bony knees.

She watched while the nurse whisked the towel from the table with the wheels. Dr. Wiley busied himself with the instruments on it, his back to her. She could hear the tinkle of glass and the sound of fluid. When the doctor turned, he had a wet piece of cotton in each hand. “I’m just going to clean your skin a little,” he explained as he began scrubbing Michelle’s hipbone.

The water felt alarmingly cold to Michelle as it ran down her hip and pooled beneath her buttocks. This was a new experience, not like the previous needles. She strained to see what was happening, but the doctor gently urged her to lie back.