Medical Kidnap Files 1-6, page 9
Gabriel swallowed. Barrett pushed him back to his room, and without a word, she helped him to stand up and to get into bed. Once he was lying down, she checked his pulse and his temperature. Gabriel was soaked in sweat from the effort of his escape, but she didn’t change him out of the damp gown; she just threw another blanket over him.
“I don’t understand why you would do something stupid like that,” Barrett said, putting the blood pressure cuff around his arm and starting to pump it up. “You’re getting out of here in a couple of days, why the sudden effort to escape?”
Gabriel waited while she released the valve and listened with her stethoscope.
“I just… want to go home.”
He was surprised when she pulled out a blood sugar monitor. He lay still while she lanced his finger and checked his glucose.
“You’re crashing,” she observed. “Why would you do something like that?”
“I want to see my mom. They’re going to take me somewhere else. Maybe out of the city.”
She shook her head. “If you are going to escape, you’re going to need some help. You can’t even walk out of here under your own power.”
Gabriel grimaced and nodded.
“Stay put. I’ll rustle you up something to eat.”
“Thanks.”
When she returned a few minutes later, she had a cheese string and a yogurt cup. Gabriel looked at the proffered snacks and then her face. “No dairy. I can’t eat that.”
“You need a snack. This is what we’ve got.”
“I can’t eat those.”
“What about the yogurt? It’s predigested. It’s not dairy anymore.”
“No,” Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t!”
“Honestly!” She rolled her eyes and stalked back out.
Gabriel didn’t know if that meant that she was going to look for another snack, or that he was screwed. He pulled the blankets around him. He was starting to shiver in spite of the extra blanket, the hospital gown clammy against his skin.
He was beginning to think that Nurse Barrett had given up and was just going to let him crash, and then Nurse Lee came in.
“Sugar for you!” she announced. She put an applesauce cup and plastic spoon down on his rolling table and also pulled out a needle and vial. “Which arm?”
Gabriel pulled his left out from under the covers and held it out for her. Lee tapped his arm along the vein and didn’t bother with a tourniquet. She filled the needle and expertly slid it into his vein, hitting the bulls-eye the first time. Gabriel watched as she pushed the plunger in.
“There you go. That should help. Now eat. It’s a couple of hours until dinner and this is all I could find.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded and put a bandage on the injection site. Gabriel suddenly remembered his scraped elbow and held up his arm to show it to her.
“Can you clean that too?”
She held his arm still and took a closer look. “What did you do that for?”
He gave her an embarrassed smile. “I was injured in my daring escape attempt.”
Lee laughed. She got some alcohol wipes out of the side table drawer and cleaned the graze.
Gabriel gasped at the burn. “Oh! Ow! Oh, that hurts.”
“That’ll teach you not to go running away. Now, nap time. You eat your applesauce and stay in bed, or I’m going to get the doctor’s permission to sedate you. Then you can sleep until Friday.”
It was the first day that Renata was able to be up and around. Gabriel didn’t know where she got all her energy. Most people with a punctured lung would have been happy to stay in bed for a few days. But maybe it was because she was used to functioning with so little cellular energy, a little thing like traumatic injury couldn’t slow her down. She pushed a wheelchair into Gabriel’s room. Her oxygen tank was on the seat of the wheelchair and her IV hung on a pole attached to the back of the chair, and she was pushing it instead of sitting in it. She had a lot more stamina than Gabriel did. But then, from what he could tell, she was actually in psych for psychological issues, instead of for the amorphous ‘evaluation’ that Gabriel was there for, which seemed to mean taking him off of all of his meds to see how sick it would make him, and then putting him back on all of them, all for no particular reason.
“Ding, ding, trolley coming through,” Renata announced, in a mock-British accent.
“Hi!”
“Hi yourself. So, you enjoy your freedom yesterday?”
“No, not much.”
“Yeah.” Renata removed the oxygen canister from her wheelchair and sat herself down. “Getting out of the ward is one thing. Getting out of the hospital isn’t such a simple thing.”
“Why didn’t you mention that you can’t get back out of the stairwell without a security card?” Gabriel demanded.
“I dunno. You didn’t ask. I figured you knew.”
“I didn’t. Thought I’d be home free once I got out.”
“Nope. You gotta make sure you’ve got a swipe card too. Nurses leave them lying around all the time.”
“Well, I guess that’s it for my brilliant escape plans. I’m not going to get out again between now and when the social worker comes.”
“Yeah.” Renata reached for Gabriel’s table, which had been pushed to the side. “Hey. They left your chart here.”
Usually, the ubiquitous clipboard was carried in and out of the room by the nurse or doctor and kept at the nursing station between visits. This time, there had been a ruckus in the hallway, with an old man yelling and cursing. The nurse had left to see what was going on and had not returned.
Renata picked up the chart and started flipping through it.
“Hey, you can’t look at that,” Gabriel objected. “That’s private!”
“Well, you have a look, then. Usually, they won’t let you see it.”
She held it out to him. Gabriel hesitated. But why not? It was his chart; he had a right to see his own information. He took it from Renata, glancing at the door to make sure that no one was watching. He scanned the front page, but it was boring, mostly just vital signs and a few squiggles that he wasn’t sure of. He thought they might be shorthand for medications and dosages. He flipped back through the stack of papers, reading a few words in cramped handwriting wherever it was legible. Then he skipped straight to the back. The earliest records, from when he was first admitted. He looked over the chaotic, disorganized notes in several different hands.
“Munchhausen by Proxy?” he read aloud.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Renata said. “Means they suspect your mom of trying to make you sick, to get attention and sympathy. It’s an easy way to get any medically fragile kid away from his parents.”
“Why would they think she was trying to make me sick?”
“They don’t. Not really. But that’s what they tell the social worker and the judge. Yes, this kid is dangerously ill, and we think that most or all the symptoms are being caused by the mother poisoning him. So he must be taken away immediately, for his own safety. Easy to keep mom out of the picture, too, because they need to have you by yourself to evaluate which symptoms are real and which ones are being caused by something she’s doing.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Hence the psych ward,” Renata laughed.
“No, I mean, it’s crazy that anyone would think that.”
“Think about it. Mito kids have a lot of bizarre, seemingly unrelated symptoms. There is no ‘usual’ course, they’re all different, and it can affect every system in the body.” She straightened up taller, trying to see what else was on the clipboard. “The other thing that they’ll say is that it’s psychosomatic. Does it say that?”
“Psychosomatic?” Gabriel searched the page. “Why would it say that? If she was poisoning me, then it wouldn’t be psychosomatic.”
“Why not? She could be making you sick by giving you something, but she could be making you more sick by suggesting things too. The body does what you tell it to.”
“She doesn’t do that! She’d never do that!”
“It could be very subtle,” Renata said. “You wouldn’t even realize she was doing it.”
“My mom is not trying to make me sick!”
Renata shrugged. “Maybe not,” she agreed cheerfully. “But could you prove it?”
Gabriel opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. How could he prove that someone wasn’t telling him he was sicker than he was? It wasn’t like testing for arsenic. How could doctors even tell if a symptom was psychosomatic? And if it was, how could they tell where the thought came from? They couldn’t trace people’s thoughts.
He looked back down at the clipboard and skimmed through the words and phrases that he could read. “My mom isn’t making me sick. They think because she changed my diet and supplements that she’s making me sick? I was sick before that. She was helping me to feel better.”
“Munchhausen works every time. Kids with Munchhausen by Proxy parents get better and sicker all the time. Drives the doctors crazy, because they can’t sort out what’s going on. Every time the kid starts to get better, his health takes another nose dive. You fit the pattern, right? You get better, you get worse, you get new symptoms. You go to the hospital; you get better. You go home, you get sick and have to come back again…”
Gabriel shook his head. “No…”
She reached to take the clipboard from him, but Gabriel pulled it back. He didn’t want to share his private information with her. Renata leaned back again. She scratched at the bandaging under her gown, wincing and shifting her position.
“They’ve got her. She’s never going to be able to get you back. She wouldn’t put you in the mito clinic. She wouldn’t follow the protocol at the weight clinic. Your health keeps getting better and worse. Classic Munchhausen by Proxy, and that means they can never give you back to her.”
Gabriel pressed the button to call a nurse. Renata looked at him, frowning. Gabriel rested the clipboard in his lap and put his head back, closing his eyes.
“Are you okay? You sick?”
Gabriel didn’t answer. One of the nurses came in after a few minutes. “You called? What do you need?”
Gabriel opened his eyes. “I want to go to sleep. I want to be alone.”
The nurse looked at Gabriel, then at Renata. She picked the clipboard up from Gabriel’s lap. “Let’s go, Miss Vega.”
Renata didn’t make a move, staring at Gabriel.
“I’m tired,” Gabriel repeated.
The nurse grasped the handles on Renata’s wheelchair and turned her around. Renata didn’t say good-bye.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He felt like he should be excited to leave the psych ward, but Gabriel just felt bad about it. He didn’t want to go to a foster family that he had never met before. He was worried about all of the things that could happen to him there. Not only would he not have his mother to take care of him, but all of the doctors and nurses would be gone too. How could a family that he had never met before, without any medical training, be expected to take care of him properly?
He hated the psych ward, but he was surprised to realize that it had become sort of a cocoon for him during the time that he had been there. He didn’t like it, and he wanted Keisha, but at least he felt safe and protected. If something really bad happened, they would be able to look after him. Getting ready to leave the hospital, he had stomach cramps and a sort of vertigo, like he was going to fall off the edge of a cliff.
Gabriel waited all morning for Renata to come visit him and say good-bye, but she didn’t. He felt a little like he needed to apologize for kicking her out the previous day, but he was also outraged about the things that she had said. Now that he wasn’t going to have to listen to her craziness anymore, he felt bad about leaving her behind.
Breakfast came and went. Lunch came and went. No one seemed to know what time he was being moved. Gabriel was on edge the whole time, his whole body tense with waiting.
Finally, he heard high heels clicking down the hallway. No nurse would ever wear heels to work. And visitors, the few that came to the psych ward, were usually casually dressed, in walking shoes or sneakers. The high heels approached his doorway and then stopped, Mrs. Scott framed in the opening.
“Well, Gabriel, are you ready to get out of here?”
It was weird wearing street clothes again. They felt scratchy and tight and uncomfortable. But they also felt more… secure and protective. Gabriel ran his finger down a seam of the jeans.
“I’m ready.”
“Let’s go, then.”
She waited while Gabriel turned, sliding his feet off the side of the bed, and got to his feet. He wasn’t sure how they were expecting him to be able to walk all the way by himself. But there was a nurse behind Carol Scott, shooing her out of the way and pushing a wheelchair in.
“I don’t think he needs that, does he?” the social worker asked.
“It’s routine for discharges, especially if they have any kind of mobility challenges. We wouldn’t want Mr. Tate tripping and injuring himself on the way out.”
Gabriel sat down when she positioned the chair behind him. At least he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by collapsing on the way to the car.
“But he doesn’t need it after he leaves here,” Carol said. “He can get around on his own.”
“He’ll get tired fast,” the nurse said as if Gabriel wasn’t even there. “He can walk around if he puts his mind to it, and he’ll continue to get more stamina now that he’s on the proper medications, but he’s still going to tire quickly.”
Carol nodded. “Good. The house isn’t wheelchair user accessible.”
Gabriel swallowed as the nurse pushed him out of the hospital room. Was it not wheelchair user accessible because there were a couple of steps up to the front door? Or was there a whole flight of stairs? Maybe even an apartment, with three flights of stairs to get to it. But Mrs. Scott had said ‘house.’ So it probably wasn’t an apartment. And most apartments had elevators.
Goosebumps prickled on Gabriel’s arms when the nurse swiped her security card and pushed him into the elevator. He was getting out! Despite his fear of the unknown, he was overtaken by feelings of relief and excitement over finally getting free of the secure ward. He turned his head to look at the nurse behind him.
“Will you tell Renata I said good-bye?” he asked, suddenly regretting that he hadn’t made the journey down the hall to tell her himself. He should have put his annoyance aside and just done the right thing. Friends didn’t treat each other like that.
The nurse nodded and smiled. “I’ll tell her.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“You made some friends at the hospital?” Carol asked. She was wearing a brilliant yellow blazer and skirt. Keisha would have liked it. Would have looked good in it. Social workers usually wore tweeds, plaids, and muted colors. Gabriel had never met one who was so flashy.
“A couple,” he said. He looked away from her, watching the floor lights count down slowly. “Other kids with mito.”
“Mito?” she repeated. “Oh, your disease. Interesting.”
“It’s a rare disorder.” Gabriel looked back at her again to see her reaction. “Why do you think they would take us all away and put us in psych?”
She didn’t look at him. “I’m sure I don’t know,” she murmured. “They had their reasons. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
Gabriel frowned, trying to figure out how ‘small world’ explained anything.
They got down to the main floor, and the nurse pushed Gabriel right out the big front doors. “Where are you parked?”
“I’m just here, in the loading zone.” Mrs. Scott gestured to her car. Not a station wagon. Gabriel knew stamps better than cars, but even he could appreciate the sleek lines of the aqua blue car sitting there with its blinkers on.
The nurse applied the brakes, and Mrs. Scott unlocked and opened the car door for Gabriel. Gabriel only had to take one step and turn around to get into it.
“Bye, Gabriel,” the nurse said with a smile. “You take care of yourself, okay? Be well.”
Gabriel nodded. There was a lump in his throat, but he wasn’t sure why. He was happy to be leaving. No more monitoring, no more security, no more arguing over meals and snacks and meds. It would be better for him. Back on almost exactly the same chemical cocktail he’d been on before being apprehended, he would get his strength back, so that he could live a normal life. As normal as he could, at a foster home. There was no reason to be sad about leaving the hospital, or sentimental over a few kind words from a nurse on his departure.
He pulled the door shut.
“Are you excited?” Carol Scott asked, after pulling out into traffic.
“Not excited… I’m glad to be out of the hospital…” he hesitated about how much to say to her. “I’m… kind of nervous.”
“Of course you are. Anyone would be. Don’t feel badly about that. But everything is going to be okay.” She flashed him a bright white smile. “You’re going to like the Foegels, and they are going to take good care of you. They are an experienced foster family, and they are used to kids with medical needs.”
Renata had been right about that part.
“Do they know about mito? Are they in the city?”
“Oh, yes. They’re familiar with mito and have taken care of kids at the clinic before. They’re a little ways away, but close enough to get you back here for check-ups and treatments.”
Two more checkmarks. Considering how many times the nurses had told Gabriel not to believe anything that Renata said, she certainly seemed to be right a lot.
“Are all the kids at the mito clinic in foster care?”
A small line formed between Carol’s brows as she navigated through the traffic. She made a clicking noise with her tongue, and her mouth made a few different shapes before she answered him. “Of course they’re not all in foster care. There are lots of kids at the clinic. I have no way of knowing how many are in custody.”
“But you’ve taken mito kids away before, to get them into the program?”
“I don’t understand why you would do something stupid like that,” Barrett said, putting the blood pressure cuff around his arm and starting to pump it up. “You’re getting out of here in a couple of days, why the sudden effort to escape?”
Gabriel waited while she released the valve and listened with her stethoscope.
“I just… want to go home.”
He was surprised when she pulled out a blood sugar monitor. He lay still while she lanced his finger and checked his glucose.
“You’re crashing,” she observed. “Why would you do something like that?”
“I want to see my mom. They’re going to take me somewhere else. Maybe out of the city.”
She shook her head. “If you are going to escape, you’re going to need some help. You can’t even walk out of here under your own power.”
Gabriel grimaced and nodded.
“Stay put. I’ll rustle you up something to eat.”
“Thanks.”
When she returned a few minutes later, she had a cheese string and a yogurt cup. Gabriel looked at the proffered snacks and then her face. “No dairy. I can’t eat that.”
“You need a snack. This is what we’ve got.”
“I can’t eat those.”
“What about the yogurt? It’s predigested. It’s not dairy anymore.”
“No,” Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t!”
“Honestly!” She rolled her eyes and stalked back out.
Gabriel didn’t know if that meant that she was going to look for another snack, or that he was screwed. He pulled the blankets around him. He was starting to shiver in spite of the extra blanket, the hospital gown clammy against his skin.
He was beginning to think that Nurse Barrett had given up and was just going to let him crash, and then Nurse Lee came in.
“Sugar for you!” she announced. She put an applesauce cup and plastic spoon down on his rolling table and also pulled out a needle and vial. “Which arm?”
Gabriel pulled his left out from under the covers and held it out for her. Lee tapped his arm along the vein and didn’t bother with a tourniquet. She filled the needle and expertly slid it into his vein, hitting the bulls-eye the first time. Gabriel watched as she pushed the plunger in.
“There you go. That should help. Now eat. It’s a couple of hours until dinner and this is all I could find.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded and put a bandage on the injection site. Gabriel suddenly remembered his scraped elbow and held up his arm to show it to her.
“Can you clean that too?”
She held his arm still and took a closer look. “What did you do that for?”
He gave her an embarrassed smile. “I was injured in my daring escape attempt.”
Lee laughed. She got some alcohol wipes out of the side table drawer and cleaned the graze.
Gabriel gasped at the burn. “Oh! Ow! Oh, that hurts.”
“That’ll teach you not to go running away. Now, nap time. You eat your applesauce and stay in bed, or I’m going to get the doctor’s permission to sedate you. Then you can sleep until Friday.”
It was the first day that Renata was able to be up and around. Gabriel didn’t know where she got all her energy. Most people with a punctured lung would have been happy to stay in bed for a few days. But maybe it was because she was used to functioning with so little cellular energy, a little thing like traumatic injury couldn’t slow her down. She pushed a wheelchair into Gabriel’s room. Her oxygen tank was on the seat of the wheelchair and her IV hung on a pole attached to the back of the chair, and she was pushing it instead of sitting in it. She had a lot more stamina than Gabriel did. But then, from what he could tell, she was actually in psych for psychological issues, instead of for the amorphous ‘evaluation’ that Gabriel was there for, which seemed to mean taking him off of all of his meds to see how sick it would make him, and then putting him back on all of them, all for no particular reason.
“Ding, ding, trolley coming through,” Renata announced, in a mock-British accent.
“Hi!”
“Hi yourself. So, you enjoy your freedom yesterday?”
“No, not much.”
“Yeah.” Renata removed the oxygen canister from her wheelchair and sat herself down. “Getting out of the ward is one thing. Getting out of the hospital isn’t such a simple thing.”
“Why didn’t you mention that you can’t get back out of the stairwell without a security card?” Gabriel demanded.
“I dunno. You didn’t ask. I figured you knew.”
“I didn’t. Thought I’d be home free once I got out.”
“Nope. You gotta make sure you’ve got a swipe card too. Nurses leave them lying around all the time.”
“Well, I guess that’s it for my brilliant escape plans. I’m not going to get out again between now and when the social worker comes.”
“Yeah.” Renata reached for Gabriel’s table, which had been pushed to the side. “Hey. They left your chart here.”
Usually, the ubiquitous clipboard was carried in and out of the room by the nurse or doctor and kept at the nursing station between visits. This time, there had been a ruckus in the hallway, with an old man yelling and cursing. The nurse had left to see what was going on and had not returned.
Renata picked up the chart and started flipping through it.
“Hey, you can’t look at that,” Gabriel objected. “That’s private!”
“Well, you have a look, then. Usually, they won’t let you see it.”
She held it out to him. Gabriel hesitated. But why not? It was his chart; he had a right to see his own information. He took it from Renata, glancing at the door to make sure that no one was watching. He scanned the front page, but it was boring, mostly just vital signs and a few squiggles that he wasn’t sure of. He thought they might be shorthand for medications and dosages. He flipped back through the stack of papers, reading a few words in cramped handwriting wherever it was legible. Then he skipped straight to the back. The earliest records, from when he was first admitted. He looked over the chaotic, disorganized notes in several different hands.
“Munchhausen by Proxy?” he read aloud.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Renata said. “Means they suspect your mom of trying to make you sick, to get attention and sympathy. It’s an easy way to get any medically fragile kid away from his parents.”
“Why would they think she was trying to make me sick?”
“They don’t. Not really. But that’s what they tell the social worker and the judge. Yes, this kid is dangerously ill, and we think that most or all the symptoms are being caused by the mother poisoning him. So he must be taken away immediately, for his own safety. Easy to keep mom out of the picture, too, because they need to have you by yourself to evaluate which symptoms are real and which ones are being caused by something she’s doing.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Hence the psych ward,” Renata laughed.
“No, I mean, it’s crazy that anyone would think that.”
“Think about it. Mito kids have a lot of bizarre, seemingly unrelated symptoms. There is no ‘usual’ course, they’re all different, and it can affect every system in the body.” She straightened up taller, trying to see what else was on the clipboard. “The other thing that they’ll say is that it’s psychosomatic. Does it say that?”
“Psychosomatic?” Gabriel searched the page. “Why would it say that? If she was poisoning me, then it wouldn’t be psychosomatic.”
“Why not? She could be making you sick by giving you something, but she could be making you more sick by suggesting things too. The body does what you tell it to.”
“She doesn’t do that! She’d never do that!”
“It could be very subtle,” Renata said. “You wouldn’t even realize she was doing it.”
“My mom is not trying to make me sick!”
Renata shrugged. “Maybe not,” she agreed cheerfully. “But could you prove it?”
Gabriel opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. How could he prove that someone wasn’t telling him he was sicker than he was? It wasn’t like testing for arsenic. How could doctors even tell if a symptom was psychosomatic? And if it was, how could they tell where the thought came from? They couldn’t trace people’s thoughts.
He looked back down at the clipboard and skimmed through the words and phrases that he could read. “My mom isn’t making me sick. They think because she changed my diet and supplements that she’s making me sick? I was sick before that. She was helping me to feel better.”
“Munchhausen works every time. Kids with Munchhausen by Proxy parents get better and sicker all the time. Drives the doctors crazy, because they can’t sort out what’s going on. Every time the kid starts to get better, his health takes another nose dive. You fit the pattern, right? You get better, you get worse, you get new symptoms. You go to the hospital; you get better. You go home, you get sick and have to come back again…”
Gabriel shook his head. “No…”
She reached to take the clipboard from him, but Gabriel pulled it back. He didn’t want to share his private information with her. Renata leaned back again. She scratched at the bandaging under her gown, wincing and shifting her position.
“They’ve got her. She’s never going to be able to get you back. She wouldn’t put you in the mito clinic. She wouldn’t follow the protocol at the weight clinic. Your health keeps getting better and worse. Classic Munchhausen by Proxy, and that means they can never give you back to her.”
Gabriel pressed the button to call a nurse. Renata looked at him, frowning. Gabriel rested the clipboard in his lap and put his head back, closing his eyes.
“Are you okay? You sick?”
Gabriel didn’t answer. One of the nurses came in after a few minutes. “You called? What do you need?”
Gabriel opened his eyes. “I want to go to sleep. I want to be alone.”
The nurse looked at Gabriel, then at Renata. She picked the clipboard up from Gabriel’s lap. “Let’s go, Miss Vega.”
Renata didn’t make a move, staring at Gabriel.
“I’m tired,” Gabriel repeated.
The nurse grasped the handles on Renata’s wheelchair and turned her around. Renata didn’t say good-bye.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He felt like he should be excited to leave the psych ward, but Gabriel just felt bad about it. He didn’t want to go to a foster family that he had never met before. He was worried about all of the things that could happen to him there. Not only would he not have his mother to take care of him, but all of the doctors and nurses would be gone too. How could a family that he had never met before, without any medical training, be expected to take care of him properly?
He hated the psych ward, but he was surprised to realize that it had become sort of a cocoon for him during the time that he had been there. He didn’t like it, and he wanted Keisha, but at least he felt safe and protected. If something really bad happened, they would be able to look after him. Getting ready to leave the hospital, he had stomach cramps and a sort of vertigo, like he was going to fall off the edge of a cliff.
Gabriel waited all morning for Renata to come visit him and say good-bye, but she didn’t. He felt a little like he needed to apologize for kicking her out the previous day, but he was also outraged about the things that she had said. Now that he wasn’t going to have to listen to her craziness anymore, he felt bad about leaving her behind.
Breakfast came and went. Lunch came and went. No one seemed to know what time he was being moved. Gabriel was on edge the whole time, his whole body tense with waiting.
Finally, he heard high heels clicking down the hallway. No nurse would ever wear heels to work. And visitors, the few that came to the psych ward, were usually casually dressed, in walking shoes or sneakers. The high heels approached his doorway and then stopped, Mrs. Scott framed in the opening.
“Well, Gabriel, are you ready to get out of here?”
It was weird wearing street clothes again. They felt scratchy and tight and uncomfortable. But they also felt more… secure and protective. Gabriel ran his finger down a seam of the jeans.
“I’m ready.”
“Let’s go, then.”
She waited while Gabriel turned, sliding his feet off the side of the bed, and got to his feet. He wasn’t sure how they were expecting him to be able to walk all the way by himself. But there was a nurse behind Carol Scott, shooing her out of the way and pushing a wheelchair in.
“I don’t think he needs that, does he?” the social worker asked.
“It’s routine for discharges, especially if they have any kind of mobility challenges. We wouldn’t want Mr. Tate tripping and injuring himself on the way out.”
Gabriel sat down when she positioned the chair behind him. At least he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself by collapsing on the way to the car.
“But he doesn’t need it after he leaves here,” Carol said. “He can get around on his own.”
“He’ll get tired fast,” the nurse said as if Gabriel wasn’t even there. “He can walk around if he puts his mind to it, and he’ll continue to get more stamina now that he’s on the proper medications, but he’s still going to tire quickly.”
Carol nodded. “Good. The house isn’t wheelchair user accessible.”
Gabriel swallowed as the nurse pushed him out of the hospital room. Was it not wheelchair user accessible because there were a couple of steps up to the front door? Or was there a whole flight of stairs? Maybe even an apartment, with three flights of stairs to get to it. But Mrs. Scott had said ‘house.’ So it probably wasn’t an apartment. And most apartments had elevators.
Goosebumps prickled on Gabriel’s arms when the nurse swiped her security card and pushed him into the elevator. He was getting out! Despite his fear of the unknown, he was overtaken by feelings of relief and excitement over finally getting free of the secure ward. He turned his head to look at the nurse behind him.
“Will you tell Renata I said good-bye?” he asked, suddenly regretting that he hadn’t made the journey down the hall to tell her himself. He should have put his annoyance aside and just done the right thing. Friends didn’t treat each other like that.
The nurse nodded and smiled. “I’ll tell her.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“You made some friends at the hospital?” Carol asked. She was wearing a brilliant yellow blazer and skirt. Keisha would have liked it. Would have looked good in it. Social workers usually wore tweeds, plaids, and muted colors. Gabriel had never met one who was so flashy.
“A couple,” he said. He looked away from her, watching the floor lights count down slowly. “Other kids with mito.”
“Mito?” she repeated. “Oh, your disease. Interesting.”
“It’s a rare disorder.” Gabriel looked back at her again to see her reaction. “Why do you think they would take us all away and put us in psych?”
She didn’t look at him. “I’m sure I don’t know,” she murmured. “They had their reasons. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
Gabriel frowned, trying to figure out how ‘small world’ explained anything.
They got down to the main floor, and the nurse pushed Gabriel right out the big front doors. “Where are you parked?”
“I’m just here, in the loading zone.” Mrs. Scott gestured to her car. Not a station wagon. Gabriel knew stamps better than cars, but even he could appreciate the sleek lines of the aqua blue car sitting there with its blinkers on.
The nurse applied the brakes, and Mrs. Scott unlocked and opened the car door for Gabriel. Gabriel only had to take one step and turn around to get into it.
“Bye, Gabriel,” the nurse said with a smile. “You take care of yourself, okay? Be well.”
Gabriel nodded. There was a lump in his throat, but he wasn’t sure why. He was happy to be leaving. No more monitoring, no more security, no more arguing over meals and snacks and meds. It would be better for him. Back on almost exactly the same chemical cocktail he’d been on before being apprehended, he would get his strength back, so that he could live a normal life. As normal as he could, at a foster home. There was no reason to be sad about leaving the hospital, or sentimental over a few kind words from a nurse on his departure.
He pulled the door shut.
“Are you excited?” Carol Scott asked, after pulling out into traffic.
“Not excited… I’m glad to be out of the hospital…” he hesitated about how much to say to her. “I’m… kind of nervous.”
“Of course you are. Anyone would be. Don’t feel badly about that. But everything is going to be okay.” She flashed him a bright white smile. “You’re going to like the Foegels, and they are going to take good care of you. They are an experienced foster family, and they are used to kids with medical needs.”
Renata had been right about that part.
“Do they know about mito? Are they in the city?”
“Oh, yes. They’re familiar with mito and have taken care of kids at the clinic before. They’re a little ways away, but close enough to get you back here for check-ups and treatments.”
Two more checkmarks. Considering how many times the nurses had told Gabriel not to believe anything that Renata said, she certainly seemed to be right a lot.
“Are all the kids at the mito clinic in foster care?”
A small line formed between Carol’s brows as she navigated through the traffic. She made a clicking noise with her tongue, and her mouth made a few different shapes before she answered him. “Of course they’re not all in foster care. There are lots of kids at the clinic. I have no way of knowing how many are in custody.”
“But you’ve taken mito kids away before, to get them into the program?”
