CHAPTER 3: At The Doctor

I barely slept at all during the night. Each time I woke up, I looked at the clock. At 11:17, Daddy came in to take my temperature before he and Elizabeth went to bed. This time, it was 101, like Jason's had been that one day. About two hours later, I went to the bathroom and puked up everything I'd eaten at the party. As I flushed the toilet and laid the side of my head against the side, I remembered when Mom gave Jason permission to let us watch the Everetts' Bill Cosby, Himself DVD; and if I wasn't so sick, I would've started quoting the "Thank you, toilet bowl!" bit from that movie.

Just then, I heard a knock on the door. "Come in," I said.

"Karen, what's wrong? Are you all right, honey?" Elizabeth's voice asked. She laid a hand on my forehead. "Oh, you're burning up." She ran a washcloth under some cool water and wiped my face and hands. As she handed me a glass of water to rinse my mouth out, she asked, "When did this start?"

I spit the mouthful of water into the sink before I answered, "Just now."

"Well, I think the worst of it is over," she said. "I'll let your father know first thing in the morning, okay?"

I nodded, and she took me back to bed.

That wasn't the end of that miserable night, though. At 2:47, 3:56, and 5:02, I woke up and tried to find a cool place to lie down. Just as the sun was rising, Elizabeth came in to take my temperature, and just like it had been over the past few days, it was 99.8.

The next thing I knew, Andrew and Emily came into my room. "Time to get up, Karen," Andrew said. "Daddy's fixing breakfast."

I groaned and rolled over. "Are you all right?" Emily asked worriedly, laying a hand on my cheek.

"No, not really," I told my younger siblings as I put my glasses on. When I looked at the clock, I saw that it was 8:05.

"Need some help?" Andrew asked as I tried to sit up, which was also a chore. Ever try sitting up when you've been up half the night puking your guts out? It's like having a 10-lb. weight strapped to your head.

"No, I think I can manage," I answered as I got out of bed and followed them to the kitchen.

When I got to the kitchen, I sat at the table and rested my chin in my hands. "Poor kid," Elizabeth said, stroking my hair.

Just then, the phone rang, and Daddy went to answer it. "Hello?" I heard him say. "Oh, hi, Lisa...Yes, Elizabeth and I have noticed that Karen hasn't been feeling well, and Elizabeth told me that Karen spent the middle of the night in the bathroom...Oh, boy, I had a feeling you were going to say that...Yeah, absolutely. Okay, I'll tell her. Thanks, 'bye."

When Daddy hung up the phone and came into the kitchen, he said, "Karen, your mother will be here around noon to pick you up."

I nodded, finished what little breakfast I could, then went upstairs to get dressed. I put on a blue shirt with tropical fish on it, the matching shorts, and blue Crocs. This outfit is one of my favorites, because Sam once told me that he wished he could frame the shirt and hang it on the wall.

"Well, Karen, I'll see you later, okay?" Elizabeth said, kissing the top of my head as I sat on the couch.

"'Bye," I said.

I spent the morning on the couch, watching boring old grown-up shows that Daddy had put on. I was also hoping that Mom and the doctor would soon know what was wrong with me.

As promised, Mom picked me up around noon. "How are you feeling?" she asked as I got in the car, fastened my seatbelt, and leaned my head back against the seat.

"Well, honestly, Mom, I couldn't feel any worse if you filled a football helmet with cement and dropped it on my foot," I answered.

Mom laughed a little. "Somehow, I think that would feel worse," she agreed.

"Yeah, I suppose. But I've still felt better."

At that moment, we pulled into the parking lot of Dr. Dellenkamp's office. As we got out of the car, I felt tears coming to my eyes. That's how much my throat hurt.

We got inside, and Mom went to tell the receptionist that we were there while I went to sit on the couch. When Mom joined me a minute later, I laid my head on her lap, like I was six years old again. I'm pretty sure that people were staring at me sympathetically.

Well, most of them were, anyway.

"Karen Brewer?" the nurse called a few minutes later. We followed her to Room 104, where she checked my vital signs. "The doctor will be with you shortly," she said before she left.

"Do you have any idea what's wrong with me?" I asked Mom as I climbed up on the table and laid down. I was also remembering when Jason collapsed outside the restrooms at Rax in Washington, DC.

"Well, I'm not too sure, but it's possible you might need your tonsils out," Mom answered.

Upon hearing that, I guess I should've been surprised, but I wasn't. I'd had tonsillitis practically every other month for the past year, not to mention missing six weeks of school because of it. I'm surprised I wasn't held back.

I also remembered Christina, who had been in my class last year. She'd had hers out when I was having my spleen removed.

At that moment, I heard Dr. Dellenkamp come in. "Good afternoon, and how are we today?" she asked.

This was one of the few times I was actually glad to hear her voice. The last time I can remember that happening was when I went to the ER after I broke my wrist.

"She says her throat hurts," Mom answered as I sat up. "And according to my ex-husband, she went to bed early, and was up puking in the middle of the night."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Well, let's have a look, shall we?"

Without being asked, I opened my mouth, and the doctor shone her little light inside it. After a minute, she said, "Mm-hm, that's what I thought. I'm afraid those tonsils are going to have to come out, Karen."

"I thought so," Mom said.

"So did I," the doctor agreed. "We have an opening on our schedule for Karen at 1:00 tomorrow afternoon. I'd like her to be at the hospital by 5:30 today, and I'll let the nurse know she's coming."

"Thanks," Mom said.

"And nothing to eat or drink after midnight."

I nodded.

"In the meantime, I'll write a new prescription for some antibiotics, even though I know she won't finish them until after the surgery. And I have an opening on my schedule for 11:00 Friday morning for Karen's follow-up. I'll follow you out and tell the receptionist to schedule that then."

Now I finally knew what was wrong with me, and the sooner we took care of this, the better.