Uncertainty in the Urgent Care

The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the Urgent Care room, a cold contrast to the warmth I felt just hours before. A steady pounding throbbed beneath my skin, matching the alarming number Sera had said: 103.4. My head felt light, and my throat was getting scratchier.

Dad stood by the window, his hair messy and his brow tight with worry. He tapped his foot quietly, a nervous rhythm. Pops sat next to him, one hand resting softly on Dad’s arm, offering silent comfort. Their small gestures said more than words ever could.

The door creaked open, and a man with trimmed silver-gray hair walked in, a laptop under his arm. “Hello,” he said calmly. “I’m Dr. Danielson.” He rolled over on his stool, the wheels barely making a sound on the floor, and opened his laptop. The screen’s glow lit up his focused face as he read my chart. “So, you have a fever that came on quickly, some pain in your left thigh that’s been on and off for a few weeks, and lately, you’ve lost your appetite and feel tired.”

He looked up, his pale blue eyes meeting mine. “Sloane, can you describe the pain in your thigh? Is it dull, sharp, throbbing, or something else? Does it spread anywhere?”

I thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It feels like a steady pressure, like something is pushing out from inside.” I shifted on the exam table. “It’s worse at night and after I’ve been walking.”

Dr. Danielson nodded. “Any other feelings? Stiffness? Tenderness? Heat?”

I looked down at my left leg and flexed my foot. “Not stiff, and it doesn’t feel hot. Just deeply sore, like a bad bruise on the bone.”

He stood and asked, “Can you point to exactly where it hurts most?”

I leaned forward and touched my upper left thigh, about halfway between my hip and knee. When he pressed there, a sharp pain shot through my leg. I gasped and tensed up.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, pulling back. “That must have hurt.”

I nodded and took a deep breath to relax.

I felt self-conscious as he examined my groin area. My eyes drifted to a bright poster on the wall about healthy eating - it felt out of place right now. The cold stethoscope pressed against my chest, right over my pounding heart. “Breathe slow and steady,” he said gently. I focused on my breathing as he moved the stethoscope down to my stomach.

The doctor straightened and stepped back from the exam table. “I want to run some tests to get a clearer picture,” Dr. Danielson said to Dad and Pops. “We’ll start fluids to help with the fever and dehydration, plus give a fever reducer. Then, someone from the lab will draw blood for a complete blood count, followed by an X-ray of her leg in Radiology.”

Dad exhaled slowly, his shoulders tense. He nodded once, glanced at me with a flicker of concern, then looked at Pops.

Pops clasped his hands tightly, his knuckles white. “Alright,” he said quietly, his voice steady in the sterile room. “Let’s do this.”

Dr. Danielson softened his expression as he turned back to me. “We’ll move as quickly as possible, Sloane,” he promised. “I’ll return to talk about the results as soon as I have them.”

Even nodding felt like a big effort, a wave of tiredness washing over me. As Dr. Danielson walked toward the door, the soft squeak of his shoes broke the silence. I let my head fall back against the cool, crinkling paper of the exam table.

A heavy silence filled the room, thick with unspoken worry. Dad rubbed his face, the soft rasp of his skin against his palm clear in the stillness. He let out a slow breath, showing his anxiety. Pops shifted in his plastic chair, the faint creak of the seat mixing with the soft tap of his knee against the table’s metal leg. Outside the thin walls, quiet voices and the distant chime of a medical alert drifted in.

The door clicked open, and Sera came back in, a smile on her lips. The saline bag rustled softly as she set up the IV. I felt a quick sting as the needle went in, followed by a cool rush spreading through my veins, bringing a gentle wave of hydration.

Before I could fully relax, the door opened again. A lab technician entered quickly, no small talk. She wrapped a tight elastic band around my upper arm, pressed her fingers to find a vein, then gave a sharp prick. Blood filled several vials silently, and she left, leaving a small cotton ball taped to my elbow.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing the faint tingling left behind. The quiet didn’t last long.

The door opened once more, and a woman wheeled in a large machine with a long, flexible arm. “Hi, I’m Maegan,” she said, already adjusting the controls. “Just a quick X-ray, and you’ll be all set.”

Maegan looked at Dad and Pops. “Could you two please step outside for a moment?” They shared a worried glance but quietly left.

Maegan placed a cold, heavy metal plate against my side, and the machine hummed to life. “Okay, Sloane,” she said, “Take a deep breath… and hold it.” The machine’s arm clicked as it moved into position.

I obeyed, lungs full, until a soft beep sounded. Maegan nodded and stepped back, eyes on the screen.

“All done,” she said, already moving on as the machine went silent.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, my shoulders dropping with relief and tiredness.

After what felt like forever, the door creaked open, and Dr. Danielson came back in. He held a thin manila envelope, gripping it tightly, his hand tense.

Dad sat up straight, his breath shallow and barely noticeable. Pops beside him stiffened, his fingers clenched so hard his knuckles looked white. I waited quietly, feeling a tight knot of worry in my chest.

Dr. Danielson cleared his throat, the sound loud in the silent room. He lifted the envelope slightly. “The first results from Sloane’s CBC,” he said carefully, “show her lactate dehydrogenase levels are much higher than normal.”

He flipped open the envelope and pulled out a dark, translucent film. Walking over to the light box on the wall, he placed the X-ray against the bright light. The white image revealed the shapes of bone and muscle. His finger pointed to a blurry area on my left thigh. “Here,” he said seriously, “we found a troubling mass about two inches across.”

The news hung heavy in the air. My breath caught, and the room seemed to tilt.

“What does that mean?” Dad asked, his voice tight and full of rare emotion.

Dr. Danielson took a slow breath, his eyes steady. “It’s too early to be sure. The mass could be a harmless tumor or a local infection causing this.” He paused, considering his words. “But given her other symptoms, I want to be cautious.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. “What now?” I whispered.

He looked at me directly, his blue eyes showing unexpected kindness. “I’ve already contacted Children’s Hospital Colorado in Aurora. They have a special oncology unit for cases like this. I’ll arrange the transfer and first consultation. They’ll run more tests to find out exactly what it is.”

Pops pressed his lips, nodded slowly, and took a deep breath that seemed to calm him. “Alright,” he said quietly but firmly. “We’ll do whatever it takes.” His thumb rubbed his palm, a small way to steady himself.

Dr. Danielson’s voice became more clinical again. “Meanwhile, I’ll prescribe anti-inflammatory medicine to ease the pain and swelling in Sloane’s leg.”

After a short silence, he glanced at the IV line in my arm. “Once Sera removes the IV, you’re free to go. Take all the time you need before leaving.”

After a few quiet minutes, the door opened, and Sera came back in. She moved carefully as she checked the IV site on my arm and then gently removed the thin, clear tubing.

As the last piece of tape came off, leaving a cool, sticky patch on my skin, and the needle slid out, Pops whispered softly but urgently, “Come on, sunshine. Let’s get out of here.”

We left the sterile exam room and entered the waiting area where Stetson waited. He sat slouched in the hard plastic chair, his long limbs tangled, arms crossed tightly, and one sneaker tapping nervously on the floor.

He wasn’t alone. Uncle Jake leaned against the far wall, his baseball cap pulled low, hiding his face. Chandler sat next to Stetson, elbows on his knees, fingers drumming quietly on his jeans, eyes fixed on the scuffed floor.

Stetson must have called them. That warmed me a little amid my worry. Tonight was our weekly movie night, a tradition we never skipped.

Uncle Jake looked up when he saw us, straightening with a silent question in his eyes. Chandler glanced up briefly, concern flickering before he looked away. Stetson sighed deeply, running his hands through his messy hair. When he saw us, he jumped up, restless energy bursting out.

He was about to ask about the doctor’s news, but Pops gently stopped him, holding up a hand. “We’ll talk about it when we get home, buddy,” he said calmly. Dad put a reassuring hand on Stetson’s shoulder, a quiet message between them.

With Pops on one side and Dad on the other, their support steady and strong, we left the harsh fluorescent lights of the Urgent Care and stepped into the soft evening glow.

The drive home was quiet, broken only by the soft hum of the tires on the familiar road. I watched the streetlights stretch shadows across the evening landscape, my thoughts as blurry as the passing scenery.

When Dad pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine, Pops was already opening my door. His hand rested gently on my back as I stepped out, a quiet comfort in the growing dusk.

The great room felt dim and calm, the usual energy replaced by a heavy silence. Stetson leaned against the cool kitchen island, arms crossed and jaw tight with worry. Uncle Jake stood by the doorway, his strawberry-blonde hair messy, eyes somber as he turned his baseball cap in his hands, shadows falling across his face. Chandler sat on the arm of the slate-colored sofa, his faux hawk catching the soft light. His long legs stretched out, eyes fixed on the patterned rug under the coffee table.

Dad sighed deeply and rubbed his face. “Alright,” he said softly. “Let’s all sit down.”

Pops sat beside me on the sofa. Dad settled on a rust-colored pillow, leaning back with worry clear on his face. Uncle Jake sank into a nearby loveseat with a heavy sigh. Chandler stayed on the sofa’s arm, his knee gently brushing mine - a quiet, steady presence. Stetson pushed off the island and perched on the edge of the other loveseat.

Pops shared Dr. Danielson’s words slowly -nthe high lactate dehydrogenase levels, the troubling mass on the X-ray, and the plan to transfer to Children’s Hospital Colorado in Aurora.

Silence fell again, thick with unspoken fears.

Chandler shifted beside me, his knee pressing lightly against mine. It was small but comforting, and neither of us moved away.

Stetson finally broke the silence, his troubled eyes glowing in the lamplight. “So… what does that mean for her?” He looked from me to Dad and Pops. “What does that mean for all of us?”

Dad’s voice was quiet but steady. “It means we wait for answers. And we do whatever needs to be done.”

I listened, each word heavy in my chest. I wanted to say something, to be strong, but my throat tightened and my mind raced with fear. All I could do was nod quietly.

Pops watched me for a long moment, his green eyes full of something deep and unreadable. He leaned back against the pillows and let out a slow breath into the still room.

Uncle Jake clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet. His eyes, though worried, held a spark of warmth. “Movie night, yeah?” he said, his voice a little too bright.

Stetson snorted softly and stood up. “Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “Let’s pretend for a little while.”

Chandler’s eyes met mine, silently asking the same question I had. Neither of us spoke. I took a shaky breath and gave a small, tired smile - a fragile attempt to hold on to something familiar as the night deepened.

Stetson fiddled with the remote, and the screen flickered on, casting moving shadows on the worried faces around the room. Uncle Jake sank deeper into the loveseat, forcing a smile. Chandler stayed quietly by my side. Dad leaned against the sofa, staring at the screen but clearly lost in thought. Pops reached over and squeezed my hand, offering silent comfort. The opening credits played with upbeat music, clashing with the heavy silence. I stared at the screen, but the images blurred as fear twisted in my stomach.