who
was white as a sheet, clutching a towel to her hand.
“She cut herself,” Sister Cecilia said. “I’m
taking her to the infirmary.”
“I’ll take her, Sister,” Mickey volunteered,
wrapping an arm around Abigail’s shoulders.
“Yes, of course, thank you,” Sister Cecilia
replied distractedly, already cleaning up and disinfecting the
cutting board where Abigail’s blood had dripped.
When they arrived at the infirmary, Sister
Mary David came over immediately to inspect Abigail’s hand,
unwrapping the bloody towel. “Oh, dear,” she said, “this is
definitely going to need stitches.”
“May I?” Mickey asked, pulling on a pair of
gloves.
“Yes,” Sister Mary David said, stepping back
with a frown. Mickey gently pulled the edges of the cut apart and
had Abigail bend her finger.
“Can you do stitches, Sister?” Abigail asked
in a quavering voice.
“No, I’m afraid I can’t,” replied Sister
Mary David with a worried expression as Mickey reapplied the
pressure of the towel. “We’ll either have to call the doctor out
here or take you to the hospital in Millvale. Either way it will
take over an hour.”
Mickey spoke, but it felt to her as if the
words were issuing from someone else’s mouth. “Would you both
please wait here a moment? I’ll be right back.”
Having made up her mind, she walked quickly
to Mother Theodora’s office before she could reconsider.
“ Venite,” came the answer to Mickey’s
knock.
“ Pax tecum,” said Mickey as she
entered to find Mother speaking with another nun whom she didn’t
know.
“ Et cum spiritu tuo,” Mother Theodora
said, looking up from the papers they were studying.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Mickey said. “I didn’t
mean to interrupt.”
“I’ll give you a moment,” the other nun
said, getting up to leave.
“Yes, Michele?” said Mother Theodora.
“Mother, Abigail has cut her finger rather
badly. She needs stitches. We could take her to the hospital, or…”
she looked down at the floor, “I could do it, with your
permission.”
Mother Theodora put her pen down and sat
back in her chair. “What supplies would you use? I doubt our
infirmary has what you would need.”
“I took the liberty of packing a bag of
emergency supplies just in case they were needed. I know how far we
are from town.”
“Then, my next question is, are you prepared
to open this door to your former life?”
Mickey met her gaze with a small smile.
“No,” she admitted, “but that’s a selfish impulse. There’s no
reason to incur the time and expense of an ER visit when I can take
care of this here.”
Mother Theodora looked at Mickey
approvingly. “Very well. Thank you for doing this.”
Mickey went to the postulants’ dormitory and
opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. Inside, she found her
black medical bag. She closed the trunk and hurried back to the
infirmary.
Sister Mary David had Abigail lying down
with a cool compress in her forehead. “She was becoming faint,” she
explained as she came over to the table where Mickey was laying out
a suture kit and gloves.
“Sister, I can take care of the stitches
here, with your permission, of course,” she added, deferring to
Sister Mary David’s authority in the infirmary.
“Of course.” Sister Mary David’s eyebrows
went up. “Then we’ll talk.”
Sister Mary David stood by, calming Abigail,
as Mickey swabbed Abigail’s finger with Betadine and then injected
enough Lidocaine to numb it.
“Are you okay?” Mickey asked Abigail as she
picked up the suture needle with a very fine thread attached.
Abigail nodded. She suddenly looked very
young.
“You really won’t feel this,” Mickey assured
her gently.
A few minutes later, she snipped the suture
at the end of a line of tiny, neat stitches. She wrapped Abigail’s
finger with sterile gauze and said, “You shouldn’t get this wet for
about a week.”
“I’ll speak to Sister Cecilia,” Sister Mary
David said, handing
was white as a sheet, clutching a towel to her hand.
“She cut herself,” Sister Cecilia said. “I’m
taking her to the infirmary.”
“I’ll take her, Sister,” Mickey volunteered,
wrapping an arm around Abigail’s shoulders.
“Yes, of course, thank you,” Sister Cecilia
replied distractedly, already cleaning up and disinfecting the
cutting board where Abigail’s blood had dripped.
When they arrived at the infirmary, Sister
Mary David came over immediately to inspect Abigail’s hand,
unwrapping the bloody towel. “Oh, dear,” she said, “this is
definitely going to need stitches.”
“May I?” Mickey asked, pulling on a pair of
gloves.
“Yes,” Sister Mary David said, stepping back
with a frown. Mickey gently pulled the edges of the cut apart and
had Abigail bend her finger.
“Can you do stitches, Sister?” Abigail asked
in a quavering voice.
“No, I’m afraid I can’t,” replied Sister
Mary David with a worried expression as Mickey reapplied the
pressure of the towel. “We’ll either have to call the doctor out
here or take you to the hospital in Millvale. Either way it will
take over an hour.”
Mickey spoke, but it felt to her as if the
words were issuing from someone else’s mouth. “Would you both
please wait here a moment? I’ll be right back.”
Having made up her mind, she walked quickly
to Mother Theodora’s office before she could reconsider.
“ Venite,” came the answer to Mickey’s
knock.
“ Pax tecum,” said Mickey as she
entered to find Mother speaking with another nun whom she didn’t
know.
“ Et cum spiritu tuo,” Mother Theodora
said, looking up from the papers they were studying.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Mickey said. “I didn’t
mean to interrupt.”
“I’ll give you a moment,” the other nun
said, getting up to leave.
“Yes, Michele?” said Mother Theodora.
“Mother, Abigail has cut her finger rather
badly. She needs stitches. We could take her to the hospital, or…”
she looked down at the floor, “I could do it, with your
permission.”
Mother Theodora put her pen down and sat
back in her chair. “What supplies would you use? I doubt our
infirmary has what you would need.”
“I took the liberty of packing a bag of
emergency supplies just in case they were needed. I know how far we
are from town.”
“Then, my next question is, are you prepared
to open this door to your former life?”
Mickey met her gaze with a small smile.
“No,” she admitted, “but that’s a selfish impulse. There’s no
reason to incur the time and expense of an ER visit when I can take
care of this here.”
Mother Theodora looked at Mickey
approvingly. “Very well. Thank you for doing this.”
Mickey went to the postulants’ dormitory and
opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. Inside, she found her
black medical bag. She closed the trunk and hurried back to the
infirmary.
Sister Mary David had Abigail lying down
with a cool compress in her forehead. “She was becoming faint,” she
explained as she came over to the table where Mickey was laying out
a suture kit and gloves.
“Sister, I can take care of the stitches
here, with your permission, of course,” she added, deferring to
Sister Mary David’s authority in the infirmary.
“Of course.” Sister Mary David’s eyebrows
went up. “Then we’ll talk.”
Sister Mary David stood by, calming Abigail,
as Mickey swabbed Abigail’s finger with Betadine and then injected
enough Lidocaine to numb it.
“Are you okay?” Mickey asked Abigail as she
picked up the suture needle with a very fine thread attached.
Abigail nodded. She suddenly looked very
young.
“You really won’t feel this,” Mickey assured
her gently.
A few minutes later, she snipped the suture
at the end of a line of tiny, neat stitches. She wrapped Abigail’s
finger with sterile gauze and said, “You shouldn’t get this wet for
about a week.”
“I’ll speak to Sister Cecilia,” Sister Mary
David said, handing
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