Page 27 of Lacey's Daddy
“No cars are allowed on the island, Little one. Everyone has electric golf carts.” We reach the one that must be his, and he surprises me by lifting me up by the hips, swinging me into an adult car seat, and fastening me in. Now there are more things cinched tight around me—a harness on top of another harness. He didn’t remove the straps around my body when we reached the golf cart.
Daddy climbs onto the seat in front of me, starts the cart, and pulls out of the lot.
I rarely blink as we pass beautiful greenery before finally entering the center of town. I see the street sign. It’s even calledMain Street. There are businesses on both sides of the road, and I squeal with delight when we pass the library.
It only takes a few minutes to get to the other end of Main Street, and then Daddy parks. I’m left sitting in my seat staring at the front of the clinic, panicking. I haven’t let myself think about this visit to see the doctor because I knew it would do no good and only serve to keep me nervous and fidgeting all day.
I’m shaking and holding on to Daddy’s hand with my good one as we enter the clinic. The place is quiet. After all, it’s a Sunday. They don’t take appointments on Sunday. The doctors only come in on special request or when there is a Little who needs medical attention that can’t wait.
Daddy stops just inside the clinic to remove my harness before he guides me through the waiting room and down a hallway. He finally stops and raps his knuckles on an open door.
I grab on to Daddy’s arm, almost hiding behind him as I look into the room to find a man rising from behind a desk. It’s an office, not an exam room.
The man beams as he approaches. “Brian, you’re back.” He shifts his gaze to me. “Hi there. I’m Dr. Morgan. And you must be Lacey.”
“Yes, Sir.” I feel compelled to be polite. There’s a vibe in the air. I can sense it all over the island.
“Come on back. Let’s get you in an exam room.”
I’m nervous, but I don’t say anything. I know the doctor is going to ask me hard questions. He’s also going to examine me more than he would another patient. How many abuse survivors does he see each day?
Daddy doesn’t even shut the door as he follows Dr. Morgan into an exam room. He lifts me up and sets me on the end of the exam table.
“I’ve read through the notes you sent me yesterday. Sounds like this Little one has a number of past and present injuries.”
“Yes. She’s been doing well for the past two days, improving slowly, but I’m still worried about internal injuries or even past fractures.”
“Understandable.” Dr. Morgan turns toward me. His smile is warm even though I’m certain I’m about to be very embarrassed. He takes a few minutes to do normal things like look into my ears, eyes, nose, and throat.
He lifts my arm next and examines my wrist. I’m sure Daddy told him about this particular injury.
The doctor is quiet as he presses on several spots, making me occasionally wince. He lifts my other hand and compares them before setting them down. “When I finish your exam, I’ll get some X-rays. I don’t think your wrist is broken, but I want to make sure. Can you tell me what bones you think might have been broken in the past, Little one?”
He speaks so kindly to me that it’s hard to avoid his inquisition.
“Maybe my ribs,” I whisper, “and this wrist once before.”
“This is your dominant hand, right?” the doctor asks.
He’s very observant. “Yes, Sir.”
He picks up his stethoscope next. “Can you take her shirt off for me?” he directs toward Daddy.
I whimper as Daddy pulls my T-shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but a diaper. It’s even wet because I couldn’t hold it any longer.
Daddy stands on one side of me. Dr. Morgan stands on the other. The doctor lifts the little disk toward my chest. “Sit up tall for me, Little one. Shoulders back, hands at your sides.”
I try to obey him. I want Daddy to be proud of me. I want to be agreeable even though I’m scared.
“Good girl,” Daddy says in that tone he uses when he’s pleased with me and praising me.
The doctor listens to my chest in at least a dozen places. He takes his time, moving the disk around my breasts and between them. Eventually, he switches to my back and repeats the slow listen. “You say she’s had a cough?”
“Yes. It was noticeably worse when I took her to her home. Her father is a smoker. I suspect she will stop coughing altogether now that she won’t be exposed to the impurities.”
When the doctor lowers the stethoscope, he says, “Her lungs and heart sound really good. I bet you’re right. Some people can’t tolerate smoke and improve as soon as they aren’t around it. Can you lie back for me, Little one.”
Daddy helps me recline before gently lifting my arms above my head.
