Page 3 of Hello Dr. Christmas

She took over my role, and after a brief recess, the show continued without me.

I’m sure it will be all over the newspapers tomorrow.

When the doctor returns, he places the x-ray images up on the wall. “It looks like you’ve done a lot of damage here, Clara. First of all, there’s a spiral fracture of the fifth metatarsal shaft, which is common in dancers, along with some pretty severe tears in the Achilles tendon. It might not be a complete rupture, but you’ve also torn the anterior talofibular ligament, and you can see over here that—”

“How long?” I ask, interrupting him. “How long until it’s fixed and I can dance again?”

“I don’t think you understand how bad this is. We are going to have to operate. It could be six months before you can even walk on it properly. You may never be able to dance on it again.”

No. I didn’t hear that. I’m going to forget that he just said that. “I need a second opinion,” I tell him, swallowing. “Please. Bring me another doctor. I need to find someone who thinks he can help me dance again.”

The doctor sighs and turns to leave the room. “Sure. But we are probably going to need to send you for an MRI, too.”

When I’m left in the room alone, staring at my x-rays, I begin to feel really alone. You never realize how alone you are, until you’re in a hospital room all by yourself. Reaching for my phone, I do what I think most people would do in a situation like this. I call my mother.

She picks up after a few rings.

“Clara?” she answers with surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be performing now?”

“I got injured, Mom,” I say, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to be able to finish the production.”

“Oh, no! Sweetie, that’s terrible. We were hoping to come see you in Chicago.”

“I know,” I tell her. “But that’s not going to happen now. I am going to need an operation of some sort.”

“Don’t worry, Clara. You are young, and you will heal. You will dance in many more shows, for many years to come, after you heal from this.”

“I hope so,” I say miserably.

“Come home as soon as you can, sweetie,” my mother says. “I will take care of you while you heal. Mary and Eve are already home, and we’ll all do our best to make you feel better. Although Evie has some of her own drama going on, and she showed up completely drunk out of her mind.”

“Really?” I say with surprise. “Wait—Mary is there too? I thought she was still in L.A..”

“I asked them to come home sooner than planned, because Dad has been having some memory problems.”

“Memory problems?” I say, sitting up. “Mom, you never told me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, honey. I know you’re under way more pressure than the other girls, with your hectic schedule of performances.”

“You should have told me,” I say with concern, temporarily forgetting about my ankle as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I wince at the pain this motion causes. I knew that Eve was heading home, because she was texting me updates about a guy she was seeing. She even called me from the plane to tell me that he broke her heart. Poor Evie. I wonder if she feels half as heartbroken as I do. “I will head home as soon as I can.”

“We can’t wait to see you, honey. Please take care of yourself—and dress warmly. It’s very cold up here in Minnesota.”

I smile weakly. “I remember, Mom. I’ll see you soon.”

Hanging up, I move to text Mary and Eve, just as a different doctor enters the room.

“Unfortunately, Clara, we do recommend that you have the surgery. But I don’t think we’ll be able to guarantee that you will be able to dance again—”

“Fine,” I say miserably. “I don’t care anymore. I just want to get out of here.”

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