Free Queenie by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

Then he put it in a little jug of disinfectant. ‘Have a little walk around the room, Elsie,’ he said.
    I set off ultra-self-consciously. I didn’t know if I was supposed to limp or not. Dr Malory squinted carefully at me. I moved stiffly round his desk, goose pimples prickling my arms.
    ‘Yes, yes, I thought so. There’s definitely a slight limp there – do you see, Miss Kettle?’
    ‘Yes, but I tell you, it’s her shoes. Take the shoes
off
, Elsie, and walk properly for the doctor.’
    I unlaced my shoes and padded around in my socks. I felt even worse now because I had a hole in my sock and my big toe poked through.
    ‘She’s still limping,’ said Dr Malory. ‘Come here, Elsie.’
    He got off his chair and felt each leg all over again. ‘Ah!’ he said triumphantly as he prodded my right kneecap. ‘It definitely feels doughy.’
    Mum and I looked at each other, baffled.
    ‘It’s a classic symptom. Look, it’s a little swollen – and the right knee feels hotter too,’ said Dr Malory.
    We all stared at my knee as if it were a loaf of bread starting to rise. I couldn’t really see much difference between my knees. They were both knobbly and rather grubby because Nan wasn’t there to tell me to give them a good scrub.
    ‘Why are we looking at her knees?’ said Mum. ‘Surely you get TB in your chest?’
    ‘This isn’t pulmonary tuberculosis, Miss Kettle. I’m pretty sure Elsie has the bovine variety.’
    We looked at him blankly.
    ‘I think she has tuberculosis of the knee,’ he said.
    ‘So, can you cure it?’ said Mum.
    ‘She’ll need complete rest in hospital,’ said Dr Malory.
    ‘With Nan in the sanatorium!’ I said.
    ‘No, no, we’ll send you to a special orthopaedic hospital,’ said Dr Malory, busy writing notes. ‘There’s a very good one with a children’s ward at Miltree.’
    ‘What?’ said Mum. ‘That’s a good fifty miles away! Can’t she go to the local hospital? Or can’t she stay in bed at home if all she needs is rest?’
    ‘No, Elsie’s leg needs to be completely immobilized in a special splint, and once my diagnosis is confirmed she’ll need daily injections too.’
    ‘I don’t like injections,’ I mumbled.
    ‘Yes, but you’re going to be a good brave girl and not make a fuss, isn’t that right?’ Dr Malory smiled at me.
    ‘Will I get Smarties every time they inject me?’ I asked.
    ‘I rather doubt it, but you can have one now,’ he said, reaching for his special jar.
    He gave me a dark brown one this time. It was my least favourite. I hated the colour brown and I didn’t like dark chocolate very much, but I managed to thank him politely and popped it in my mouth.
    ‘Now, Miss Kettle, you need to take Elsie back to the hospital for further X-rays straight away – just give them this note,’ said Dr Malory.
    ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, she’ll start glowing in the dark with all these blooming X-rays!’ said Mum. ‘Aren’t they supposed to be bad for kiddies?’
    ‘Tuberculosis is worse – and we need to confirm the diagnosis. Then, as soon as Elsie’s had the X-rays, you need to take her to the orthopaedic hospital. I’ll phone ahead and tell them to expect you this afternoon.’
    ‘Surely we can wait till you’re certain sure she’s got TB of the leg or whatever?’
    ‘Elsie needs to be rested in bed under observation,’ said Dr Malory.
    ‘One day can’t possibly make any difference,’ Mum argued. ‘I’ve got a job interview lined up for this afternoon. I can’t go chasing halfway across the country looking for some bally hospital, not if I’m going to make the interview – and anyway, where am I going to get the fare for the two of us? I’m totally skint right this minute.’ She looked at him hopefully, as if she expected him to take out his wallet and offer her a couple of pound notes.
    ‘If money is a serious problem, take this note and show it at the National Assistance office,’ said Dr Malory. ‘Don’t look so