Can I Have A Bandaid?
"Thanks." Max gave the woman—Melissa—a small smile in return, though it was slightly pained. "My parents were expecting a boy. I mean, after already having three of them, why not, right?" The talking was at least taking her mind off of her arm. "How old’s your son?"
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Max slouched forward, unconsciously curling in on herself to keep her arm from moving. ”Stray dog,” she sighed, knowing she’d probably have to get a tetanus shot. ”At least, I think it was stray. I didn’t exactly think about checking for a collar when it had it’s jaws clamped down on my arm.”
"He's sixteen," Melissa said, following after the girl to the bed before she pulled the curtain shut. "Ouch. Dog bites suck," she said, "and they're a pain, because we have to make sure not to close the bite up, because it'll trap infection." Grabbing one of the empty charts, Melissa rolled the bedside table over. "A lot of this, we'll fill out later, okay sweetheart? I just need to know if you're allergic to anything? And do you remember where you saw the dog? We'll get in touch with Doctor Deaton's office, see if they have any record. Hopefully, he's not an actual stray, because that brings up a whole host of problems, including the possibility that it might've been rabid."
