Different...

Her parents knew she wasn't like other kids. She wasn't like any of their other children, she wasn't like any of the children she had been in preschool and now kindergarten with. She was different. They just hadn't realized how different. Not until the day she cut her wrist.

They had rushed her to the hospital. Towel wrapped tightly around the bleeding wrist. Keeping her awake and calm as she was obviously already in shock. She stared at the blood seeping through the wrapping. A small furrow line between her eyes. 

The emergency room had snapped to attention. She was five! Five! And she had cut her own wrist! The doctors came, the nurses came, the child psychologist was called. Child protective services would be notified to interview the family. What could cause a baby to cut her own wrist? Her parents could feel the judgment from everyone already. They started to judge each other as well. And to wonder what their other children might be doing that they weren't paying attention to? Had they caused this? Were they going to do the same? 

Life was suddenly a mystery without any hint of an answer. How? Why? What happened?

Everyone was worried about everyone else. 

The intern who was learning her skills did the stitches. Slow and careful. She wanted to leave the smallest scar she could. Hopeful that this wouldn't be a constant reminder for this baby of whatever was bothering her so much. That it would pass and the scar wouldn't be a giant gash to remind her. That this very quiet and peaceful baby would feel such...well...what was she feeling? Thinking back to the chart there were no notes about the child herself. Just what all was being done on her behalf. Had anyone thought to talk to her? To ask what was wrong? Was that crazy? To think that at five she would be able to tell them? Well, at five she was able to show them so...

She studied the little girl. Who she realized was studying her very intently right back. Or at least studying what she was doing.

"Do you have any questions for me?" 

Two giant brown eyes looked up at her and blinked. "Why do I feel the thread pull but it doesn't hurt? How did you learn to sew skin? If I sewed my fingers together would I have flippers like a fish? Why was there red blood in my wrist? What..."

"Woah! Hold on a second let me catch up."

The giant brown eyes blinked again. She pursed her lips and sighed. 

"You are always waiting for people to catch up to you aren't you?"

The small mouth twisted, "People are always telling me to slow down at least."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did!" She giggled. 

"Another one then. Why did you cut your wrist?"

"I wanted to know why it was blue."

"Why what was blue?"

"My wrist. My fingers and knees and elbows are pink. And when I get scrapes or cuts I bleed red blood. But my wrists are blue, so what is blue?"

"Oh, I see. And do you know now?"

She stuck out her jaw in a sign of frustration. "No. Nothing blue came out. Only red blood. Why is my wrist blue?"

"That's why you cut your wrist? To see why it was blue?"

"Yes." The tone she used made clear she thought the question was stupid. 

"Why didn't you just ask someone?"

She sighed, "I did ask. Nobody would answer me. Just like you aren't answering me either. Nobody knows."

She didn't mean to laugh at the child. But the complete conviction that nobody knew why the blood vessels in her wrist were blue was something surprising. "Well, I know. But I don't know how well I can explain it to you."

Two big brown eyes rolled in disbelief. 

She laughed again. "Okay, it has to do with the way light penetrates your skin. Everything we see, every color, is just light waves. Different things absorb and reflect light differently, and our skin is thick enough and our veins are deep enough that only the blue light is able to be seen, so our red blood vessels and our red blood look blue under our skin." 

A small face reflected back deep thought. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, I might have not explained it perfectly, because that's not my area of expertise. But it's pretty basically the reason."

"Who told you that?"

She thought for a moment, "I think I learned it in high school? I don't remember though."

"Didn't you wonder before?"

"Maybe? I don't remember."

She could see the concentration take over the little girl's face again. She was clearly trying to process everything she had just heard. "Do you always have that many questions?"

"Yes. And nobody answers them. They just tell me to be quiet."

"Can you read?"

Those two brown eyes looked at her with disgust. "Of course. I'm not a baby."

She held up her hands in surrender, "Sorry! Sorry! But not every five year can read yet. You're pretty smart I think."

"I think so too."

She laughed again. The little ones never had much time for false modesty. If you told her nephew he was good at basketball he agreed like you were dumb to even mention it. He might also let you know he was also very handsome. The confidence of a 6 year old was something to strive for. Now she thought the intelligence of a five year old might be as well.

"Do you go to the library or just read books at school?"

"I go to the library once a week."

"Okay, next time you go you can talk to the librarian about books that might help you answer your questions. With less danger."

"Danger?"

"Yes, cutting yourself open was very dangerous. You need to keep your blood inside. Not outside. Small scrapes and cuts aren't something to worry about but something like this? This could be very bad."

"Like cutting the brake line?"

She tried to not be too startled, "What?"

"Johnny, my brother, was watching a show where the bad guys cut the brake line on the car. All of the brake fluid leaked out and the guy died. Did I cut the brake line?"

"Kind of. Blood vessels hold your blood inside like a brake line hold the brake fluid. If the brake fluid leaks out the brakes on the car don't work. If all of your blood leaks out then..."

"Then I die. I know what dying is. My grandmother died last year. It means her heart stopped and she won't come to dinner anymore."

"Yes. And we don't want that for you, so you have to be very careful. No more cutting yourself open to see what's inside. Deal?"

She nodded, "Deal."

"Okay, you are all stitched up. I'm going to give your parents some instructions on how to take care of this while it heals, and I need you to follow what they tell you, okay? It's really important."

"Okay. Are you sure the librarian will help me? All he does is read to us at story time and put books back on the shelf."

"Oh that's not all he does. He also helps people find books on different subjects and answers questions. Librarians are pretty cool. Now, it might take some convincing on your part that you want some science books for younger readers, most kids your age aren't ready for them, but I bet if you talk to him a little he'll understand that you are. And he might want to clear them with your parents as well. But I bet he can find you a lot of question answering books."

She put a couple of pieces of tape on the gauze wrapped around the very small wrist and then looked up at the door. The child's parents and the psychologist were standing there watching with stunned faces. 

"We didn't know..."

"You were just curious?"

"Dr. Archuleta? Would you please take some time to speak with me later? I'd like to talk about your next rotation."

She was a different child. Her parents hadn't realized it. But now they did.