Violet Mackerel's Remarkable Recovery Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1: The Purple Lozenge

  Chapter 2: The Perfect Violet

  Chapter 3: The New Verse

  Chapter 4: The Waiting Room

  Chapter 5: The Old Lady

  Chapter 6: The Actual Tonsillectomy

  Chapter 7: The Totbafim Plot

  Chapter 8: The Star Message

  Chapter 9: The Gardening Channel

  Chapter 10: The Super Arm

  About Anna Branford

  For Rusty

  (my dad)

  —A. B.

  For Mumzi

  —E. A.

  Violet Mackerel has an extremely sore throat.

  It feels awful to talk, terrible to swallow, and horrible to eat.

  Her older sister, Nicola, and her brother, Dylan, have just left for school. Violet has been home from school all week, and today Mama is taking her to see Dr. Singh.

  Violet quite likes Dr. Singh because he asks good questions, such as “Would you like to hear your heartbeat through my stethoscope?” and “Do you want to see how my examination table goes up and down?”

  Also, if you meet him for the first time when you are only five years old, and you wonder, since his name sounds like “sing,” if he might be a singing sort of doctor, he doesn’t mind making up a little tune such as:

  When Violet and Mama get to the doctor’s office, they sit in the waiting room. Mama knits a few rows of a soft, rosy cardigan. She is a very good knitter.

  Soon the lady at the desk says, “Violet Mackerel,” which means it is time for Violet and Mama to go and see Dr. Singh.

  “How are you this morning?” he asks, feeling her forehead.

  “My throat hurts,” croaks Violet, “and it feels as if there is a cactus in it.”

  Dr. Singh presses a big, flat Popsicle stick on her tongue.

  “Say ahhhh,” he says.

  “Ahhhh,” says Violet.

  “And again,” says Dr. Singh.

  “Ahhhh,” says Violet.

  “Hmm,” says Dr. Singh, who has been looking down Violet’s throat. “I’m afraid that’s a bad case of tonsillitis.”

  Violet has had tonsillitis before. It is when two bits at the back of your throat, which are called tonsils, swell up and feel as though you have swallowed a cactus.

  “I’ll give you some lozenges for now, to help with the prickles,” says Dr. Singh, “but I think it would be a good idea to have your tonsils taken out.”

  Violet, however, does not think this is a good idea. She generally prefers not to have things taken out.

  “It’s a very simple operation,” explains Dr. Singh, “and you’ll be asleep all the way through it. And then you’ll need a while at home afterward, resting and eating ice cream.”

  Violet has never been in the hospital before and she quite likes ice cream.

  “Anything else?” she asks.

  Dr. Singh thinks.

  “Well,” he says, “some people find that their voices change a little bit after they have their tonsils out.”

  This is very interesting to Violet, who always thinks about singing when she sees Dr. Singh, even though she knows now that he is not really a singing sort of doctor.

  Violet thinks how exciting it would be if, when she was singing in the bath, her voice carried down into the garden and all the way along the street. The neighbors would say, “Who is doing that lovely opera singing?” and Mama would say, “Oh, that is Violet. She always sings like that since she had her tonsils out and soon she is going to be a real opera singer on the radio.”

  “How soon could I be an opera singer on the radio?” croaks Violet.

  “Well, most people feel completely better in a couple of weeks,” says Dr. Singh. “I’m not sure about opera singing, but I have certainly seen some remarkable recoveries in my time.”

  Violet decides that hers will be the most remarkable recovery Dr. Singh has ever seen in his time.

  “Until then,” he says, “would you like pink throat lozenges that taste like strawberries, or purple throat lozenges that taste like grapes?”

  Violet thinks it is an excellent question.

  “Purple, please,” she says.

  Dr. Singh pops open a packet of lozenges and gives one to Violet so it can start soothing her throat prickles right away. The purple lozenge looks like a precious crystal in her palm.

  And it gives Violet an idea.

  On the drive home Violet’s idea is slowly growing into a theory. It is called The Theory of Giving Small Things, and it works like this: If someone has a problem and you give them something small, like a feather, or a pebble, or a purple lozenge, that small thing might have a strange and special way of helping them.

  Of course, it might help in an ordinary way. For example, handkerchiefs are helpful for runny noses, Band-Aids are good for grazed knees, and purple lozenges are excellent when you have tonsillitis.

  But the small thing might also help in an extraordinary way, and that is the interesting part.

  Violet suspects, for example, that when Dr. Singh gave her that purple lozenge, there was, tucked inside it, a little bit of the singing part of his name, which will be very helpful for turning her everyday voice into an opera voice. She also suspects that when Vincent picks a flower for Mama, it is not just the flower but a sort of special wish tucked somewhere inside it that makes Mama have such a nice smile. (Vincent is Mama’s boyfriend. He comes to their house a lot and he quite often picks Mama a flower on the way.)

  “You’re very quiet,” says Mama to Violet. “Are you a bit worried about going to the hospital?”

  “Maybe a bit,” says Violet. “Have you ever been to the hospital?”

  “Well,” says Mama, “the last time I went to the hospital was when you were being born.”

  “Were you nervous?”

  “Maybe, but I think I was too excited to notice,” says Mama.

  That is a bit how Violet feels too.

  In a photo album at Violet’s house there is a picture from just after Violet was born. In it, she looks a bit like a tiny, pink, hairy monkey wrapped in one of Mama’s knitted blankets. Mama looks very tired and there are teardrops on her cheeks, but she has the look on her face of birthdays and Christmases all at once. It is Violet’s favorite photo.

  “Did you know I was going to be a girl called Violet?” asks Violet.

  “We knew you were going to be a girl,” says Mama, “but at first, no one could think of a name for you.”

  “Why did you decide to call me Violet?” asks Violet.

  “Well, after you were born, the midwife gave me a perfect violet for the little vase by my bed. That’s what gave me the idea.”

  Violet smiles.

  “Would you have called me Rose if the midwife had picked you a perfect rose?”

  “Maybe,” says Mama.

  “Would you have called me Daffodil if she had picked you a perfect daffodil?”

  “Probably not,” says Mama.

  Violet is quite glad that the midwife gave Mama a perfect violet. A violet is a very small flower. It must have been just the right sort of small thing to help Mama when she was tired after having a baby and needed to think of a good name.

  “I’m not nervous about having my tonsils out,” says Violet. “Not really.”

  Then her throat is too prickly for any more talking.

  Over the next few days, Violet finds out another interesting thing about having your tonsils out, which is that the proper name for it is “tonsillectomy.”

  The day before her trip to the hospital, the postman comes to Violet’s house to deliver a box of wool to Mama.

  “I’m having a tonsill
ectomy tomorrow,” Violet tells him. She wonders if he will be a little bit jealous about the ice cream and the change of voice.

  “A tonsillectomy? You brave little thing!” he says.

  Then, later on, a lady comes to the door asking Mama to sign a petition.

  “I’m having a tonsillectomy tomorrow,” Violet tells her.

  “A tonsillectomy? Goodness me!” says the lady, clucking and tutting.

  No one seems to be at all jealous. But it is quite interesting to have so much clucking and tutting and people saying “goodness me.”

  In the evening, Vincent cooks dinner for everyone. Violet looks down at the kitchen floor and sighs very deeply. She hopes Vincent will ask her what is wrong, but he is a bit deaf, and anyway, there is a very loud noise of French fries sizzling in the pan.

  She sighs much more loudly.

  Still nothing.

  “I am having a tonsillectomy tomorrow,” says Violet. She tries to sniffle a little bit.

  “I know,” says Vincent. “You get to stay in bed and eat ice cream for a week. I’m jealous.”

  Violet smiles.

  “I am going to have a remarkable recovery,” she tells Vincent. “When you hear me singing in the bath, you won’t even know it’s me. You will have to ask Mama who is doing that lovely opera singing, and Mama will say, ‘It is Violet, and soon she will be on the radio.’”

  Violet has been making up a verse for a song she likes called “My Favorite Things.” It is from a movie about children with a nice nanny, and Violet likes making up new verses for it. Her newest verse goes like this:

  Big chunky markers and

  aprons with pockets

  Movies with planets and

  spacemen and rockets

  Small purple lozenges

  from Dr. Singh’s

  These are a few of my

  favorite things

  Violet wishes she could sing it for Vincent and Mama, but her throat is too sore.

  Before she goes to sleep, Violet says good night to her tonsils.

  The next morning Violet wakes up with a strange feeling inside her. It is called butterflies, which is odd, Violets thinks, since it feels so much more like rhinoceroses.

  Violet can’t have any breakfast because you’re not supposed to eat before you have an operation. There is a nice smell of toast coming from the kitchen. The smell makes the rhinoceroses stamp around crossly inside Violet.

  Mama is in her bedroom getting dressed, and Violet goes in for a chat.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” says Violet. “I’m going to keep my tonsils and have some toast.”

  “That’s a shame,” says Mama. “Vincent brought so much ice cream over that I can hardly close the door of the freezer.”

  “All the same flavor?” asks Violet.

  “All different flavors,” says Mama.

  Violet thinks.

  “Also,” says Mama, “I was looking forward to hearing the next verse of ‘My Favorite Things’ being sung in your new voice.”

  Violet had been looking forward to that too.

  So Violet takes a very deep breath and thinks that maybe she will still have the tonsillectomy after all.

  She packs a small bag to take to the hospital. First she packs some ordinary things, like a book and a teddy. Then she packs some other things. One is a Blue China Bird that Vincent gave her, because she feels it may have some of Vincent’s braveness tucked inside it. Vincent has been backpacking all over the world and that is the sort of braveness that is very useful when you are having a tonsillectomy.

  Next she packs a woolly scarf that Mama made for her, because she feels it might have a sort of hug tucked in it, which might be helpful if you need to make a remarkable recovery.

  And finally she packs a “get well soon” card that her big brother, Dylan, made for her, which has a picture of her singing in the opera with lots of musical notes coming out of her mouth. Dylan is a very good violin player, and Violet feels he may have tucked some musical genius into the card, which is just the sort of thing that helps when you want to sing opera on the radio.

  After Nicola and Dylan have gone to school, Mama puts a big basket of wool and needles in the trunk of the car so she can do some knitting while Violet is having her operation. Violet puts her bag beside it and then they are ready to go.

  On the way, Violet tries to think of some new words for “My Favorite Things,” but the rhinoceroses keep distracting her.

  The waiting room at the hospital is bigger than at Dr. Singh’s. One of the people waiting there is an old lady sitting by herself. She looks as though she has been waiting for a very long time. Mama notices her too.

  “I feel as though I’ve seen her somewhere before,” whispers Mama to Violet.

  The old lady has a green cardigan and a necklace of bright red beads and she is doing a funny thing with her hands. Her fingers, which have lots of rings on them, are all laced together and she is making her thumbs go round and round.

  Violet tries it, but it is trickier than it looks.

  “Are you having a tonsillectomy?” Violet asks the old lady.

  The old lady smiles. “No, I’m having an operation on my arm,” she says.

  “Do you have butterflies?” asks Violet.

  “Well, I think they feel more like rhinoceroses,” says the old lady.

  Violet smiles.

  While they wait, the old lady in the waiting room shows Violet how to do the trick with her thumbs and Violet shows the old lady the things in her bag. The old lady especially likes the Blue China Bird.

  “It reminds me of my garden when I was a little girl in England,” she says. “There were robins in the winter and their eggs were just that color.”

  “Do you have a garden now?” asks Violet.

  “Yes,” says the old lady, “though lately my arm has been too sore to do much gardening. But when I can garden, I grow beautiful flowers.”

  “After your arm operation, will you be able to grow them again?”

  “I hope so,” says the old lady.

  “Dr. Singh says that after my tonsillectomy my voice will change a bit,” Violet tells the lady. “Right now I have an ordinary voice, but afterward I think it will change into an opera voice.”

  “Really?” asks the old lady.

  “Yes,” says Violet. “You’ll probably hear me on the radio sometime. My name is Violet Mackerel, just so you can be sure it is me. And maybe after your operation, your ordinary arm will turn into a superarm. Then you will be able to do lots of gardening and lots of other things, too. When the other old ladies can’t get the lids off their jars, they will bring them to your house and you’ll be able to do it on the first try.”

  The old lady laughs a little bit. “It would be handy to have a superarm,” she says.

  Violet wishes she had a small thing to give her, to help. She asks Mama if there are any more purple lozenges.

  “I don’t think you should have one right before your operation,” says Mama.

  “It’s not for me,” says Violet. Mama gives her a purple lozenge.

  Violet wraps up the purple lozenge in a tissue like a present and gives it to the old lady. She explains the Theory of Giving Small Things and tells her about how, tucked inside the purple lozenge, there could be a little bit of Violet’s own superness.

  “Thank you,” says the old lady.

  Then a man comes out and says in a loud voice, “IRIS MACDONALD.”

  “That’s me,” says the old lady.

  “How are your rhinoceroses?” asks Violet.

  “They’re not too bad now, actually,” says the old lady, putting the purple lozenge in her cardigan pocket. “It was lovely to meet you,” she says to Violet.

  “It was lovely to meet you, too,” says Violet, “and when we have both had remarkable recoveries, I think we should have tea together so you can hear my opera voice and I can see your superarm.”

  “Let’s do that,” says the old lady.

  �
�Promise?” asks Violet.

  “I promise,” says the old lady Iris MacDonald.

  They wave good-bye.

  Violet’s rhinoceroses aren’t too bad now either.

  The next time the man comes out he says, “VIOLET MACKEREL.”

  Violet and Mama pack up their things and follow him down a little corridor. They meet another doctor and a nurse and the nurse shows Violet the bed that will be hers while she is in the hospital. The mattress is a bit thinner than her bed at home, but it is as white as a cloud and Violet quite likes it.

  She does not at all like the part where they give her a needle and it feels like a sharp little pinch on her arm, but it is over very, very quickly and then she drifts off to sleep.

  Violet sleeps right through the tonsillectomy and when she wakes up, still on her cloud bed, Mama is there and the tonsillectomy is finished.

  “Hello,” says Mama, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

  “A bit groggy,” croaks Violet.

  She sleeps a bit more with Mama next to her and then she wakes up again and watches Mama knitting for a while. It is a nice thing to see while you are drowsing after a tonsillectomy.

  Soon she feels well enough to sit up, and Mama has a cup of tea and Violet has some ice to suck. And then it is only a bit more time until the nurse says Violet is well enough to go home.

  When she gets home, Violet is still feeling groggy, so she goes back to bed with a hot water bottle, even though it is still daytime. Her big sister, Nicola, who is a very good jewelry maker, has made her a beautiful necklace. The beads have little letters of the alphabet on them and they spell out “g-e-t-w-e-l-l-s-o-o-n-v-i-o-l-e-t.” It is in a little box by Violet’s bed.