"Babysitters Club 03 The Truth About Stacey" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

Mom began to look panicked. "You weren't snacking over at Claudia's, were you?"
"Mother. Of course not." The thing is, I am allowed a certain amount of sweet stuff each day. In fact, I have to eat a certain amount of sweets in order to maintain that delicate balance between food and insulin. My diet is so exact, though, that I can't just snack whenever I feel like it. I can't, for instance, suddenly decide to eat a Twinkie or something over at Claudia's, and then make up for it by giving myself extra insulin. It just doesn't work. In fact, it's a good way to make myself sick. So you can see why Mom panicked at the thought of my snacking. But for heaven's sake, doesn't she trust me? I don't want to get sick, either.
"Honey, I was just asking. . . . Are you really feeling fine?"
"Yes."
"But you've lost three pounds."
"I can't help it. Maybe I'm more active now that I have some friends. Maybe we need to increase my diet."
"Are you hungry all the time?"
"Not all the time. Not like I was before we knew I had diabetes. But sometimes it seems like an awfully long time from one meal to the next."
"You weren't hungry tonight, though."
"No. ..." I didn't want to talk about the Baby-sitters Club.
"Well, I'll call the doctor on Monday."
"Which one?" My main doctor, the specialist my pediatrician sent me to when the diabetes was first discovered, is in New York. Her name is Dr. Werner. But of course I have to have a doctor here in Stoneybrook, too, so Dr. Werner referred us to Dr. Frank. Both doctors are nice, but I like Dr. Werner better.
"I'll call Dr. Frank, I guess," said Mom. "I don't think we need to bother Dr. Werner."
I nodded.
Mom opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, hesitating. After a few more silent seconds she said, "Just so you're prepared, dear Ч "
I cringed. Whatever was coming didn't sound good.
" Ч I want you to know that you're going to be scheduled for a series of tests with a new doctor in New York at the beginning of December."
I groaned.
"He's someone Uncle Eric heard about on a television program."
"We're going to a doctor because Uncle Eric saw him on TV?" I exclaimed.
"Honey, supposedly he's working miracles with diabetes. After Uncle Eric saw him, I found two articles about him in medical jour-
nals, and then Profiles magazine did a long interview with him. It was very impressive. He's getting a lot of attention right now."
"Did Dr. Werner say we should go see him?"
"No."
"Dr. Frank?"
"No."
"Have you even discussed this with them?"
"No."
"But Mom, why? Why do I have to see another new doctor? There's no way to treat what I've got except with the diet and the insulin, and that's just what we're doing."
"There are always new developments, Sta-cey," said Mom quietly. "Your father and I want the best for you."
"We've got the best."
"It's only for three days."
"Three days! Three days? Do you know how much school I'll miss? And it'll all be for nothing. It always is. I spent sixth grade falling farther and farther behind, trying to keep up. Now I've started over in a new place, away from New York City, and you're going to keep dragging me back there and ruining my life? Mom, it's not fair."
"Hey, hey, hey. What's going on here?" Dad poked his head in my door.
"The doctors, Dad. More doctors. I don't
mind going to New York to see Dr. Werner, but don't make me keep looking for a miracle. Miracles don't happen. If you want to look, fine, but don't make me search with you."
"Young lady," said my father. "I don't appreciate your tone of voice."
I didn't answer him.
"We're doing this because we love you," said Mom.
"I know."
"We want what's best for you," added Dad.
"I know."
"All right." Dad sounded tired.
"I'll tell you about the new doctor some other time," said Mom. My parents left the room.
As soon as they closed the door I heard the phone ring. A few seconds later, Dad called, "Stacey! For you."
"Coming!" I shouted.
I picked up the extension in my parents' bedroom, since Mom and Dad were downstairs. "Hello?" Half of me hoped the caller was Pete. The other half hoped for Sam Thomas.
It was Kristy. "Hi," she said glumly. "I've been thinking."
"Oh, good! About the club, I hope."
"What else? We didn't get nearly enough done at our meeting this afternoon. I think we