I tell my mom and dad I’m going to skate by the beach but meet Laurel in front of the urgent care clinic to talk to Dr. Villapando instead. After being called back and having my vitals checked in the hallway, I wait in one of the now familiar exam rooms of the clinic. The paper cover of the exam table crinkles underneath my jeans and nervous sweat collects beneath my ponytail. I thrum my fingers against my knees and try to distract myself by studying an IS IT A COLD OR THE FLU? poster on the wall across from me. It’s been years since I’ve had it, but influenza is miserable. I decide to include a flu shot in my list of requests. That doesn’t seem exorbitant. I’ve even seen places giving them out for free. Businesses and schools and pharmacies in town.
My attorney is the perfect picture of calm. The opposite of me. Or my mom, who anxiously twisted the strap of her purse in her hands when she was here. I decide to let Laurel’s calm make me calm. To give me hope we can really do this.
Finally, Dr. Villapando swings the door open. He instantly scowls when he sees me but collects himself quickly.
“Well, hello, Juniper,” he says.
I give a little wave at the side of my hip. “Hi, Dr. Villapando.”
He studies me, looking for rashes and other uncontrolled contagious things that could require alerting the CDC. “What brings you in today?”
“You told me to get an attorney, so I did.” I motion to Laurel. “This is my attorney. We’re here to get my shots.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “You certainly are determined.”
“Yes, I am.”
Laurel holds out her arm to shake Dr. Villapando’s hand. “I’m Laurel Ward.” I appreciate how easy it is to take her seriously. I’m sure the business suit without flip-flops helps. But does her foot hurt? Meanwhile, I rode up on my skateboard, wearing jeans like any other day.
Dr. Villapando looks at me. “Is Laurel your legal guardian?”
“She’s not.”
“I don’t want to vaccinate you without a legal guardian. If your parents aren’t here, saying this is okay, I’m at risk of a malpractice suit. And I can’t jeopardize the clinic or myself.”
“I’m not going to give up.”
He sits down in his chair with the wheels on it and slides closer to me. “I’m an advocate of vaccines. I’ve made that clear to you, and I appreciate your dedication to this cause.” He turns his focus to Laurel, then back to me. “There are some vaccines, like HPV, to which you can consent, but I honestly wouldn’t feel comfortable administering anything, even that, without your parents’ permission. While I hate to lend any credence to their fears about vaccines, you’re a patient who has never been vaccinated. And if you did have any sort of reaction to a vaccine, even something as mild and common as swelling at the injection site, your parents could make a case of negligence against me. I can’t risk that.”
“Do you know someone who will do it?” I ask.
“You can certainly go office to office, doctor to doctor, and state your case. You might find someone willing. They’ll want to bring in their office’s malpractice attorney, I’m sure.” He thinks for a moment. “What I will say is that if you had your own legal paperwork in hand, I might consider it.”
I look at Laurel. “Like the petition?” I ask her and she nods. I look back at Dr. Villapando and say, “I can do that.”
“Come see me when you get it.”
“We’re working on it,” Laurel tells him. “This was good information today. Thank you.”
Dr. Villapando stands and shakes my hand, then Laurel’s. “You two have a good day.”
I lean back and bang my head against the wall behind me as soon as the door shuts. “Another day and still no shots.”
Laurel shakes her head. “Don’t get discouraged. We’re on the right path. A petition is the way to go.”
“So my parents will definitely have to know.”
“I don’t see any way around it. We’re not going to be able to find a doctor willing to take on the risk of vaccinating you without an okay from them, even if your age is legal for consent with some vaccines. I can sympathize with that. So we’ll take a more official route. A legal one. If we take the mature-minor angle, that’ll give you medical emancipation, allowing you to make your own medical choices, while still living with your parents.” She looks around the room, at the cabinets and the posters and the jars of cotton balls, then back at me. “We’ll get this done, Juniper. I’m sure of it.”
“It sounds like it’s going to be a lot of work.”
“It’s the kind of work I like to do.”