One Sure Thing (Mamma Lou Matchmaker Series) (3 page)

Within minutes Hope had completed the patient forms and hospital paperwork. She placed the clipboard on the bed next to her, sat up straighter, then fluffed and loosened the halo of curls covering her head. The black ringlets had always had a mind of their own. That had been the case since she was old enough to comb her hair. No matter how much she fluffed and combed her hair, it was always recoiled to the same curly mass.

Maxine sucked her teeth loudly. “That’s a shame girlie.  You have to learn to loosen up,” she said with a thick Jamaican accent, which was usually followed by a smart remark. She picked up the white jacket from the back of the chair and held it out for Hope to slip on. Hope stood and slid her arms into the sleeves. “You need to get a hobby, something outside of this hospital. I’m telling you for your own good. You need you learn how to relax. You’re going burn yourself out one of these days. You know, of course, that the staff is taking bets on how long before you completely loose you mind.

“I sincerely hope you woke me up for something other than another one of your sermons, because to tell you the truth Maxine, I’m really not in the mood.”

Maxine chuckled. “I hope you were able to get a little shut eye, because you’re gonna need it. We have a full house.”

“Oh joy,” Hope replied.

“Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just giving you a heads up.”

“I know. Don’t take it personally.”

“I never do,” Maxine said in her usual nonchalant manner.

Hope shook her head. She marveled at Maxine’s ability to take everything in stride. At times her brusque manner made the rest of the hospital staff nervous. But for the select few who knew her well, they got to see a different side of Maxine. She was a kind and caring dedicated professional, who kept most people at bay. But at times, she took great pleasure in scaring the wits out of med students, interns, and new hires.

Maxine was a fifty-something medical school drop out with a chip on her shoulder the size of a redwood tree. She’d long since crashed and burned in the ER, she just refused to work anywhere else in the hospital. She was an excellent physician’s assistant with enough medical training to do more than the job required. Unfortunately, she’d been reprimanded by the hospital administration for her disregard for authority.

To her credit she had enough knowledge of medicine to rival most doctors and nurses, and they knew it, so they left her alone.

Maxine was an odd character. Born and raised in Jamaica, she was the illegitimate daughter of a British businessman and his Jamaican maid. She had bright blue eyes with specks of green. And when she was angry, her piercing stare had practically made grown men cry. Her high cheekbones and full lips reflected her Jamaican ancestry. Her cream-kissed umber complexion gave her an exotic look that bespoke her mixed heritage.

Thick dreadlocks, pulled off her face by a wide headband, trailed down her back like a midnight waterfall. Her frame, solid and bountiful, was Rubenesque with its round and voluptuous curves. Seemingly unruffled by anything, Maxine was legendary around the ER for her cool, calm manner in the face of crisis.

“How do you stay so composed surrounded by all of this madness?” Hope said, as she picked up the clipboard and gave it back to Maxine.

“I don’t let it get to me,” Maxine said.

“It’s not that easy, and you know it.”

“It is for me.”

“Then you’re the lucky one. ‘Cause I think it gets to all of us eventually,” Hope Confessed.

“Not if you bowl.”

“Not if you what?”

“Not if you bowl. You know bowling.”

“Bowling? What does bowling have to do with not going nuts in place?”

“It’s not necessarily the ball, it’s the pins. At times pin number one is Hugh, pin number two is Scott, and pin number three is Leanne’s husband, and so on.”

“I get it. You knock the pins down instead of the real people.”

Maxine nodded.

“Smart. Assault and battery on a bowling pin instead of a person. Not a bad idea.” Hope paused for a second then continued. “Am I one of those pins?” she asked, sure that Maxine would say no.

“Sometimes, yes.”

“That’s cold Maxine, even for you.”

Maxine shrugged then sighed heavily. “So I’ve been told.” Hope glanced at her friend and wondered just how much truth was in her last statement.

“Is that all?”

“No. Your favorite frequent flyer is back again and she’s asking for you.” Maxine handed her file.

Hope looked at Maxine questioningly then it dawned on her who Maxine was referring to. “Leanne?” Hope asked.

Maxine nodded.

“Damn, not again.” Hope shuffled through the patient files attached to the clipboard. She closed her eyes and shook her head as soon as she saw the name listed on the ER report.

“Again,” Maxine stated dryly.

“How bad is it this time?” Hope muttered, more to herself as she looked over the in-take report.

Maxine grimaced painfully and shook her head. “Oh, he really loved her this time. A sprained wrist to go with the broken arm from last time, two fractured ribs and a bruised shiner.”

“Damn,” Hope shook and lowered her head. “What is it about the full moon that drives that man crazy? He needs some serious anger management therapy.”

“He needs more than that. He needs a foot up his…” Maxine began.

Hope eyed Maxine and raised her brow. Maxine rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “But, if you ask me she’s the one that needs to have her head examined. She can’t keep going back to him. How many times has she crawled, limped and stumbled in here because her husband got too drunk and decided it was a good idea to wale away on her head. Time and time again we’ve seen her stagger in here, then a few hours later he shows up with some pathetic half-dead flowers and a tired, lame excuse and that’s supposed to make everything alright? How many times have we seen her in the last two years—ten, twelve, maybe fifteen times?”

Hope tried hard to concentrate on the chart. The last thing she wanted to do at three-thirty in the morning was get into an argument with Maxine about how someone else chose to live their life.

“Did you order the usual tests?”

Maxine nodded. “Yes.”

“Good, include a CAT scan and CX-R.”

Maxine nodded. “I also rounded up the usual suspects, police, domestic violence counselor and someone from family intervention is coming down.”

Hope frowned.

“She said she fell down the stairs, hit her head on the rail and hurt her chest on the landing. The social service counselor is in with her right now,” Maxine said with more disgust than concern in her tone.

“Don’t pass judgment, Maxine,” Hope admonished while flipping to another in-take report.

“I’m not passing judgment, I’m simply stating facts.” Maxine looked at Hope as if to punctuate her point. “She’s likely to be a STBD statistic—soon to be dead—and everybody knows it. The next time she comes through the ER doors, she just might be DOA. Then all we’ll have to do is send her through with a pretty pink toe-tag.”

Hope looked over to Maxine. Her affinity for being overly dramatic was well-known.

“Did the lab results come in yet?”

“No, the lab’s backed up.”

“Alright, I’ll see her when the results are in.”

“Somebody needs to have a good long talk with that woman,” Maxine declared.

“I’m sure you’re the right person for the job Maxine,” Hope said under her breath, just loud enough to get Maxine’s attention.

“Actually,
her doctor
is the right person for the job.”

“Wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve already spoken to her about spousal abuse. She knows the risks. She doesn’t want to hear it. She’s not ready to change her life. I believe her exact words were, “I’ll die without him.”

“At this rate she’ll die because of him,” Maxine muttered.

“She’s not ready Maxine,” Hope insisted.

“Well hell, when will she be ready, when she’s pushing up daisies, six feet under with a tombstone that reads: She Was Finally Ready?”

Hope looked up at Maxine. The urgency of her expression was frightening. A sudden jolt hit her in the pit of her stomach. The memory of abuse was never far from her mind. She knew the pattern well. Simmering anger would explode into a fit of rage. The uncontrolled fury would be unleashed in a wave of torture and beatings. She remembered it all too well. Afterwards, the same excuses, the same bruises, and the same pain.

Hope’s eyes began to well up with tears she had long ago refused to shed. A part of her understood the madness it took to stay and the insanity it took to remain silent.

“No one can change someone else’s life. She has to be willing to do something, to take the first step,” Hope said as the fatigue in her voice became evident. “It’s not our call.”

“It’s her doctor’s call.”

“She’s not ready Maxine. You know as well as I do that she has to
choose
to survive and not be a victim.” Reflexively, Hope touched the scar on the side of her face.

“I know the standard line,” Maxine admitted. “I’ve said it a thousand times myself.” She went silent for a few moments, and then almost immediately went into a three-minute lecture on the consequences of spousal abuse.

Hope was only half-listening as she looked at another chart. The conversation was getting to her or maybe it was the memories. Either way, she’d had enough. It was a waste of time and energy as long as the person refused to help themselves.

“What’s this?” Hope said, interrupting Maxine’s spiel.

“What’s what?” Maxine leaned over Hope’s shoulder and positioned her reading glasses over the bridge of her nose. She peered over the top and squinted trying to adjust her focus. Maxine decided she’d never get used to bifocals and pulled them off.

Hope moved closer to the table lamp. “This, a sonogram I ordered for exam room four. I ordered it earlier. But this says the test was cancelled.”

Maxine let her glasses dangle from their chain onto the drab blue top of the scrubs she wore. “Doctor Wallace cancelled it right after he reviewed the chart and discharged the patient.”

“Damn!” Hope instantly sprang up, barely missing the corner of the upper bunk bed and the edge of the table. “What is his problem? I am so sick of being second-guessed.”

“He is the emergency room chief. He has final say on all patients. But of course, you already know that,” Maxine said, as she followed the quick moving Hope down the corridor.

“There’s nothing you can do. You know Hugh listens to Scott. He’ll take Scott’s word over yours in a New York minute. I don’t know what you did to that man, but he sure has it in for you.”

Hope ignored the remark. Hugh was the least of her worries at the moment. Her main focus was on the patient that had just been sent home. “That’s not the point. This is
my
patient. He needed a sonogram, He needs to be admitted. He’s got a bleeding ulcer. Pepto-Bismol
and a Band-Aid aren’t going to cut it this time.” Hope grumbled as she punched the button on the wall for the emergency wing, sending the doors in motion. She burst through the ER doors like she’d been shot out of a cannon.

The first person she saw was Scott Wallace. He was talking to a very attractive lab technician. Hope walked directly to him.

“Doctor, may I please have a word with you?”