PATIENT CARE (Medical Romance) (Doctor Series) (2 page)
Read PATIENT CARE (Medical Romance) (Doctor Series) Online
Authors: Bobby Hutchinson
“Mom? Mom, what’s wrong?”
Melissa was alarmed. “You sound terrible.”
She usually had lunch with Betsy on Sunday afternoon, but her mother had called yesterday morning and canceled, claiming that she hadn’t slept well the night before and needed to have a little nap.
Melissa had been relieved that Betsy hadn’t suggested she come by later in the day; she’d had a stack of reports to read by Monday morning. Now she felt a stab of guilt for not at least calling last night and checking on her mother.
“I’m sick, Lissa.” Betsy drew a shuddering breath. “I’ve had this awful pain in my stomach all weekend, and I kept thinking it would go away. But it’s gotten worse instead of better. Now I’m really sick to my stomach. And dizzy. I’m real dizzy.”
“Mom, lie down and stay there. Don’t take anything. I’ll be right over.” Melissa hung up the phone and grabbed her keys and handbag. Her mother prided herself on never being ill, and the odd time she was, she wouldn’t admit to anything more severe than a touch of flu or an annoying little cold, even when she sounded as if she had pneumonia. For Betsy to call and say she was sick could only mean that her mother was desperate.
Even exceeding the speed limit, the trip to the Vancouver suburb of Burnaby took twenty-five frantic minutes. Melissa screeched into the driveway of the tiny bungalow where she’d grown up, abandoned the car and raced to the door, which was locked as usual; Betsy worried about intruders.
Melissa swore under her breath as she unearthed her key, and then wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside. The house was like an oven; she’d tried repeatedly to put air-conditioning in for Betsy, but her stubborn mother would have none of it.
“That’s how people get sick,” Betsy insisted. “Breathing secondhand air.”
Once the woman had an idea in her head, there was no changing it.
“Mom, it’s me,” Melissa called. There was no answer. Filled with apprehension, she hurried through the living room and into Betsy’s small bedroom off the hallway.
Her mother was slumped across the bed, her long, thin frame curled into a tight ball. That she was lying on top of her cream-colored heirloom bedspread was another disturbing indication of extreme distress. Melissa had never seen Betsy so much as sit on the treasured bedcover.
Melissa crouched beside Betsy and put a hand on her forehead. Her mother had a fever.
“Mom, can you talk? Tell me exactly what’s happened, exactly where you hurt.”
Betsy made an effort to sit up, but the pain was obviously too intense and she slumped down again. Her face, normally either wreathed in smiles or screwed into a frown of disapproval, was contorted with pain and pasty white. She was perspiring heavily, which was understandable in the heat, but she was also shivering so hard her teeth were chattering.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she gasped. “I’ve been constipated for a while. I took some of those laxatives Gladys brought over. If my bowels would just move, I’m sure I’d feel better.”
Melissa knew that wasn’t the solution. Constipation was a symptom. She’d begun her career as a nurse, working in the ER for some years before going back to school to get her master’s in health administration. Talking in a soothing tone now despite her alarm, she asked questions as she felt her mother’s abdomen and again assessed her temperature.
It was immediately obvious that Betsy needed medical attention—and fast. The problem would be getting her to agree. Along with her dread of intruders, Betsy had what amounted to a paranoid fear of doctors and hospitals.
When Melissa was still a toddler, her mother had lost both her parents and Melissa’s father within a six-month period. Their illnesses, in Betsy’s opinion, had all been misdiagnosed and mistreated by the family physician. He’d put Melissa’s father, Frank, “under the knife” when an ulcer perforated. Frank had never regained consciousness, and Melissa had listened to complaints of professional bungling throughout her growing-up years.
She wondered sometimes if her own attraction to the medical field wasn’t some sort of rebellion on her part.
Betsy hadn’t been to a doctor since she’d broken her wrist nineteen years ago, a long enough time between doctor’s visits, Melissa decided.
“Mom, I’m calling an ambulance. You need to go to Emergency.”
The closest ER was Burnaby General, but Betsy had no family doctor. Melissa had met all the doctors at St. Joe’s, and she wanted someone she knew to care for her mother.
Betsy shook her head.
“Mom, you’ve got something seriously wrong, and there’s no other alternative. You have to be seen by a doctor.”
“No, Lissa,” Betsy moaned. “I won’t go to any hospital. Once they get you in, that’s the end of you.”
Betsy had responded as Melissa had expected, but the lack of willfulness in her tone showed exactly how sick she really was. Melissa didn’t bother arguing. She phoned 911, and within twenty minutes paramedics were gently loading Betsy on a stretcher. She had stopped objecting, which Melissa found almost as terrifying as the sound of her mother whimpering.
At St. Joe’s, Dr. Greg Brulotte was in charge of the evening shift, for which Melissa was grateful; he was highly proficient. Betsy couldn’t be in better hands, but it didn’t quell the fear that made Melissa’s own hands tremble as she filled out the necessary forms.
She paced the waiting room while her mother was being examined, and her heart hammered when Brulotte came hurrying toward her, his slight limp not slowing him down at all.
“Your mother has a bowel obstruction, Melissa,” he said without preamble. “X rays show a sizable mass, which has to be removed. We’re taking her up to surgery immediately.”
“Seeley’s on.”
Melissa shook her head. She was in a position to pull rank, and she didn’t hesitate. She wanted the finest surgeon in the country for her mother, and although she knew Seeley was more than competent, he wasn’t her first choice.
“I want James Burke,” she stated. She had on file a number of glowing letters of praise from former patients of Burke’s. His genius as a surgeon was fast becoming a legend at St. Joe’s. That his dif
ficult temperament was as well known as his surgical skill wasn’t even a consideration. Melissa wanted and needed expertise at this moment, not a good bedside manner.
Dr. Brulotte nodded. “Okay, let me try to get hold of him. You can visit your mom meanwhile.”
Melissa hurried into the treatment room.
Betsy grabbed her hand and clung to it. “I don’t want any operation, Lissa. Please,” she begged in a frail voice. “Don’t let them put me under the knife. You know what happened to your father.”
Seeing her mother so frightened and helpless broke Melissa’s heart, but what she had to do was clear. “Mom, that was years ago, another time, another hospital. I know these doctors and nurses. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” she said in her most reassuring tone. “Besides, there’s no choice. You have to have this operation.”
“Maybe if they just gave me another laxative...”
“Did you tell the doctor you’d already taken some?”
Betsy nodded; her eyes filled with tears. “I want to go home,” she said. “Please, Lissa, take me home. Please?”
Melissa maintained her composure, but it was difficult. She recognized the depth of her mother’s fears, and she wished with all her heart that she could do what Betsy wanted, but she couldn’t.
“Mom, I’ve asked for the best surgeon there is to do your operation. I’ll be holding your hand when you go in and I’ll be there the moment you come out.”
Apprehension made her heart pound. No one knew better than a nurse how many things could go wrong in the OR. But nothing would, Melissa assured herself, not here in the hospital where she was chief operating officer. Not with the best surgeon doing the procedure.
Greg Brulotte came in the door. “We’re in luck,” he announced. “Dr. Burke was at home. He’ll be right over.”
“Thank goodness.” Melissa’s sigh was shaky. “Thanks, Greg.”
“No problem.” He smiled and touched Betsy’s shoulder. “We’ll all be sending you good thoughts.”
Melissa walked beside the gurney up to the surgical floor, and she kissed her mother as the nurses rolled the gurney into the operating room.
She was talking to Louise, the nurse at the desk, when James Burke stepped off the elevator a few minutes later. Her heart swelled with gratitude and relief as he strode toward her.
“Here comes Lord Burke,” Louise said in an undertone. “Ramrod firmly inserted.”
Melissa didn’t approve of the nurse’s words. To her, Burke’s erect posture inspired confidence, not ridicule. He was an imposing figure, three inches over six feet, with a well proportioned, broad-shouldered build.
Melissa had heard the rumors about him—that he was a tyrant in the OR when some hapless resident made a mistake; that he was unforgiving if staff deviated from his strict protocol; that he didn’t socialize with his co-workers, was a workaholic, a loner; that half the nurses hated him and the other half fantasized about going to bed with him.
At this moment, though, the only thing that mattered to her was his near-mythical prowess in the operating room, and the fact that he was here for her mother.
“Hello, Melissa.” He nodded, but didn’t return Melissa’s strained smile or acknowledge Louise’s polite murmur. Nor did he try to reassure Melissa or ask her anything about Betsy; instead, he walked right past the two women as if they were simply props on a stage where he was the star. Which, of course, he was.
In spite of her gratitude, Melissa found his brusque manner a little irritating. Still, he’d come at her request, and Betsy would have the benefit of his expertise. That really was all that mattered, wasn’t it? So he had the manners of a Neanderthal, so what?
For the next two hours, Melissa experienced firsthand the emotions she’d so often witnessed during her days as a nurse when the relatives of a loved one could only wait for an outcome that was never certain.
She felt nauseous; her throat was dry; her heart beat at twice its normal speed. Louise was wonderfully reassuring and affectionate, brewing cups of green tea from her own private stock, taking minutes from her own busy schedule to spend as much time with Melissa as she possibly could. It was at her suggestion that Melissa finally went down to the small chapel and spent twenty minutes fervently praying for her mother’s well being.
When she came back, James Burke was waiting, impatience evident in every line of his elegant body.” The operation was a complete success,” he announced. “We removed a large growth. The preliminary lab report indicated the tumor was benign, which is very good news.” Still in his operating room greens, he ran a hand through his silky dark hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Your mother is as yet unconscious, but she’ll be awake soon. You can see her if you wish.”
“I’m so relieved. I promised Mom I’d be there when she woke up. Oh, Dr. Burke, thank you.” Melissa felt her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She had an insane impulse to grab his hand and press it to her lips. She resisted, but heard herself start to babble, instead. “Mom’s my only relative. My dad died when I was a little girl. I’m an only child. I don’t know what I’d do if—” She suddenly noticed how uncomfortable Burke looked, and stopped. “I’m very grateful to you for coming so quickly tonight and for doing Mom’s surgery,” she finished in a more formal mode.
“All in a day’s work,” he said with a stiff attempt at a smile. “And by some miracle we actually got into an OR immediately,” he added testily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.” He hurried off toward the doctors’ lounge.
“At ease, troops,” Louise said sarcastically. “It wouldn’t kill him just once to flip the switch from exalted savior to human being.” She snorted. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the Acute Care Unit.”
For the next half hour, in the post
anesthesia recovery unit, Melissa sat holding Betsy’s hand, and true to her promise, she was there when Betsy came around enough to realize the operation was over and everything was fine. The eastern sky was pink and Betsy had been moved to
a private room on the surgical floor by the time Melissa left the hospital and drove home.
Weary to the depths of her being, she thought about the scant two-and-a-half hours before she was due back at work, and for the first time in years she actually considered taking the morning off. She’d call Arlene at seven; if things on her morning schedule could be canceled or rearranged, she’d crawl into bed and sleep for a few hours.
It was still too early to call, plus she felt shaky and wired instead of sleepy. She washed her face, and realized she hadn’t eaten since wolfing down a bagel the previous afternoon, but when she looked in the refrigerator, she decided she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. It was a good thing; the fridge was still as empty as it had been the night before. The light on her answering machine was blinking, but she couldn’t face even listening to messages.
Maybe she’d lie down, just for half an hour. She headed into the bedroom and saw the four garment bags she’s tossed on her bed the previous evening. It felt as though months had passed since her shopping spree instead of only hours. She unzipped the bags, but when she started to shove her new clothing into her cramped closet she realized that she’d have to discard things to make room. Cleaning closets wasn’t any higher on her list of priorities than shopping, but it seemed the perfect mindless occupation right at the moment.
She was in the midst of trying to decide if she’d ever again wear a lime-green shirt she’d bought on sale, when the phone rang.
Her heart thumped. What if Betsy...
“Melissa, it’s Arlene. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Melissa’s heartbeat settled down.
“I called last night. You were out picking up boy toys in clubs again, right?”
Melissa explained about her mother. “She came through fine. The tumor was benign. She’ll be back home within a week. The nurses will make sure of that, because the moment Mom starts feeling better, she’ll be an impossible patient.”
Arlene express
ed concern. Then she went on. ‘‘I thought you should know the doctors had a private meeting last night, and according to my mole, they’ve decided to take immediate job action over the shortage of ORs and the long hours they put in.”
Arlene was married to Frank O’Connor, an ER physician.
“I figured you might like a little warning, instead of walking into St. Joe’s this morning and getting the news along with your morning coffee.”
“Immediate job action, as in—not today?” Her dreams of spending a morning in bed evaporated.
“You got it. They move fast when they’re really pissed off. Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but hey, what’re friends for? Gotta run—or walk, rather. This tyrant I’m married to insists I get a half hour of exercise every morning, out of bed. See you at eight.”
“Arlene, thanks.” Melissa hung up the phone and her brain went into overdrive, assessing what had to be done first off. Job action would mean surgeries canceled, beds closed; she’d have to come up with a policy for moving urgent surgical cases to other hospitals. There would be the press to deal with. The Ministry of Health would demand a meeting right away. Her already busy days were about to become frantic.
Coffee. She’d need lots of caffeine to get her through. Melissa set up the automatic coffeemaker and headed for the shower, telling herself there were two definite advantages to this situation.
The first was that working right at St. Joe’s, she could pop by and see her m
other whenever she had a few moments. The second was that, thanks to Barry, she wouldn’t even have to think about what to wear.
Now, if only the technicians could repair the air- conditioning in her office, she might get through this crisis without a coronary.