Race for the Dying (16 page)

“I think that gets it,” he said at last. “Now we have but the challenge of moving Mr. Doyle to the ward,” he said. “May we request some assistance from Alvina and Dr. Riggs for that?”

“You're going to use the ward?” Haines asked. He tossed the ether soaked towels into the small wicker basket below the water cart. “In a few moments, he'll be alert and free to go.”

“A day of rest would be better,” Thomas said. “I don't want to create a drug addict, but a few hours of quiet rest would be efficacious.”

“Efficacious,” Haines repeated, as if he was impressed with the word.

“I need to make it clear to Mr. Doyle that cleanliness and rest will assist greatly in the success of this surgery,” Thomas added. “He needs to be clearheaded for that.”

“Well, certainly. Bertha, will you fetch some assistance?”

“Thank you,” Thomas said.

“I examined Louella,” Dr. Haines said. Seeing the puzzled look cross Thomas' face, he added, “The little girl waiting outside with her mother. Louella Unger.”

“Ah. What do you think? She appeared to be in some distress, but listless, I thought.”

“A gastric upset,” Haines said. “She's tender around the umbilicus and the right groin. I suggested to Mary that the child should go to St. Mary's,” Haines said. “The Ungers have the wherewithal to make a speedy trip, since he owns the livery. Better to go now, should the condition be appendicitis in its earliest stages.”

“I'll see her in a moment,” Thomas said. “Let me clean up a bit.”

“They've left already.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I thought there was nothing to be gained by waiting,” Haines said.

Thomas felt a flush of irritation. “I wish that I had been able to see her.”

“Thomas,” the elderly physician said, and gently shook his head. “If it is appendicitis, and I think that surely it will continue to that, I lack the ability to operate.” He smiled at Thomas. “And so do you, at the moment.”

“I—”

“Deep abdominal surgery with a broken thumb isn't the road to successful treatment, Thomas. You'll have ample opportunity to prove yourself, never fear.”

“I wasn't thinking to prove myself,” Thomas said, realizing that he was being less than truthful.

“Well, then, you understand me,” Haines said. The door opened, and Bertha and Alvina maneuvered a narrow rolling bed from the ward.

“Will you need me further?” Alvi asked, and the question was directed at her father.

“We may,” Haines said. “Thomas wants Mr. Doyle to be our guest at least for the day. Can you see to that?”

“Certainly.” In a moment, the snoring Jimmy Doyle had been transferred to the bed and whisked away.

“Would you like to visit with Mrs. Cleary?” Haines said. “You're looking a bit taxed at the moment.”

“No, I'm fine.”

“Then please…Use my office while Bertha tidies up here. I'll make sure that Alvi has all that she needs, and I'll tend to Jimmy. Sometimes coming out of the ether is the worst part of the experience.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Haines offered a broad smile. “Oh, don't thank me. Notice that I cheerfully pass the good lady on to you, young man. You might as well experience baptism by fire early on.”

“I have read your notes on patient number 21210.”

Haines laughed loudly, his head thrown back and beard bobbing. “Oh, my word. That's rare.” He dabbed at his eyes. “Then you're prepared.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Thomas glanced at his watch and saw that only forty minutes had passed. During the surgery, the rest of the world could have stopped. Now, he took a deep breath, determined to face Mrs. Cleary with a cheerful, attentive demeanor.

He wheeled out into the waiting room and saw Mrs. Cleary locked in conversation with another young woman holding an infant. Both women looked up as he wheeled toward them, and Mrs. Cleary bent closer and whispered something in the young woman's ear, who in turn nodded vigorously.

“Mrs. Cleary? Would you come in?” Thomas said. He held out his hand indicating Dr. Haines' office. “A moment, please?” he said to the young mother and watched as the elderly woman heaved herself out of the chair. Robina Cleary was heavy, but not ponderously so. Her steely gray hair was bound in a tight bun under a small, simple black hat, and her voluminous black dress touched the floor. As she pushed herself upright, she jerked to the side slightly, and a gnarled hand shot out for balance, gripping the back of the chair. For just a moment she remained frozen, and then, ever so gingerly, straightened up and released her grip on the furniture, transferring her weight to the cane.

“My,” she said, and shook her head. “Now don't you ever grow old, dearie,” she said, and the young mother responded with a tight-lipped smile.

Mrs. Cleary did not walk directly across to where Thomas waited. Rather, she maneuvered around the perimeter of the room, now and then reaching out for balance with her right hand, the same hand that held the cane. Her left hand appeared ineffectual.

“Young man,” she said, “I've heard so much about you.” She looked at Thomas with bright blue eyes that still managed to twinkle in the midst of a sea of wrinkles deeply caked with fragrant powder. “You had a surgery this morning.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Thomas said. “But how are you feeling this fine day, Mrs. Cleary?”

“Well, now, I'm ailing. There's no doubt about that. But I'm vertical, and that's something. What did young Mr. Doyle managed to do to himself?”

Auntie Robina, Thomas wanted to say, amused by the hallmark of the true busybody. Without replying, Thomas held the door for her, and she managed her way past his wheelchair, trailing an atmosphere of half a dozen fragrances. Thomas recognized perfume, a complex scent that argued with facial powder, various other lotions and potions, and the unmistakable intrusion of urine. She paused halfway through the door to catch her breath.

“Where do you live, Mrs. Cleary?” Thomas asked, unable to imagine the elderly woman walking up Grant or Gambel Streets.

“An absolutely charming little cottage on Bryan's Bay,” she said wistfully. “My sister and I make do with very little, I assure you. But then again, when you reach my age, what all do you need?” She reached into her voluminous bag and brought out an empty Universal Tonic bottle and placed it gently on the desk in front of her. “Doctor Haines always appreciates when I bring the bottle back,” she said.

“She's with you now? Your sister, I mean?”

“Oh, she's at the Merc,” Mrs. Cleary said. “She drops me here, and then goes to the Merc and has a time with Mr. Lindeman. She's nearly twenty years younger, you see. She has energy for that sort of thing.”

“Ah. That's convenient, then. Won't you have a chair?”

“Oh, with pleasure,” Mrs. Cleary said, and with a sigh settled into the chair in front of the desk.

“I apologize that the examination room is unavailable at the moment,” Thomas said. “We had something of a go first thing this morning, as you know. Now, I'm to understand that you've suffered the gout recently.” He watched the elderly woman's face, watched how, when she first launched into a sentence, she struggled to bring the words to the surface.

“Most certainly,” she said. “Dr. Haines has had me under treatment for just weeks and weeks. I'm really…really quite used to speaking with him, you know.”

“I noticed that three weeks ago, Dr. Haines made note for the first time of a certain recurring vertigo? That was the word you used when you spoke with him at that time?”

“He's discussed me?”

“Indeed he did. As his associate, that's entirely proper, Mrs. Cleary. I've also read his journal with special interest,” Thomas said. “In particular, I'm struck by your general good health up until about three weeks ago. Just short of your birthday, I noticed.”

“Good health? My heavens, I'm a wreck,” she said, and the generous wattles under her chin shook from side to side. Her mouth attempted a smile, but it was a crooked grimace. “You talk to Dr. Haines. He'll tell you. And birthday? Lord, when you have as many as I've had, what's the difference.”

You've had but seventy-one birthdays, Thomas wanted to say, two husbands, and five children. He thought better of it and gently allowed his body to sink back into the wheelchair. With his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “I think a complete examination would be in order,” he said carefully.

“Oh, you do,” Mrs. Cleary replied. “I have a grandson who is no older than you.”

“Yes? He's well, I trust?”

“I really think this is all a matter for Dr. Haines,” she added. “If he thinks an examination is called for…” Her right hand strayed up to the top button of her dress, buried under the white lace of her collar, as if protecting herself from this mere child. “And I've talked to Alvina. She's such a dear. Although”—Mrs. Cleary tried to lean forward slightly, glancing sideways conspiratorially at the door—”I find that I have great difficulty talking with the good doctor's nurse. Miss Auerbach?”

“Really? Now why would that be?”

“Most assuredly, I do. I find that she seems…now how can I put this?” She curled a finger across her lips, gauging the best way to reveal the secret. “I often feel that she doesn't believe a word I have to say.”

“I'm sure that's not the case,” Thomas said. “It's clear that the patient is the best barometer of his own health. But do something for me now. Lift your left arm, if you will. As high over your head as you can.”

“Lift my arm?”

“Only that. Can you do that for me?”

“Young man…

“Yes?”

“I'd really prefer to discuss my condition with Dr. Haines, if you please.”

Thomas sighed and raised his left eyebrow, regarding the elderly woman with good-natured impatience. “When Dr. Haines sees you,” he said, “I'm sure that he will ask the same thing of you. I suppose that if you wish to wait, I can find you something to read.” He started to turn his chair. “The young woman and infant outside need attention as well.”

“It makes me ache to watch you,” Mrs. Cleary said unexpectedly. She reached out with her right hand, touching the desk. “Do I understand correctly that the mule you were riding fell directly on top of you? Down in the rocks by the water?”

“Well, in the water,” Thomas said with a crooked smile. “I've had my fill of kelp and seawater, let me assure you.”

“Will you walk again?”

The question was full of both sympathy and, Thomas knew, the search for delicious tidbits to pass on.

“Most assuredly. I'm walking short distances now—more each day. And yourself? I couldn't help noticing that you tend to become short of breath easily.”

“Oh, that's the old lady in me,” Mrs. Cleary replied. “I must say, the tonic is a great help.” She reached out and nudged the empty bottle toward Thomas. “As a restorative, it really has no equal. I should be quite lost without it.”

“Does the vertigo accompany those same moments when you're trying to find your breath?”

“Well, yes.”

“When the pain strikes your left arm and shoulder, it travels all the way down to your fingertips?” He didn't add that he had merely read Dr. Haines' notes, not made a miraculous observation on his own.

“My word, yes. That's exactly what happens. But the tonic brings almost instant relief.”

Alcohol is a wonderful elixir, Thomas thought. “And your left arm. Does it pain you now?”

“Well, no. But I confess to a certain weakness that's alarming. That's why I came by today.”

“This weakness…is it slow in coming, or sudden in onset?”

“It's been with me, I would say.”

“For how long?”

Mrs. Cleary closed her eyes, tipping her head back in thought. “I lost my balance two weeks ago,” she said, as if revealing a deep, dark, ugly secret. “Something so simple. I turned from the stove with a pan, and my word.” She opened her eyes and looked at Thomas. “I went flying, simply flying, across the kitchen. I have a bruise on my hip that's a wondrous, livid thing.”

“Vertigo then?”

“Oh, my, yes. I had to sit down, or I surely would have fallen. I could not quiet my breathing for some moments.”

“And the left arm?”

“An odd tingling, young man. And just no strength at all.”

“This was two weeks ago?”

“Yes, very nearly.”

“And has the strength returned? The strength in your arm?”

Mrs. Cleary bit her lip and looked down at her left hand, now quiet in her lap. “I must confess I have no strength. Not even to brush my hair or fasten a button.”

“Will you raise your arm for me now?” He saw her left hand move, a little jerking motion to one side.

“I…” She looked puzzled, at the same time reaching out toward the desk. “Oh, my,” she said. “I just…,” but a knuckle rapped on the office door, interrupting her.

“Yes?” Thomas called, and the door opened a few inches. John Haines peered into the room.

“May I?”

“Of course, sir.”

“And how's my favorite young lady this morning?” Haines asked.

Before she could reply, Thomas interjected, “It is my belief that she has suffered a cerebral episode of some sort, Doctor. There's a loss of tension in the fine muscles of the face on the left side, along with uneven constriction of the pupils. Her left arm continues to be weak.”

“You spoke of vertigo last week,” Haines said. He looked down at Mrs. Cleary, who gazed up at him with adoration. Reaching out, Haines placed two fingers on her right carotid artery, then reached across and did the same to the left.

He made a face and picked up her left arm at the wrist.

“Does that cause you discomfort?”

“My, no.”

Raising her arm little more than horizontal, he watched her face. “Can you hold that for me in that position?”

He released his grip and her arm sank back into her lap.

“Aha,” Haines said. “My dear lady, your sister is up the street?”

“Yes.” This time, a small note of fear had crept into her voice.

“Then we must fetch her,” Haines said. “Are you comfortable now?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Mrs. Cleary replied. “But my sister?”

“My dear young lady,” Haines said, and perched on the corner of the desk, hands clasped in his lap. “The sharp, discerning eye of my associate has given us early, fair warning. It is my belief, and please,” he said, twisting to look at Thomas, “interrupt me if I'm wrong. It is my belief that you've had a small cerebral hemorrhage. I would call it a minor one, but nothing in the brain is minor. If treatment is to be successful, your sister will need to cooperate in your care. She must understand, along with you, what is necessary and what is counterproductive. It makes sense to explain all that once, to both of you.” He turned to look at Thomas again. “You agree, Dr. Parks?”

“Absolutely.”

“Let me have Alvi fetch your sister,” Haines said. “In the meantime, Dr. Parks, while I continue to chat with Mrs. Cleary,” he reached out a comforting hand to her shoulder, “perhaps you would speak with the young lady? I know what she wants, but I think she might benefit from a discussion with you.”

“Of course.” Thomas moved his chair, but stopped and reached out to take the elderly woman's right hand. “All will be well,” he said, but he could see the fear in the elderly woman's eyes, and felt a pang of sympathy.

As he wheeled out of the office, he heard the physician's comforting voice. “My dear, let me find you a little restorative.” Thomas glanced back to see Dr. John Haines pouring two shots of brandy, one more generous than the other.