Second Opinion

by Alexander, Hannah

  “You sound so bitter.”

  “I know and I’m trying to work through that. I’m just not there yet.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” There was still hope, wasn’t there? “I like the idea of the friendship thing. I’m not sure I can be around you for hours at a time without wanting to kiss you, but hey, I’m a preacher’s kid. Well disciplined. I can do it. Probably. Okay, maybe a little kiss here and there, you know, a peck on the cheek and if you’ll hold my hand I can probably get by for a while.”

  “Archer.” The laughter returned to her voice.

  “Yes?”

  “Good night.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Or I’ll call you.”

  “I’d rather have the permission to call you. That way I won’t have to sit and watch the telephone, waiting for it to ring.”

  “It’ll do you good.”

  “I’m not that great at waiting.”

  “Good night, Archer.”

  “Goodnight.”

  There was a soft click and then a dial tone.

  He sighed. Then he smiled. She’d missed him.

  Chapter 9

  The savory fragrance of grilled onions and hamburgers mingled with the sounds of footsteps, talk, and laughter in the cafeteria on Monday. The comfortable familiarity blunted the edge of homesickness with which Lauren McCaffrey had struggled since moving to Dogwood Springs late in February. She stood waiting while Gina Drake paid for her own food—she should’ve known the independent young woman would not allow anyone to pay for her lunch—and then led the way toward a quiet corner of the dining area where they could talk in relative privacy.

  Sliding her tray onto a two-person table, Lauren gazed out the window at the hillside town of Dogwood Springs. It was a pretty community, with winding streets and lush foliage. Sometimes the citizens complained about the inconvenience of those winding streets but they worked better than speed bumps to control traffic.

  After a quiet prayer of thanks, Lauren looked across at Gina, who was already biting into an onion ring, although she had her gaze lowered as if to respect Lauren’s privacy as she prayed.

  The golden-red highlights of Gina’s hair glowed in the indirect sunlight from the window and the freckles across the bridge of her nose made her look about ten years old instead of twenty-eight. Her job had brought her into the ER countless times, helping with codes or treating patients with breathing problems. There had never been a patient complaint about her and as Lauren had mentioned the other night, she was especially good with children.

  “Busy morning?” Lauren asked.

  “Not bad so far. You?” Gina still didn’t look up, almost as if she was still embarrassed about Friday night.

  “Hectic. I haven’t been this busy since I left Knolls. I’m amazed I could get away to meet you but I’m glad I did.”

  “I haven’t thanked you for helping me Friday night.” Still keeping her gaze to the table, Gina took a bite of her cheeseburger.

  “I wish I could have done more. I was so sorry to run out on you like that. How did the overnighter go with Natalie?”

  Gina stopped chewing, swallowed, and caught Lauren’s gaze. “What did you think of her when you met her Friday night?”

  “I couldn’t form an opinion based on the few words I heard her say; my stomach was getting most of my attention.” There were so many things Lauren wanted to ask but where to start? Gina wasn’t exactly the most talkative person. “Are your feet healing?”

  Gina nodded. “I’m a fast healer and I have a high pain tolerance. Are you over the flu?”

  Lauren hesitated. She was still having bouts of nausea and weakness but not as bad. This didn’t feel like any flu she’d ever had. “I’m better.” She leaned forward. “Gina, I meant what I said the other night about wanting to be here if you need me. I know how it feels to be alone in a new place.”

  Gina took another bite of onion ring, chewed and swallowed, and sipped on her soda. There was a hesitance in her gaze. “Thanks. So how do you adjust from night shift to day shift?”

  “I don’t ordinarily work nights, I was just covering for someone else Thursday and Friday. Do you always answer a question with another question?”

  A slight flush colored Gina’s cheeks and then she returned Lauren’s grin. “Sorry. It’s an old habit.”

  Lauren resisted the urge to ask Gina why she felt the need to use such a defense mechanism.

  “Natalie’s pushy, huh?”

  “She was nice enough,” Gina admitted at last. “She helped me get the boys to bed Friday night and she slept on the sofa because I don’t have a guest bedroom. That couldn’t have been comfortable as tall as she is. She fixed us breakfast and lunch Saturday morning then made arrangements for Mrs. Walker to check on us a couple of times a day.”

  “That was pushy?”

  “No, but then she insisted on taking us back to the ER Sunday morning for Levi’s wound recheck. And she wanted to take him herself so I wouldn’t have to walk so much. I just don’t feel comfortable with all that attention. I like to take care of things myself.”

  Lauren couldn’t miss the undertone of suspicion in Gina’s voice. “She wants to help you, just like I do and Archer and Dr. Sheldon.”

  “How can those people help me if they don’t know what I need?”

  “What do you mean when you say ‘those people’?”

  “Family Services.” She gave Lauren an obviously forced smile as if she was trying to pass it all off as a joke. “Never trust anyone in the government.”

  Lauren put her hamburger down. “I don’t work for the government and I want to help.”

  Gina smiled—this time the smile seemed genuine. “Okay, after work tonight I’ll let you check my feet and change my bandages. Will that satisfy you?”

  Before Lauren could answer, an overhead page blared from the speakers in the center of the dining room ceiling. She was being called back to the ER. Stat.

  At the same time, Gina’s pager went off and she checked it. “Oh-oh, sounds like something’s up. They need me too. Think it’s a code?”

  “Could be. Here, put all your stuff on my tray and I’ll shove it into the ER breakroom on my way by. Maybe we’ll get a chance to eat later.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  ***

  Grant Sheldon stood watching the flashing lights reflect against the glass of the ambulance entrance while the EMT wrenched open the back doors of the van and reached in to pull out a stretcher. On that stretcher was eight-year-old Stacie Kimble, who had been one of Grant’s flu patients Friday night. Stacie was unconscious; according to the last report, her breathing was markedly labored. Her blood sugar was off the scale. Her temperature was normal, as it had been Friday night. Had he missed something then?

  Grant had already told Vivian to call an airlift helicopter for stand by for transit to a larger hospital in Springfield.

  Stacie’s mother had told the paramedic that Stacie had still been sick last night, so they had allowed her to sleep in this morning. When Mrs. Kimble tried to awaken Stacie for a late breakfast, the child wouldn’t wake up.

  Grant looked back to make sure everything was set. He’d had Lauren paged minutes ago so she should be back soon. The other nurse, Emma, was already setting up for a possible intubation.

  Meanwhile, Grant worried. As he recalled, Stacie’s brothers had also been ill with flu symptoms but no elevated temperatures. Most of their other flu patients had presented without fever. This was a strange one.

  He had requested a copy of Stacie’s chart from Medical Records as soon as he received the first call and would check it when it arrived.

  The secretary, sixty-three-year-old Vivian, waved at him from her desk at the circular central station. “Dr. Sheldon, Archer Pierce is driving the parents in. They’re members of his church.”

  “Good. Thanks.” He hoped Archer was able to keep the parents calm. The less distraction the staff had fro
m their work right now the better Stacie’s chances.

  Christy and Bill, the paramedic and EMT, came rushing through the open doors with Stacie lying on the gurney with a strap over her legs and chest. Emma waited in the designated exam room.

  “Dr. Sheldon, respirations are dropping and she’s just starting to have apneic periods,” Christy said. “I was unable to get a line in—she’s really dry.”

  As he issued orders on his way to the room Grant was glad he had two experienced RNs on duty.

  The child was on a 100 percent non-rebreather mask. Folded two-by-two-inch gauze pads were taped in place on each arm, marking the failed IV attempts. He could barely hear her breath sounds above the swish of closing doors and the squeak of rushing footsteps. She was wearing down.

  Grant motioned to Vivian. “Call for airlift.”

  Just in time, to Grant’s relief, Lauren walked through the employee entrance followed by Gina Drake.

  He gave orders for treating an unresponsive child as he prepared to do an emergency intubation.

  Lauren and Gina went to work and he turned back and directed the EMT to put an ambu-bag on Stacie to help her breathe.

  Stacie barely reacted when Gina stuck her for the blood gas.

  The intubation was fast and smooth. When Grant aimed a light into the child’s eyes, he noted the pupils were a little sluggish but equal and not dilated. Further checking showed no evidence of cerebral edema. Not yet.

  Grant placed his stethoscope over the patient’s chest, listened, nodded. Her heart rate was starting to drop. Good. “Vitals?”

  Lauren gave them to him. Blood pressure was still low. He did more physical checks. Not as bad as it could be. Just as Gina walked back in with the results of the blood gas, Mr. and Mrs. Kimble entered the department with Archer. Grant stepped outside the exam room to speak with them.

  Friday night Mrs. Kimble had been calm and unperturbed. Today her face and eyes were red from crying. “How is Stacie? What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?”

  “We had to do an intubation to help her breathe better,” Grant explained. “Right now they’re taking an x-ray to make sure we have that tube in the right place. We’re waiting on some blood tests to come back so I can make a better diagnosis.”

  “You mean you don’t even know what’s wrong with her yet?” Mr. Kimble demanded. Grant could hear the accusation in his voice. Part of him could identify with the father’s fear. It was just panic. He’d felt the same way. He’d even asked that same angry question. More would probably follow.

  He gently explained what the staff had done so far, the tests they had taken. “I have a probable diagnosis but I don’t want to jump in prematurely. We’ve called an airlift helicopter to fly her to Springfield.”

  Mrs. Kimble grasped her husband’s arm with both hands. “She’s that bad?”

  “I want to get her there as quickly as possible to a place with the ability to determine that,” Grant explained. “I suspect diabetic coma.”

  Mrs. Kimble’s face twisted in pain.

  “She’s very dehydrated,” Grant continued gently, “so what we have to concentrate on now is getting her rehydrated so we can give her insulin and lower the sugar level.”

  Mrs. Kimble swallowed and dabbed at the tears in her eyes with her fingers. “You’re telling us our daughter—whom you were supposed to treat Friday night—now has diabetes? And you thought it was the flu?”

  A lab tech came walking through at that moment and handed Grant another printout. He checked it quickly. The blood sugar was 527. “We seem to have a city-wide epidemic right now and diabetes can often be brought on by an initial infection of some kind. What we need to concentrate on at the moment is her care from here on.”

  The x-ray tech came out, pushing her portable machine.

  “I want to see her now.” Mrs. Kimble pulled from her husband’s grasp and moved as if to walk past Grant.

  Archer stepped forward and took her by the arm. “Kelly, not yet.” His voice was suddenly filled with deep authority. Grant could see how he must command the respect of his congregation. “Come on, my friends.” Archer placed an arm around each parent. “We have some serious praying to do while we allow this capable staff to work.”

  Chapter 10

  Archer watched as Kelly stalked across the consultation room, arms crossed over her chest. “Why won’t he let us at least see our own daughter?” She stopped and turned back, eyes widening in alarm. “Archer, you don’t think he’s hiding something from us?”

  “No.” Archer kept his voice sympathetic but firm. “Dr. Sheldon will do what he says and he will be honest with you. Your daughter needs our prayers right now.”

  Kelly walked over to her husband and stepped into his open arms. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

  Seconds later there was a knock at the door and Grant stepped inside.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kimble, the Lifeline helicopter has radioed us. It will be here in about five minutes. Would you like to see her?”

  Kelly exhaled a great sweep of air and sprang to her feet before her husband could help her. “Is she awake?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “How is she doing, Doctor?” Steve asked quietly. “Have you started the insulin yet?”

  “No.” Grant walked with them as he explained the balancing act they had to do in Stacie’s treatment.

  Archer stopped in the doorway and let them go on without him for a moment.

  Steve and Kelly were new to the congregation. Sometimes, they could be difficult. Some of the other parents with young children in the church had complained about Kelly’s sharp tongue and Steve’s impatience. They both had a lot of spiritual maturing to do. But wasn’t that the case with every Christian?

  Archer had often heard his father explain that prickly people in the church had their function, too—they were God’s tools to hone the edges from all the other Christians, who also had their weak spots. Aside from their negative points, Kelly was a tireless nursery worker and Steve often had insights during Bible study on Sunday morning that no one else had considered.

  Archer walked to the doorway of the exam room where Stacie still lay unconscious. Lauren stood beside Kelly with an arm around her shoulders, talking quietly with her while Steve stood gazing into his daughter’s face. Grant jotted notes on a chart. He looked up and caught Archer’s eye with a hesitant smile.

  “Can we talk for a minute?” Archer asked.

  Grant nodded and followed him out of the room.

  They found a quiet corner out of the way of foot traffic. “Are you going to drive them to Springfield?” Grant asked.

  “Yes, they’ll need someone with them for a while. I wish we could assure them she is going to be okay.”

  “I thought preachers had the innate ability to trust God in all things.” Laced through Grant’s deep voice was the questioning tone of a seeker. Archer knew he didn’t mean to offend.

  “This one still struggles,” Archer said. “In fact, I don’t know very many people who have the ability to trust completely in every situation.”

  Grant smiled. “It’s nice to know that even you have doubts from time to time.” He turned and gestured toward the room where the Kimbles waited. “I think she has a good chance. She seemed to rouse a few minutes ago, not to complete consciousness but enough to encourage us. Do the Kimbles have family in the area?”

  “No. I’ll contact some church members and see if I can find some folks to make the drive to Springfield and take turns sitting with them.” Archer hesitated. “How dangerous is her condition?”

  “The mortality rate in children for diabetic ketoacidosis ranges from 5 to 20 percent.”

  Archer felt an icy stab of fear while Grant used doctor-speak to describe the illness.

  “I don’t suppose you could put that in English, could you?”

  Grant nodded. “Sorry. Let’s just say her body’s chemical balance isn’t as dangerous as it could be.”

  “Good.�
�� Archer glanced again toward Stacie’s exam room. “I realize the Kimbles aren’t handling this thing very well.”

  “They care about their child. Excuse me, I need to check on a couple more things before the flight team arrives.” He walked back to the exam room and spoke to the Kimbles as the whomp-whomp-whomp of rotary blades grew louder and echoed through the room.

  As Grant entered the room, Lauren stepped out of it and strolled toward Archer. He saw a sheen of wetness against her cheeks and realized how this must be affecting her. Stacie was in her Sunday school class and Lauren had a soft spot for the children.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She turned to gaze back through the open door of Stacie’s exam room. “I just hate to see that lively little girl having to struggle with diabetes for the rest of her life. Still, she’s strong-willed like her parents.”

  “That’s what Grant told me. I’m driving the Kimbles to Springfield,” Archer said. “If you weren’t on duty I’d ask you to go with us.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “You would?”

  “Of course.” Didn’t she know the soothing influence she had on patients? “You could interpret the medicalese.”

  She gave him a thoughtful half smile. “Thanks for the suggestion but I still have a lunch date with Gina. When things slow down here a little bit, I’m going to see if we can slip away to the breakroom and resume our talk.”

  “You’re already touching base with Gina? I thought you were sick this weekend.”

  “I’m better.”

  He grinned. This woman amazed him. “Lauren McCaffrey, you’re one of the most supportive, insightful, and compassionate people I know. I wish we had fifty more just like you in our congregation.”

  He should have known that would make her blush. Compliments always embarrassed her. “And since you’re already making friends with Gina,” he added, “could you find it in your heart to go with me to visit her when things slow down a little? Say, next week after she’s had a chance to adjust and heal?”