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.”
Chapter Three
Melissa swallowed hard, assessed the information and then nodded. “Which surgeon?”
“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 difficult 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 ton
ight 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 expressed 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 mother 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.
Chapter Four
The stifling atmosphere in her office was the least of Melissa’s worries that day. The hours passed in a controlled frenzy. Her handpicked team of consultants made suggestions; she listened to endless concerns from managers, sat in on three conference calls in an effort to transfer patients to other hospitals and managed only two hasty trips up to Betsy’s room.
Both times, Betsy insisted she had no pain and was feeling just fine, which seemed highly unlikely just a few hours after surgery. Inevitably, those assurances were followed by a plaintive “So when can I go home?”
Melissa told the supervising nurse about her mother’s stoic refusal to complain even if she was in agony, and the nurse promised to keep a particular eye on Betsy.
By four in the afternoon, the sleepless night Melissa had spent was taking its toll. But there was no possibility of leaving the hospital. A mound of urgent faxes and messages sat on her desk, and if she didn’t deal with them immediately, a mountain would be there by morning and the task would be insurmountable.
For an hour-and-a-half she worked, struggling to stay alert while her body signaled exhaustion. At 5:45, Arlene, who was also working overtime, brought in an egg salad sandwich, a chocolate doughnut and a bottle of iced tea, and plopped them on Melissa’s desk.
“If you don’t eat something, you’ll get sick,” she scolded. “I’m gonna go look in on your mom before I leave. If I think she needs you for anything, I’ll buzz you on your cell.”
“Thanks.” Tears choked her, and it was all Melissa could do to keep from crying at her assistant’s kindness. Being tired and stressed made her weepy.
The other three secretaries had long since gone home, and the outer office was deserted. As the day ended and evening came, Melissa could sense the old hospital relaxing around her.
She ate the sandwich and drank the sweet tea, but the moment arrived when the last shreds of her energy fled and she knew she couldn’t do another thing. She got to her feet, and then had to bend over as a wave of dizziness washed through her.
Whew. She shook her head and hung on to the edge of the desk as she slowly straightened. She needed a good eight hours of sleep.
In a weary fog, she made her way up to her mother’s room. Betsy was sleeping, and Melissa took her hand and kissed her cheek, but her mother didn’t awaken.
“She’s doing really well,” the nurse at the desk assured Melissa. “She was a bit restless this afternoon. A good sleep is the best thing for her.” She smiled her reassurance. “Go home and get some rest. We’re keeping a close eye on her for you. We’ve got your phone number at home if we need you.”
Soothed, Melissa dragged herself out to her car. The intense heat outdoors shocked her. The parking lot seemed to shimmer with it, but at least her personal parking spot was in the shade, under one of the cedar trees that bordered the lot. The leather seats in her car were almost hot enough for third-degree bums. Sweating, she climbed in, drove home and headed straight for the shower.
Five minutes later, feeling clean and blessedly cool at last, she staggered from the bathroom straight to her bed. Never had fresh sheets and soft pillows felt so good. She groaned and wriggled deeper into the nest, and between one breath and the next she was asleep.
The phone was ringing. It took her a long time to surface enough to fumble it to her ear and mumble hello.
“Ms. Clayton, it’s Rena Johns calling from St. Joe’s. I’m the nurse in Surgical Recovery, where your mom is a patient.”
&n
bsp; Melissa sat up and her heart began to hammer.
“Ms. Clayton, could you come as quickly as possible? Your mother suffered cardiac arrest a few moments ago. The emergency medical team has resuscitated her. Her heart rhythm is stable at the moment, but she hasn’t yet regained consciousness.”
“C-cardiac arrest? But—but how can that be? Mom’s heart is strong. Are you su-sure—” Melissa gulped and then croaked, “Are you sure it’s the right patient? My mom is Betsy Clayton....”
But even before the nurse assured her it was Betsy Clayton, Melissa knew there was no mistake. Nurses didn’t make mistakes like that. She also knew from personal experience that they didn’t call in the middle of the night unless it was urgent, unless they thought a patient was dying. All of a sudden she could hardly get her breath.
“How—how long was she...?” If Betsy’s heart had stopped briefly, she had a good chance of recovering without side effects. If, however, her heart had stopped for a prolonged period before resuscitation, she would probably have suffered irreversible brain damage.
“We were really lucky. One of the nurses heard something and went in to check. She was there when it happened. We had a team on her in seconds.”
Melissa sent a silent thank-you heavenward. “I’ll be right over.”
The bedside clock said 2:33 a.m. It took her shocked brain moments to figure out it was Wednesday morning.
The normally traffic-choked Vancouver streets were nearly deserted at this hour. Melissa’s tires squealed as she pulled into the parking lot. This, too, was nearly deserted, although brightly lit. She tore out of the car and ran through the eerie, flickering yellow light toward the hospital.
She’d never realized how long it took to get to St. Joe’s from the lot, or how slow the elevators that led to the upper floors were.
Betsy was now in the Coronary Care Unit. Her eyes were partly open, the left more than the right, but it was obvious she wasn’t awake or aware. She was hooked to a battery of machines. Melissa threaded her way through them and took Betsy’s limp hand in her own.
PATIENT CARE (Medical Romance) (Doctor Series) Page 2