“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his gaze searching her face. “I want to check your throat.” His tone was serious as he reached for the light on the wall and a tongue depressor.
“All I need is something to eat. I’m hungry,” she protested after he checked her throat.
“You’re feeling fatigued, right?”
“Yes, for a while now, but I’ve been so busy with the clinic.”
“Have you lost weight recently?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Let’s see.” He took her hands and eased her to her feet. “Hop on the scale.”
Not with him watching. “What’s my weight got to do with it?”
“If you’ve lost weight, it might help me determine what’s going on with you.”
“I don’t see how,” she said grumpily.
“Humor me.” He led her to the scale in the corner of the exam room. “Here, get on. I won’t look. Just tell me if you’ve lost weight.”
Grudgingly, she climbed on the scale and adjusted the weights. Down three pounds. “Yeah, I’ve lost a little more.”
“More? How much more?”
She held up three fingers.
“How much in total?”
“Nine over the past two months, but I’ve been trying to lose weight,” she said defensively.
“Are you thirsty more often than before?”
“Yeah, I am. But it’s dry in here, and I’m in this building more than I’m home,” she said, making her way back to the examination table as a wave of dizziness assailed her. She grabbed the soft edge of the table, shifted her feet up onto the stool, turned and sat down as the room whirled before her eyes.
“Lie back,” he said as he expertly gathered the blood-testing equipment, tightened a tourniquet around her arm and inserted the needle into the engorged vein. When he finished, he released the tourniquet and carefully put the blood samples in a webbed plastic box. He took the diabetic testing unit off the shelf next to the exam table. “Hold out your finger.”
“You don’t think I have diabetes.”
“Let’s see,” he said, his tone offering her no choice but to comply with his request.
She watched as if in a dream, her mind racing over the possibilities, apprehension flooding her thoughts.
He checked the meter. His jaw tightened. “Your blood sugar is 432.”
She was stunned. It had to be a mistake.
“Wait right here,” he ordered, leaving the room only to return with a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
She sipped the water, feeling the coolness of it all the way down to her stomach. It felt so good. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was until Neill returned with another glass filled to the brim. She drank that also.
“Do you have a ketone meter around here?” he asked.
“No. We did have one, but we ran out of strips. The clinic budget is pretty tight. We don’t use them very often and they often go past their due date on us. If the doctor wants ketones done, we send the patient to the lab.”
Neill observed her closely. “So let’s run through this. You’ve lost weight. Your blood sugar is high. You’re hungry, and you’re tired most of the time. And now you’re dizzy and feeling nauseated. I’m ordering a full workup on you. It may be that your symptoms are due to type one diabetes.”
“Type one? No, it can’t be. Young people get type one.” His words hit hard, and her head swam as her dizziness returned. The glass nearly slipped from her fingers as she clutched the edge of the exam table and steadied her breathing.
There had to be some mistake. Surely she would have had some warning. She was a nurse and knew the symptoms.
Like a kaleidoscope, the past few weeks flashed and mutated before her eyes. She had been so tired and listless, hungry and thirsty, going to the bathroom a lot more than normal. She’d assumed that it was because of the long hours she’d been putting in at work—if she thought about it at all.
Neill had to be wrong. Her mother depended on her. Her cousin Anna, a single mom, needed her to help with the boys. She didn’t have time to deal with a serious health issue, and certainly not one as complicated as diabetes. “That can’t be. I’m healthy. A little tired, but otherwise fine.”
“Didn’t you recently have a pretty severe bout of the flu?” he asked.
She knew what he was getting at. Type one diabetes was often preceded by a viral illness. “About a month ago I had flu symptoms, but they only lasted a couple of days...I think.” It was hard to remember given how busy she’d been with her job and her plans.
He took her hand, his touch warm as his gentle smile entwined itself around her heart. “Let’s do the workup and be sure.”
“You’re not thinking of admitting me to the hospital, are you?” she asked, aghast at the idea that he’d even consider such a thing and equally determined to stop him. “All the necessary blood work can be done from my doctor’s office.”
He turned his high-powered gaze on her in that inquisitive way of his. “Normally, I’d agree. Do you live alone?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling that she’d exposed her private life to him, shown him that she had no one special in her life. It was true, but it was also none of his business.
“Then I’d like to admit you to hospital while I do the workup. I want to know you’re safe.”
“Safe?” she asked, shocked at his words.
“Sherri, you nearly passed out sitting at your desk. I’m concerned that you could be in ketoacidosis. You had no idea your blood sugar was so high, and we don’t know how long this has been going on. I need to see your full blood chemistry. As you know there’s always a danger of a coma in these circumstances.”
“Neill.” Rarely had she spoken his first name aloud since he’d returned to Eden Harbor, yet it left her lips with such ease. “All that’s wrong is I’m exhausted and I’m starving. Once I have a good meal, I’m certain I’ll be fine.”
“Listen to your doctor,” he said, a teasing but kind note in his voice. “I’m not prepared to take chances with you. I’ll admit you, and it will only take a couple of days to sort out what’s happening.”
“No, thank you. I’m not going to be admitted.”
His startled glance transformed into a frown of disapproval. “Why? I’m on call tonight, and it won’t be a problem to admit you. We’ll get the testing done, and you could go home as early as tomorrow afternoon.”
“It might be that simple for you, but not me,” she argued.
“I don’t understand.”
She wasn’t about to tell him that she was leaving Eden Harbor in a couple of weeks. Her life was private, removed from his. As nice as he’d been the past few weeks, there was no future here for her, and it was not open to discussion, especially not with him. But her most important reason rested in her medical chart. When she’d returned to Eden Harbor from Bangor, she’d brought her chart to Dr. Nicolas Brandon, her family doctor, and he’d placed all relevant test and procedure results, including the report from her obstetrician and her psychologist, in her file.
“You don’t have to worry about me. It’s my health, and if there’s a problem, I’ll deal with it. Besides, I’m not alone. Mom’s just a couple of streets away from my house. If you think I need someone with me until the tests are completed, she’ll stay.”
Neill stood perfectly still, barely breathing, his eyes on her, his expression one of disquiet. “As your friend and coworker, I’m recommending that you be admitted, but I can’t force you to do anything.” He rubbed his jaw, turned away and made a notation on her blood requisition.
For a brief moment, she wished she could explain, but what would she say? She had no intention of being admitted under his care. Having him around her workplace was bad enough. Having him in a position to invade h
er life in other areas was out of the question. Besides, she had agreed to the blood tests he wanted. If he was right, she’d do any follow-up once she moved to Portsmouth.
“I am well aware that if I have diabetes—and that’s a big if—I’ll need to make changes in my life. But for now, I’m going home to have something to eat.”
When he turned around to face her, the intensity mixed with concern in his eyes made her wish she could allow him to care for her. A wave of longing, an overpowering need to be cared for and the rush of memories his voice evoked nearly swept her into his arms. Thankfully, they remained separate, apart, staring at each other.
Awareness rippled through her as he took her hands in his. His eyes moved over her face, searching, the moment stretching out between them. “Sherri, please don’t take chances with your health.”
She couldn’t listen. His words were so imbued with caring.
Then, as if awakening from a dream, Neill let go of her hands and stepped back. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” he said, his tone making his disappointment evident.
“Thanks,” she said, suddenly anxious about the wedge of distrust yawning between them. She might not be interested in a relationship with him, but she trusted him and wanted him to trust her. “I have to get home now, but I will make a doctor’s appointment.”
He made one final entry in his cell phone before giving her his patented under-the-brows look. “You were a patient of Dr. Nicolas Brandon’s.”
“Yes,” she said, anxiety climbing her shoulders.
“That makes you my patient now.”
How could she have forgotten that? She would enter the doors of his practice for only one purpose—to retrieve her health record and take it with her to Portsmouth. She’d have to move quickly before he had reason to open her file and learn how devastated she’d been when Patrick died. Her agony over her son’s death described in a clinical note made a mockery of what she’d survived, and she couldn’t bear the idea that he would read about her pain and loss in a medical file. He had no right to any information about what those days after losing Patrick had been like.
The sound of his pager buzzing reverberated in the room. He checked the number before picking up the phone.
With his attention drawn to the person on the other end of the line, Sherri saw her opportunity to leave gracefully, without any further questions from Neill.
She had to get home to the peace and safety of her condo and the comforting presence of her cat. She had beef stew she could warm up for her late-night meal. Yet, feeling too weak to move, she stared at her hands as she tried to grasp what her life would be like if Neill had made the correct diagnosis.
Her mind refused to go there. He had to be wrong—that was all there was to it.
She forced herself to move off the exam table and went to the door. A sudden sense of sadness assailed her. Was this all there was to their relationship? Two colleagues, one of whom could be seriously ill?
Whether it was the vulnerable state she’d found herself in or the late hour, she couldn’t help remembering how close they’d once been, no secrets between them, nothing to get in the way of their feelings for each other.
A lifetime ago they would have worked together on her diagnosis, shared the impact of her illness. Now, her only thought was to put as much distance between them as she possibly could. Yet a part of her, once so in tune with him, couldn’t simply walk out. Anxiety making her hands tremble, she turned back to face him. “I hope your night on call isn’t too hectic,” she offered.
For a split second their eyes met, and his loneliness rolled over her like a wave. Once more, she searched his face for any sign of what they’d once had, knowing all the while the futility of it.
His pager pealed again, and he took it out of his pocket without breaking the connection between them. “Thank you.”
After he glanced at the pager number, he frowned and grabbed the phone. Watching him as he talked to the emergency department, a memory surfaced.
Twelve years ago, when she’d started nursing school while still clinging to the hope that she might not be pregnant, she let herself believe that one day they’d be working in the same hospital, maybe in the same area of medicine. She’d always assumed that working together would be part of their future, but never like this.
And never once had she considered that she might become ill or face an uncertain future. Nursing had kept her going through all those years when she was grieving her son, her husband and the family life that might have been hers.
Whatever her relationship with Neill was now, it would never be what it had been back when they believed that anything they wished for was possible. The past was truly over, and now all that was left was an uneasy friendship.
She picked up a meter and some strips and slipped them in her pocket as she turned to leave the room.
Feelings of loss and confusion propelled her down the clinic corridor to the nurses’ locker room and then home. When she got there her cat, Perkins, was waiting just inside the door, his back arched, waiting for a pat. She scooped him up. The feel of his solid body and warm fur was her only hedge against the loneliness shrouding her mind.
She headed for the kitchen to get something to eat. She slumped into a chair as she tried to process what had happened at the clinic. She couldn’t have diabetes. She reached into her uniform pocket and took out the meter. Quickly, she tested her blood sugar.
540! And she hadn’t had anything to eat. She had no choice but to call Neill and go back to the hospital.
She started to cry.
* * *
NEILL RUBBED HIS neck wearily. It had been a busy evening so far, and it wasn’t midnight yet. A long night stretched out before him, and he needed a cup of coffee, a good old jolt of caffeine. He was just about to leave the emergency department for the cafeteria when the door ahead of him sprang open and Sherri stood there, tears glistening on her face.
“Sherri, what is it?”
Sherri clasped her shaking hands together. “My blood sugar is 540.”
“Follow me,” he said, leading her to one of the examination rooms down the corridor. Without a word she climbed up on the exam table and looked at him; her expression mirrored his anxiety. He rechecked her blood sugar to find it was still 540.
“I haven’t eaten. I’m so thirsty.”
“Sherri, I want to admit you overnight. Please don’t argue. I’ll get your admission arranged and your insulin ordered and request more blood work. You can’t go home. That’s final.”
“What about my cat?”
“Give me your keys and I’ll feed your cat after I get you admitted.”
“It’s okay,” she said in resignation. “Mom will take care of Perkins.”
“Call her now and tell her where you are. You need to be treated before you have a dangerous health incident. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded. Seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, he fought to keep himself from taking her in his arms and telling her she’d be all right. That he’d look after her for as long as she’d allow it. Instead he said, “Then let’s get you upstairs.”
Haltingly, she took the arm he offered as they crossed the room and walked toward the elevator. The pressure of her fingers gave him hope that he’d made the first step in proving he would be there for her.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING after breakfast, Neill arrived in her room. She braced herself for what she realized probably had to be bad news. She sat up straighter in the bed, feeling at once afraid and yet somehow relieved. She had no intention of having him oversee her treatment, as she would be in Portsmouth soon, and her nursing classmate there had already lined up an appointment with an endocrinologist. Her friend had also told her about the diabetic clinic they had at the Portsmouth hospital, and she planned to attend the c
linic if what Neill had to say proved she had diabetes.
He opened a file and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. In that split second the air crackled between them with unspoken emotion, confirming her worst fears. “Sherri, the symptoms you described to me and these lab results suggest you have type one diabetes. You need to start on insulin right away.”
His voice was so gentle as he said the words that the air was knocked from her lungs. For the rest of her life she would remember this moment, no matter where she went or what she did. The diagnosis meant she’d have to test her blood sugar levels and learn to give herself insulin based on the results. She’d have to alter her eating habits and start an exercise plan. After that, her mind froze. What else it could mean remained to be seen.
“May I see those numbers?” she asked, trying to appear brave and in control, her shaking hand demonstrating that she was failing miserably.
He passed the paper to her, but she couldn’t read the numbers through her tears. Without a word she passed it back to him, being extra careful not to meet his eyes.
“Sherri, I’m sorry.”
She raised a warning hand and shook her head.
“This is difficult for you. It would be for anybody, but you do have friends and family who love you and will be there for you.”
His words seemed unreal, uttered to placate rather than reassure—the response of a professional uninvolved in her life. And for the second time in as many minutes she didn’t want to understand what her mind was telling her. She had diabetes and Neill was being the consummate professional.
Yet a professional approach was much better. She didn’t think she’d be able to hold back her tears if he’d said anything personal. Or worse, if he’d tried to take her in his arms, she would have lost all semblance of control. And she had vowed never to lose control around him ever again.
The Doctor Returns Page 7