by R. J. Blain
Interesting. I eyed Bradley’s father. “You better consent to having me fix that train wreck.”
“I wouldn’t have bothered Dr. Castor if I wasn’t willing to have you do the work, Janette. I would have been all right with you doing the work at the hotel, but I thought it would be more sanitary at Dr. Castor’s home rather than you raiding the kitchen to get a steak knife.”
“Steak knives aren’t really sanitary, but I would have made sure you didn’t get an infection.”
“Let me get a blood pressure cuff and my travel bag. Please come with me. We can take care of this in the sitting room. There’s a leather couch I’m certain an exsanguinator such as yourself can clean up if needed. Having seen his medical record, I will bring sufficient storage for the deposits.”
“That bad?” I heaved a sigh and shot Bradley’s father a glare.
“A few days wasn’t going to make any difference, Janette. It’s well controlled, and I know what symptoms to watch for. I would have told you if I’d experienced any of them. I’ve been enjoying my vacation relaxing, so I was at minimal risk in the first place.”
I stared at him. “Is that true?”
He laughed. “It’s true. Ask the wife. You can ask Bradley. He’s been checking in on me when you haven’t been looking because he’s almost as much of a worry wart as you are. If he thought it would be a problem, he would have told you.”
I turned my attention to Bradley. “Well?”
“It’s true. If I thought he was at immediate risk of a catastrophic heart attack, I certainly wouldn’t have dragged him onto a plane and made that risk worse. I appreciate how worried you are, though. It’s gratifying.”
Spluttering, I followed Dr. Castor into the sitting room, which reminded me of a tea parlor on some British historical drama. “The outside says Spanish, the inside disagrees with the outside.”
The woman chuckled. “I opted to theme rooms in this home, with something from every country in Europe I’ve lived in. The kitchen is Spanish, representing my home. The living room is Dutch, because I find their culture to be warm and inviting. I picked British for this room to be more formal, although I’ll admit I’ve gone on the cheap in this one.” She pointed at the couch and its pair of matching armchairs. “The whole set, less than five hundred dollars at a discount furniture store, but it positively screams British from a long-gone era, doesn’t it?”
I put some serious thought into worshipping the ground the doctor walked on. “That’s just so sensible.”
“Well, I know how to get my fiancée’s approval; I will be sensible when shopping for furniture.” Bradley pointed at the couch. “Sit, Dad, before Janette decides she’s the one having the heart attack.”
Bradley’s father obeyed, and he grumbled something under his breath. “It’s not that bad.”
“Yes, it is,” both Dr. Castor and I stated.
“Dad, I present to you evidence we should talk Janette into evening medical courses so she can continue her volunteer work.”
“Yes, that is definitely going to be used against her when she inevitably complains about the costs of medical schooling and that she doesn’t need additional courses to resume her work in the emergency room.”
I scowled, and I sat on the couch beside Bradley’s father. “I apologize for them, Dr. Castor. They have almost as many issues as I do. That’s why we’re going to be seeing therapists.”
“Therapists are quite useful. I will return shortly with everything you need. I won’t be long.”
Once Dr. Castor left, I bowed my head. “How utterly embarrassing.”
Bradley came over to me, leaned over, and placed his finger under my chin and lifted my head, kissing my forehead. “It’s only expected for you to have some issues, and having anxiety because you’re worried about my father is hardly embarrassing. I found it a little concerning, but then I remembered you’re the kind to need to address things like this immediately, and you couldn’t. And you probably remembered that you’d promised to look at it before you were kidnapped. That’s not your fault. And before you were kidnapped, you weren’t really able to do the work, either. I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it. Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll try to do better.”
“You don’t need to try to do better, Janette. You haven’t done anything wrong. And you didn’t pull over and start working right away. You drove all the way here. You just cursed a lot. I might have had an issue if you’d tried to find a place to pull off on that road. But, we came here for this purpose, so, take deep breaths and get ready to work.” Bradley leaned close and whispered in my ear, “I have plans for after we get home following your successful treatment of my father.”
“Don’t you threaten me with a good time, Bradley Hampton.”
He grinned. “That is not a threat. It’s a promise.”
NINETEEN
Who is a good kitty? Ajani is! Ajani is the best kitty.
Within five minutes of Dr. Castor bringing her medical kit, which she stored in a duffle bag meant to be tossed in a trunk if needed, I went to work on my future father-in-law. I ruined his bet, muttering curses within ten minutes. From head to toe, he’d hoarded cholesterol like it might vanish from the face of the earth. I loathed atherosclerosis, and I suspected I’d have to clear out his arteries every year to make sure he didn’t run a risk of clots or heart attack in the future. To complicate matters, the plaque resulting from the atherosclerosis resisted the idea of being removed. Bit by bit, I peeled it away from the artery walls, leaving behind irritation that would heal within a few days.
I would need to monitor him to ensure no clots formed, but the work would take ten minutes every few hours until the risk subsided.
As promised, between my streams of profanities, I gave Dr. Castor a step-by-step explanation of what I did, how I did it, and went on a tirade over how older patients could live longer, healthier lives if only the assholes of society had made use of exsanguinators rather than shun them.
The procedure took ten hours, excluding the hour-long break for me to devour a steak and rice dish loaded up with cry-worthy hot peppers. I hadn’t even noticed Dr. Castor stealing Bradley away to teach him kitchen sorcery, nor had I noticed the arrival of Mrs. Hampton, both of my parents, Meridian, Ren, Beatrice, and my cat.
I’d pay for that later, although I appreciated how my fluffy goddess had taken over my lap and purred for me. I pet her, and she landed a single light nip before nuzzling my hand, which ensured I wouldn’t scold her for issuing a gentle punishment with her teeth. “Who is a good kitty? Ajani is! Ajani is the best kitty.”
Bradley laughed from his place on the nearest armchair. “She’s been there for three hours, and beyond you taking one brief break to give her precisely two strokes, you’ve been occupied elsewhere.”
“I’ll pick my switch when we get home,” I promised upon realizing I’d made everyone wait during my rather meticulous removal of unwanted deposits. “Hi. I’m sorry I was busy and couldn’t come to the door. Or pay you any attention at all.”
My mother smiled, laughed, and came over to kiss my cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for, little girl. However, I don’t know where you learned that language, but I should wash that filth out of your mouth!”
Oops. “Television?” I suggested, although in reality, I’d picked up the language from some of our homeless patrons. It’d taken some time for the worst offenders to learn how to talk in a way that might get them through job interviews, but we all took turns helping them prepare and maximize their chances of getting work.
“We all know you don’t watch television,” my mother scolded, but she hugged me and kissed my cheek again. “I’ll let you off lightly this once.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I stretched, and I winced at the snap, crackle, and pops from my spine. “How are you feeling, Mr. Hampton?”
“I’m doing fine,” he replied with a smile. “Thank you. I will discuss with Dr. Castor what a fair rate of payment is for your wo
rk, and then you can give that money to Bradley so you can have a stock portfolio of your own. I could tell when you were working on the worst spots. I could feel the difference.”
Before I could indulge in even more panic or anxiety, Dr. Castor checked his blood pressure. “You’re on the low end of a healthy blood pressure, so we’ll take care with weaning you off the drug. We’ll measure closer to when you’re due to take your next dose and see how you fluctuate. If you stay on the high end of the healthy spectrum, we’ll do the minimum we should wean you on and have you off the prescription within a month to be on the safe side. Miss Janette, I’ll take the liberty of updating his medical file, as your lack of a medical license would be problematic. I’ll sign off that the severity warranted your assistance, which will remove most of the issues.”
“Janette, please. Thank you, Dr. Castor.”
“Of course. I’m glad to help. How are you feeling? Do you need to eat again? How fatiguing is that level of work?”
My stomach opted to answer for me in a loud, rumbling growl, and I sighed at its shameless ways. “It’s not that fatiguing, but I could eat.” Aware I was surrounded by people who would call me out in a heartbeat, I added, “I can always eat, however, as I’m a stomach with legs.”
My mother laughed, as did everyone else. “It’s true, Dr. Castor. If she’s asleep, bless her sweet heart, she can be lured just about anywhere with the right food, but you can’t let her get a hold of the plate. She will sit down and begin to eat. When she’s that tired, she won’t even care if she has utensils.”
“It won’t take but a few minutes to fix something up in the kitchen, and I’d put meat out to thaw once I had a headcount. I do quite enjoy cooking, and it’s rare enough I get to cook for guests. It’s delightful when I can cook for someone who enjoys spice as much as I do.”
“Janette lives for spice,” Bradley said, and he got up and held out his hand. He helped me to my feet and pulled me towards the hallway. “After watching her cook, I’m really glad I had someone who loves to cook design our kitchen. I need lessons now.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
Dr. Castor chuckled and joined us, gesturing towards her kitchen. “Your fiancé, upon watching me cook, realized he might be able to do similar with some effort on his part. As you were busy, I began teaching him the basics of Spanish cooking. Your mother also helped in the kitchen once she arrived, as she wants to learn my spicy secrets.”
I could only see benefits with my mother learning spicy food secrets, and if Bradley learned how to cook spicy food, I’d be set for life. “Can you teach the hopeless? I’m even more hopeless than Bradley. My mother tries, but I’m hopeless. I mean, beyond the very basics. I can handle the extreme basics. I have been generally successful at not starving to death.”
“Not starving to death is an important skill,” the woman conceded, and she guided us into a spacious, modern kitchen with a Spanish flare connected to a cozy, rustic-styled dining room my mother likely adored, as it would fit well in her farmhouse. “Please sit and relax. I’d rather not have to treat you for overexertion of your abilities, and your physician has expressed concerns.”
“It wasn’t all that straining, just time consuming and tedious. Even lower-rated exsanguinators can learn how to do that if given the opportunity. I figure anyone with over a 30% aptitude rating can likely master that trick. It was one of the first things I learned how to do on humans, as there are plenty of people who have build up without a real option to get rid of it, so they’ll agree to the waivers, especially after having suffered a heart attack. In the emergency room, once the life-threatening aspect of treatment is over, everyone I worked with had to sign a waiver because I count as an experimental treatment. During the actual emergency, it was kept quiet, because nobody wants to lose a patient on the table. Once the patient stabilized, the family of the patient or the patient would have to authorize my work. They usually avoided trying to get authorization unless it was something like cholesterol because I’m far more reliable than the standard treatments.”
“And your work only takes a few hours compared to the years it often takes for the non-surgical methods to work.” Dr. Castor bobbed her head and went to check on the meat.
As the kitchen island had stools, I selected one on the end so I could watch the woman cook. “How much do you think a hospital would charge for the work I did today?”
“Right. You never went to medical school, so you didn’t get to learn about billing, ethics, and insurance companies. Assuming I had the appropriate talent to do the work, which I don’t, the hospital would probably bill a quarter of a million dollars to the insurance company, of which I’d receive seventy-five percent of the payment, with the hospital receiving the remainder to cover the use of their building. The insurance company would refuse to pay out a quarter of a million, likely settling on one-fifty. If I were billing directly, I’d bill a hundred thousand for the work, unless the patient was a rich bastard who wanted immediate treatment, in which case I’d bill a quarter of a million, same as the hospital. Twenty-five thousand an hour for my work is not unheard of, especially when dealing with touchier work. Considering how intensive cholesterol removal can be—and that there are so few magical talents that can actually deal with it—you’d probably be in a position to charge forty thousand an hour.”
My eyes widened. “Forty thousand an hour?”
“It’s a little higher pay grade than being a librarian,” she replied in an amused tone.
“Yeah. One’s per hour, the other’s per year, thereabouts.”
“You could save a lot of lives doing one cholesterol treatment a month. As you haven’t seen his medical record, you won’t have to worry much about the cholesterol rebuilding.”
I frowned. “I won’t? Why?”
“The core problem has already been treated. He had undiagnosed chronic kidney disease, which was responsible for the heightened buildup of cholesterol. That has since been rectified. While he’ll need to be screened for future problems, his medical file indicates his physician believes a mixture of magical and mundane treatments has reversed the disease. The cholesterol problems were likely linked to that.”
I glared at all of the Hamptons in the kitchen, settling on Bradley as my last target. “So help me, if you’ve inherited that nonsense from your parents, we’re going to have words. It’s bad enough you’re severely lactose intolerant.”
Dr. Castor joined me in giving Bradley the stink eye. “I shall put in a recommendation to have your small intestine fully checked. Those intolerances can be a problem in the small intestine, and some of them can be resolved with appropriate medical care. I’ll put in a recommendation for a specialist.”
Bradley held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll even go with minimal complaint.”
“But why forty thousand an hour?” I blurted.
“Society is not fair, nor is life, and the rulers of the roost base things on what they can afford. They care nothing for the little people beneath them. Unless you open a private clinic, the hospitals set the price for care in cahoots with the health insurance companies, and they have all turned medicine into a for-profit business. That’s part of what makes what you’ve done in the medical world so special. The hospitals can’t charge for the work you’ve donated through volunteering. You’re not on their payroll, and they have rules about donated time and services. They also can’t refuse patients in the emergency room, no matter what their insurance status may be.”
I could do the math just as well as the next person; if more people with my magic volunteered in the emergency rooms, we’d save lives and make a difference—and potentially change how the entire medical system worked. “So the best thing is for me to just keep volunteering in the emergency room?”
“Precisely. You won’t be able to save everybody, but even those you can’t save will benefit; their families won’t pay as steep of a price when the medical bills come in. You’re setting an excellent example for other
s with what you have done. If you keep doing that, I think good things will happen.”
I could only hope.
If anyone expected me to remember anything, they would be disappointed. If I’d been in the home, I remembered nothing of it beyond the white walled room with its nest of pillows and blankets with an extensive collection of books and a connected bathroom. Dr. Castor made a Spanish dish consisting of chicken and a fire-red rice I worried might burn through her stoneware plates. For those who needed a little less spice, she served a milder yellow rice, which Bradley packed away with amusing enthusiasm.
She’d even modified her recipes to account for the variety of disorders plaguing the Hampton family, although she served dinner with lectures on proactive healthcare, the majority of which were likely targeted at me and my stubborn foot. All it had taken to redirect her lectures to the Hamptons had been mentioning librarians only got paid so much, and I thought I’d done pretty well with the budget I’d had.
To my amusement, she called Dr. Mansfield to confirm the reality of my budget, resulting in a tirade over the evils of profit-driven healthcare.
“I really like this woman,” I informed Bradley.
“Strangely, so do I.”
It made accusing her of a long-term kidnapping rather difficult. “Dr. Castor, how did you get access to Mr. Hampton’s medical record, anyway?”
“I asked for permission, received it, and contacted the appropriate sources for the files. Mr. Hampton kindly texted his doctor with his authorization, citing an emergency situation. That covered everything we needed to gain access to the files. All other files had prior patient authorization for being shared.”