A Very Special Christmas

by Jessica Matthews

  "Don't be ridiculous. We only added the bows and curling ribbon."

  "And the silver berries. It might not have been much, but it was definitely enough to make it dazzling." Nora hugged her. "I knew you hadn't completely lost your Christmas spirit. It was just buried. You did a fabulous job."

  Claire grinned. "Only because I had help from Alex and Jennie."

  "Speaking of those two, what's this I hear about them delivering an evergreen to your house? My neighbor works at the lot where they bought it and he told me what Alex had done."

  Claire flipped through the morning lab reports that had just come over the fax machine. "They brought it for Joshua."

  "Isn't that sweet?"

  "We only strung lights," she warned, "so don't imagine some awesome creation. My old decorations are still in storage."

  "What are you waiting for?''

  Courage, flashed into Claire's mind. Rather than say so, she said, "A moment to call my own." She outlined the weekend's events, from visiting Alex's house to sewing Jennie's costume on Sunday and finishing the tree.

  "So you're getting along with his daughter, are you?"

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  "No reason, other than that's the best news I've heard in a month. She doesn't usually take a shine to the women he's dated."

  "We're not dating, so it doesn't matter." Deep down, though, it did.

  "That might be what you think, but we'll save that conversation for another day. Right now, I want to know what you're going to wear to the clinic party."

  "I haven't thought about it because I intend to play hookey."

  Nora stared at her in horror. "You can't."

  "Why not? Henry will understand." At least, she hoped he would.

  "You've come so far. You can't quit now."

  "Watch me."

  "Now, Claire—"

  "Now, Claire nothing," Claire said. "Be satisfied with the progress I've made. Between decorating trees and owning a live one myself, I'm showing more Christmas spirit than I'd intended when the season started."

  Nora opened her mouth to argue, then clamped her lips together. "OK. If that's how you feel. Just remember, though, you'll miss the perfect opportunity to wear your fanciest dress and watch Alex's eyes pop out of his head."

  If she wore her fanciest gown, then Alex would wear his best suit. The prospect of seeing him decked out was the one thing that could change her mind about going. Although she wasn't actively hunting for a man to take Ray's place, Alex was the only potential candidate who'd hammered home the fact that she was still young and possessed an adequate amount of female hormones.

  If only her femininity had waited to awaken until after the holidays.

  "Sorry, but Christmas parties are out. I can't walk into a room filled with couples. I just can't."

  "So go with Alex instead of going alone."

  Alex. It had been wonderful being in his arms for those few minutes. She'd felt warm and safe and guilt-free and now that she thought about it, she'd actually felt whole.

  Whole. It had been so long since she'd experienced that, but now that she had, it only emphasized her loss.

  Darn the holidays with their associated hugging and kissing and good cheer!

  She dumped several more kits and disposable speculums into the deep middle drawer to avoid Nora's gaze. "He hasn't asked me."

  "That's easily remedied. Ask him instead."

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I just can't, so let's leave it at that."

  "Then I'll—"

  "Don't you dare take matters in your own hands, Nora Laslow. If you do, I'll never speak to you again."

  Nora held up her hands. "OK. I heard you. Loud and clear."

  "Good." Claire closed the drawer with a sharp snap.

  Nora fell silent for a few seconds, but when, she spoke again, she sounded puzzled. "Don't you want to go with him?"

  Claire hesitated. "That's not the point."

  "Aha! I knew it! You do."

  Once again, Claire didn't answer " directly. She would dearly love to go out with Alex, but she was thinking along the lines of a quiet dinner for two, not a boisterous affair with several hundred people.

  "If—" she emphasized the word "—I decide to attend, I'll go by myself because I'll only stay long enough to put in my duty appearance. I won't have someone taking me as his date and then spoiling his fun by cutting the evening short."

  Nora didn't need to know that she'd prefer being at home to seeing another woman on Alex's arm.

  You're hiding.

  Claire ignored her little voice that sounded remarkably like Alex.

  "You're forgetting one key detail," Nora said.

  "What?".

  "If you come with Alex, you wouldn't want to just pop in and out. You'd want to stay, sip champagne, eat chocolate-covered strawberries and dance until midnight."

  "Champagne and strawberries?"

  "None other."

  Claire smiled. "Remember when we bought our first bottle to celebrate passing our state nursing boards?"

  "As if I'd ever forget. You complained the entire time about how the bubbles tickled your nose, but it didn't stop you from drinking your half."

  "Yeah, and I can't believe we measured it out in a specimen cup to make sure we each drank the same amount."

  "It was an experiment," Nora said importantly. "If you'll recall, we were trying to determine the effects of alcohol on different body types."

  "What did we decide?"

  Nora waved her hand. "Who cares? We had fun. And you will, too, when you come to the clinic party."

  "Sorry, pal, but it will take more than champagne to get me there," Claire said.

  Offering champagne was probably the worst thing Nora could have used as temptation. She and Ray had celebrated the milestones of their marriage with it—his first decent-paying job, their mortgage, the night she'd told him she was pregnant. Of course, she'd only taken a few swallows at the time, but a toast had been part of their ritual—a ritual that had ended years too soon.

  She'd bought a bottle of bubbly before she'd gone into labor and on her first night home, after Joshua had fallen asleep in his crib, she'd sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace—Ray's favorite spot—managed to pop the cork and fill two glasses before she sipped a toast to her missing husband and the precious gift he'd given her. Then she'd cried the rest of the night.

  The next morning, she'd poured out the contents of his full glass along with the remainder of the bottle and concentrated on caring for her son. She'd done well these past three years, but Christmas still pressed a sore spot.

  In any event, she doubted if she'd ever be able to look at champagne in the same way again.

  "If the drinks won't entice you, maybe the food will.

  It's going to be utterly fantastic." Nora patted her tummy. "I should know because I signed up for the catering committee, which was fun since I didn't have to worry about paying the bill." She grinned. "I made sure we would serve something that would tempt you into coming. The hors d'oeuvres are spectacular and if you're not interested in those, the dessert bar will feature six different kinds of cheesecake, including your favorite, chocolate caramel."

  "The menu sounds fabulous, but my mind is made up."

  "If you don't want a date and you don't want to go by yourself, why don't you come with Carter and me? I've already arranged for a sitter, so you can leave Joshua with my brood. One more won't make a difference to her. When you're ready to call it a night, you can slip away."

  So much for her plan to use the can't-find-a-babysitter excuse. "Thanks for the suggestion and the offer, but I don't want to go. What would I do?"

  Nora rolled her eyes. "Have fun?" She raised her hands. "I know, I know. You can't. What would an hour hurt, though? If you promise to stay sixty minutes, I'll be happy."

  "You're forgetting Henry's job list," Claire reminded her.

  "Volunteer to guard the eggnog," Nora advised. "I'll t
ake the other half of your shift and no one will be the wiser."

  "And you'll be satisfied if I agree to one hour?"

  "One hour minimum and I'll stop hounding you. For the record, I'm counting from the moment you walk in to the second you leave. Travel time is excluded."

  Claire grinned. "You drive a hard bargain, pal."

  "Yup, but I'm betting you'll want to stay longer."

  "You're on. What'll it be?"

  "An afternoon of babysitting," Nora said promptly.

  "You're going to lose."

  Nora gave her sly wink. "Maybe. Maybe not. This is the season for miracles."

  Claire agreed in theory but, as far as she was concerned, there were far too many people who needed one more than she did. People like her next patient, Victor Kohls.

  "My bowels just aren't working right," the seventy-two-year-old, frail-looking Victor said. "Haven't been for some time."

  "How long?"

  "Couple of months. It started with some diarrhea, but now..." he rubbed his abdomen "...it's the opposite."

  "What kind of food do you eat? Lots of fiber? Fresh fruit and vegetables?"

  "Apples, oranges—my wife even started giving me broccoli—cooked oatmeal and shredded wheat cereal. Lots of shredded wheat." He shook his head. "Nothing."

  "What about over-the-counter fiber supplements?"

  "The pharmacist suggested a powder to dump in my juice." He mentioned the brand name, which she noted. "But the only difference is I feel like I'm stuffed to my gills. Lost my appetite on account of it."

  "When did you start adding a supplement?"

  "Two weeks ago. Surely that high-powered, fancy fiber would have kicked in by now."

  "You'd think so," she agreed.

  "The trouble is, I'm losing weight that I can't afford to lose. Of course, it could be on account of not eating. Just don't want to."

  "Have you been running a temperature?"

  He screwed his aged face in thought. "No, but I have the chills from time to time. Just can't seem to get warm. Don't thyroid problems cause that?"

  "They could," she admitted.

  "What do you think is wrong?"

  In Claire's opinion, it sounded like he had an obstructed bowel, but without further tests, it was anyone's guess what might be the cause. Everything from adhesions to a hernia, Crohn's disease to a case of fecal impaction came to mind. For his sake, she hoped it would be easily resolved.

  "Well," she said slowly with a smile, "that's what you're paying the doctor to find out. Let's see what he says, OK?"

  "OK."

  If Alex had a ready diagnosis in mind, or even a suspicion of one, he kept it to himself, but Claire had worked with him long enough to recognize when he was concerned because his smile didn't reach his eyes.

  "Do you have a history of colon problems in your family?" he asked after he'd read through Claire's notes.

  Victor looked thoughtful. "Not that I can remember."

  "Have you ever had a colonoscopy?"

  "Isn't that when they run a tube up your, well..." He blushed a deep red as he glanced at Claire. "You know."

  Alex-grinned. "Yes."

  Victor shook his head. "No, I haven't. Do I need that now?"

  "It would be best," Alex told him. "A surgeon needs to look around in there."

  "You can't do it?" he asked.

  "It's a special procedure requiring special training. I'm going to refer you to Dr Jensen. Claire will set up the appointment."

  A suspicious glint appeared in Victor's eyes. "Never heard of this Jensen fellow."

  "It's a lady," Alex told him. "Susan Jensen. She joined Dr Teague's practice a few months ago."

  "Why can't I see him instead? I'm not wild about having a lady look up my nether regions."

  "You won't have to wait as long to see her as you will for an appointment with Dr Teague," Alex replied. "The sooner we find out what the problem is, the sooner we can correct it, and the sooner you can eat like your old self."

  Victor hesitated. "I s'pose. And you say she's good?"

  "Dr Teague wouldn't have taken her on as a partner if she wasn't."

  "If you say it's OK, Doctor, I'll do it."

  Alex scribbled something on a pad before he ripped off the page and handed it to Claire. "Before you leave, my nurse will set up a time for you to see Dr Jensen," he informed Victor.

  Claire took the slip of paper and saw written .there, "ASAP. R/o CA." All of which was shorthand for hurry up, and rule out carcinoma.

  "Will this lady doctor tell you what she finds?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "What do I do in the meantime?"

  "Eat what you feel you can tolerate. I'd stay away from high-fiber foods, though."

  "You don't have to tell me twice," Victor said fervently.

  "OK. Wait here until Claire tells you about your appointment with Dr Jensen."

  Claire made her phone call and, after explaining the situation, was given a time slot. She returned to Victor's room, smiling brightly.

  "It's your lucky day," she informed him.

  "I could use a fair bit of luck," Victor told her. "I'm not Irish, but I'm ready to claim some of theirs."

  "They had a cancellation this afternoon. You can see Dr Jensen at one-thirty."

  "Are they going to do my colon thing then?"

  "No," Claire told him. "You'll need to prepare for the procedure, but Dr Jensen's office will explain everything. Today she wants to meet you, describe what will happen and talk about what she might find."

  "Like polyps? My neighbor had a couple of those removed last summer."

  "Yes," she said.

  "Will she do this in her office?"

  "Usually she performs this procedure at the hospital. You'll only be there for a few hours, so you'll go to the day surgery floor. You'll receive medication to relax you, so be sure someone will be available to drive you home."

  "I'll ask my son," he decided. "The wife doesn't drive any more."

  "Dr Jensen's office nurse will give you more dos and don'ts. Just be sure you don't miss your appointment."

  "At one-thirty. I'll be there."

  Claire sent him on his way, then called for Rick Morris. A handsome man in his late thirties with a ruddy complexion, a muscular build and sturdy denim clothing that suggested a manual labor job, he slowly rose from his chair in the waiting room and advanced with what seemed a great deal of reluctance until Claire realized it was more of an unsteady gait. His wife walked beside him, chattering away as if she didn't have a care in the world, but Claire saw the worry lines on her forehead.

  After helping him step carefully on the scale, Claire showed him to the closest exam room and listened to his story.

  "My feet tingle all the time, like someone's sticking hundred of pins in them," Rick reported. "I have times when I'm dizzy and my vision blurs, but then it goes away."

  "Have you noticed feeling weak?"

  He flexed his left hand. "My hand doesn't seem to have the strength it used to."

  "Now, Rick," his wife chided, "tell her how it goes numb."

  "Once in a while," he admitted. "I just feel stiff. My joints don't seem to move as easily as they once did. I'm thinking it might be arthritis."

  "It's a possibility," Claire said. "What about pain?"

  "No pain as such, although when I get that pins-and-needles sensation, it isn't too pleasant."

  Claire added a few more notes to her list of reported symptoms. "Anything else?"

  His wife answered. "He seems more jittery. At times, he even seems depressed."

  Rick glowered at her, as if she wasn't supposed to notice that particular sign. "You'd be depressed, too, if you didn't feel right."

  "That's quite true," Claire said. "How long have you felt this way?"

  "It's come and gone for a couple of months, so at first I thought it was just a weird virus and ignored it."

  "He's had it long enough that we can't," his wife added. "The last two weeks have
been the worst and I decided it was time we came to the doctor."

  "We?" Rick raised an eyebrow at his wife. "I'm the one who'll be poked and prodded."

  "If that's what it takes to figure out why you're like this, quit complaining," she said, exasperated.

  Claire sympathized with Rick's wife. Men weren't easy creatures to be around when they were ill and obviously Rick hadn't felt well for some time. "Had you been sick with anything in particular before you noticed these symptoms?"

  He shook his head. "Not that I can remember."

  Claire finished her notes, then walked around the exam table to wrap the blood-pressure cuff around his arm. "I'll take a few readings," she said as she pumped air into the cuff, "and then send in the doctor."

  His vital signs were within normal limits and she soon returned with Alex.

  "Hello, Joyce," he greeted Rick's wife.

  "Alex," she said, relief obvious in her tone. "It's good to see you. This is my husband, Rick."

  Alex shook his hand. "How's Wendy? I haven't seen her for a while."

  Claire followed their conversation and soon figured out that Rick was Joyce's second husband, and that Wendy and Jennie were classmates, but this year they'd suffered the misfortune of being assigned to different teachers. Although they chatted for only a few minutes, Claire could see Rick's growing irritation.

  Alex apparently sensed the same thing, because he deftly turned the conversation to Rick. "You're having muscle weakness?"

  At which point Rick began his recitation. Alex listened carefully before he asked more in-depth questions.

  "Any trouble with bladder or bowel control?" he asked.

  "Can't hold my water like I used to," Rick admitted. "If the urge hits, I'd better take care of business, or else."

  "Does temperature make a difference?" Alex asked. "Hot or cold?"

  "Not that I can tell."

  "Do you drink alcohol?"

  Joyce studied the tile floor while her husband answered. "Yeah."

  "How much?"

  Rick bristled. "What difference does it make?"

  That particular subject was a sore one. Claire watched to see how Alex would handle his patient.

  "A lot," Alex answered bluntly. "Alcoholism can cause a number Of conditions or make certain ones worse. If you drink consistently, I need to know."

  Rick fell silent. "Yeah, I drink. Some."