“Would he have worked with Dr. Bower?”
Jarvis got up from the couch and went to his desk. He fanned out a business card file. “Dr. Sal Probstfield just happens to be a duck hunter. Ducks aren’t my forte, of course, but you get a couple of hunters into a room with 150 golfers, racquetballers and tennis jocks, the hunters will tend to find each other. Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a card with a mallard printed on it.
“Don’t tell me that a trauma surgeon hands out business cards.”
“For his guide service. During duck season he takes groups out on hunting trips. It’s what he plans to do with his time when he retires in three years.”
“Sounds like you know him pretty well.”
Jarvis reached toward the speakerphone and punched his numbers. “Well enough to get information from him about Bower.”
They reached Dr. Probstfield at home. After a few preliminaries, Jarvis asked, “Sal, we have a new full-time doctor down here. Does the name Lukas Bower mean anything to you?”
There was a pause, then a low whistle. “So you’re the guys who stole our whiz kid.”
Ivy raised a brow at Jarvis. She mouthed the words, “Whiz kid?”
Sal continued. “He’s awful at hospital politics, so his colleagues tend to resent him. He’s great with patients and diagnoses and he puts on a good show of confidence, so his colleagues tend to resent him.” He chuckled at his own attempt at humor. “Give him time. He’s not obnoxious. He’s just got a small problem with social graces. He’s not as cocky or self-confident as he seems.”
Jarvis saw the relief in Ivy’s expression.
Sal’s voice came again. “Those guys over at Cunningham Memorial lost themselves a good internist when they kicked him out of the residency program.”
Ivy’s head jerked up.
Jarvis stiffened, trying to control the surge of hope he felt. “What?”
“You know he’s not board certified, don’t you? That’s why. The hospital’s board of internal medicine decided he was endangering patients, and they fired him. He never got into another residency program. I know the trainer Bower had over there. Vicious man, very vindictive. He didn’t like being shown up, and I’d hazard a guess that Bower did so without even realizing it. The director of internal medicine backed up Bower’s trainer. They even tried to block Bower’s permanent licensure. I hear he had to take them to court to get it through.”
“I see,” Jarvis muttered, glancing at Ivy. “Is that all you know about it, Sal?”
There was a pause. “I’ve heard other rumors, but nothing was substantiated.”
“How did they feel he was endangering patients?”
“You’ll have to get that information from somebody else. Remember, I liked the guy. All you have to do is ask Bower about it. He’s an innocent, and he’s never learned to keep his mouth shut.”
“Thanks, Sal, I owe you. See you soon.” Jarvis hung up and looked at Ivy. “I know some people at Cunningham. I’ll give them a call later and see if I can come up with more info.”
“Why don’t you just ask Dr. Bower?” Ivy suggested.
Jarvis shot her a skeptical glance. “I’ll call Cunningham.”
Chapter Five
Lukas didn’t often visit a patient after admitting, because he didn’t want to interfere with the family docs. Friday morning, however, he’d received a special request from ICU that he could not refuse.
Mr. Franklin Verris had apparently just awakened from his mysterious deep sleep late yesterday evening, and he wanted to meet the doctor who, according to Dr. Robert Simeon, had probably saved his life. Dr. Simeon must be mistaken, and Lukas intended to tell Mr. Verris that.
Mr. Verris looked different in a hospital gown, but someone had been kind enough to bring him his teeth and help him comb his full head of white hair. His skin appeared pink and healthy this morning. Shelly had probably been by to see him already.
“Mr. Verris?” Lukas said quietly as he stepped up to the bed. “I’m Dr. Bower. I saw you in the emergency room Wednesday.”
The man glanced at Lukas, nodded and reached up to take Lukas’s hand in a firm shake. “Call me Frankie. My doctor tells me you kept me from doing something terrible. I thank you.” He looked away. “I don’t…don’t know what got into me.”
Lukas bent closer. “Frankie, did you take too much medication?”
There was a slight pause, then the man nodded, still not looking at Lukas.
“But your prescription bottle was almost full.”
Frankie sighed. “I know. Tuesday evening I was going through the medicine cabinet for the first time since…since my wife died. I came across her bottle of Xanax. She used it sometimes to help her sleep when her arthritis acted up.”
“So you did take hers.” Lukas had noticed that the script was for sixty pills.
“She’d used about half the bottle before she died.” Frankie closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at Lukas. His eyes were pale gray. It made him seem more vulnerable. “Tuesday was the sixtieth anniversary of our first date. When I saw that bottle, it occurred to me that I enjoyed life with Doris so much more than I enjoy life now, I just wanted to be with her again. I didn’t want to live.” He shrugged. “No reason to. No children or family.”
“I’m sorry you felt that way. You do seem to have some neighbors who care about you a great deal.” Lukas could have kicked himself for not trusting his own instincts. “How do you feel now?”
Frankie considered the question for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about Doris a lot today. When I allow myself to believe, as she insisted, that her spirit still lives, I feel better.” A gentle smile lit his face.
That was it. Lukas realized that the lines of this man’s face held humor. That was another reason why Lukas couldn’t believe he had tried to kill himself when he came into the emergency room the other day.
“Was Mrs. Verris a Christian?” Lukas asked.
“Yes. Oh, I know a lot of people claim to be Christians, then live like the devil, but my wife…my sweet, giving wife…” The man’s eyes filled with tears. “She lived it.” He looked out the window for a moment and waited for his eyes to clear. “How she put up with an old reprobate like me for so long, I don’t know. When the drug started taking effect the other day, it occurred to me that I probably wouldn’t follow her anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“God would kick me out of heaven.”
“He doesn’t kick His own children out. You don’t share your wife’s faith?”
Frankie continued as if he hadn’t heard Lukas. “My wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.” He said it softly, as if he were recalling her face. “She was beautiful inside, as well as outside, and she just grew more beautiful over the years.” His attention returned to Lukas. “I want to thank you for giving me another chance.”
“I’m glad I was here to help.” Lukas paused, then cleared his throat. “There is a way to make sure that you follow Doris when you do leave this earth.”
Frankie shook his head slowly. “I could never be the kind of person Doris was.”
“You don’t have to be. God created you as you are, and He wants you as you are.”
Frankie continued to shake his head.
“Tell me,” Lukas said, “would Doris be silly enough to worship a useless God?”
Frankie glanced sharply at Lukas. “My wife was a very wise lady. She wasn’t silly.”
“Then wouldn’t the God she worshiped at least be able to love you and accept you as generously as she did?”
Frankie watched Lukas for a moment. “You’re a Christian.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You talk just like Doris used to.” His eyes filled with tears again. “Sure do miss her.”
“Then why don’t you start making your travel plans—and not the way you did Wednesday. Why don’t you make sure you can be with her again? Get to know her Savior personally. Then when the time comes, in His time, n
ot yours, He will see to it that you find her. Meanwhile, Frankie, He will be with you here, and He’ll give you peace you never believed you could have…or deserve.”
“What makes you think He’d do that for me?”
“He did it for me, and He keeps forgiving me every time I mess up. I keep asking Him to use me, and He sent you my way at just the right time. He loves you and wants you to join Him.”
More tears filled Frankie’s eyes, and this time he let them fall. “Give me some time to think about it.”
“Okay, Frankie. Meanwhile, I’ll be praying for you.” Lukas laid a hand on the man’s arm and squeezed, then said a silent prayer for him as he walked back to the emergency room.
Beverly was on duty that morning, and she met him as he entered. Stereotypical as it seemed, Beverly had a quick, impulsive temperament to match her flaming red hair. At the moment, the color of her face also matched her hair.
“Dr. Bower, there’s a very obnoxious patient in three who has threatened to sue if I don’t personally escort you to see him now.” She lowered her voice. “His father is Bailey Little.”
At Lukas’s blank expression, she explained, “You know, Bailey Little, the attorney. He’s the president of our hospital’s board of directors.”
“So the son is in the E.R. throwing his father’s weight around?”
“Yes. I know you want to get to that funeral.”
“But you don’t think this one can wait.” All he needed was a difficult patient whom Dr. Camp might refuse to take over when he arrived. It had been hard enough to convince someone to let him off a couple of hours, especially since he wasn’t sure himself why he felt the need to attend the funeral of a stranger.
He glanced at his watch. It was only eight o’clock. If all the ancillary services would cooperate, he could take care of this patient and still make the service.
“Okay, Beverly, what’s his complaint?”
Beverly lowered her voice. “He’s out of his stuff, if you ask me.”
Lukas raised a brow at her. “Drug seeker?”
She nodded, folding her arms across her chest, her thick, red brows drawn together in a disapproving glower.
“Okay, I’ll come willingly. What does he say is the problem?”
“Headache. Again.”
“Again? He’s been in for this before?”
“Yes. At least twice when I was on duty, and I think he’s been here a lot more than that, according to the secretary.”
“Which doctor treated him?”
“Dr. George.”
“And he got the drugs?”
“Dr. George believed his story. Dwayne is a good actor. Besides, Dr. George is good friends with Dwayne’s father. Dwayne even calls him ‘Uncle Jarvis.’”
“Pull Mr. Little’s old chart, will you?”
“Sure thing.” She turned to go, then hesitated and turned back. “I wouldn’t cross this guy, Dr. Bower, not unless you can afford to lose your job. I know I can’t.”
“Thanks for the warning, Beverly.”
She watched him for a moment. “I mean it. I heard about you turning in Dr. George for the needlestick. Bailey Little can get us both in trouble, and I’ve got kids to support.”
Lukas frowned. “You’re not going to get into trouble for doing your job.”
He found the clipboard for room three at the central desk, then added a copy of a special form he had brought with him from KC.
The patient who perched on the doctor’s exam stool in the darkened room didn’t look like a typical drug abuser. Lukas wondered if Beverly had just been irritated by the man’s personality. The young man, in his early to midtwenties, sat cradling his forehead in his hands. He wore a dark brown suit. His hair was short and neat. He looked clean. He glanced up when Lukas entered, then put his head back down and groaned.
“Hello, Mr. Little, I’m Dr. Bower.” Lukas placed the clipboard down on the counter and remained standing. “I hear you have a headache this morning.”
“Yeah, Dr. Bower.” The man continued to rub his forehead. “It’s the worst I’ve ever had.”
“Then you’ve had headaches like this before? Any nausea associated with them? Fever?”
“I’ve had some before, but not as bad as this. I’m puking my guts out.”
Lukas knew from checking the chart that the man’s temperature was normal. “Have you ever seen a doctor for headaches before, Mr. Little? Ever had a CT head scan?”
“Not yet.” The man leaned forward and pulled a card out of his back pocket. “Here. I’m supposed to go see a Dr. Pippin next week in Springfield. He’s a neurologist.”
Lukas took the card and glanced at it. It was a blank appointment card, one anybody could pick up from a front desk of a busy office. Lukas was not impressed.
“What time is your appointment? Maybe I can call for an earlier—”
“I don’t have an appointment yet, okay?” the man snapped. “Look, I’ve had this thing for two days, and it’s getting worse. Are you going to help me, or—”
Beverly rushed into the room. “Dr. Bower, we just put an asthma patient in six who sounds really tight. She’s not panicky or anything, but—”
“I’ll be there.” Lukas reached for the clipboard.
“Hey, hold it a minute!” Little came halfway off his stool. “What about me? I want to know about my headache.”
“Sorry, Mr. Little, I’ll be back,” Lukas soothed. “We have an emergency.” He knew the irony of his words would be lost on this guy.
In exam room six, a woman in her forties sat forward on the bed with her legs dangling over the side. She wore a clear face mask attached by six feet of tubing to an oxygen regulator on the wall at the head of the bed. Lukas saw that her oxygen was running at 12 liters. Good. Beverly knew her stuff. The patient wore a pulse ox gauge on her right forefinger. It looked like a plastic clothespin with a thin cable attached to a small box on the bed.
Lukas glanced over Beverly’s shoulder as she hurriedly took the woman’s vitals. The O2 sat had been 87 percent before the mask. Not good.
He stepped around to the other side of the exam table. “Good morning, Mrs. Knight.”
“Miss. I’m Darlene,” she said between breaths.
“Thank you, Darlene. I’m Dr. Bower. I’m going to listen to your lungs to get a better idea about what’s going on.” He pressed his stethoscope against her back and heard a soft, musical wheeze, both inspiratory and expiratory. She was moving very little air.
He straightened. “Beverly, do you have the vitals yet?”
“Yes, Doctor. BP 130 over 90, heart rate 120, respiration 36, temp 100.6.”
“Okay, thank you.” He gave orders for IV treatment and reassured Darlene. While Beverly carried out the orders, he went to the desk and ordered a stat respiratory therapy, blood tests and a chest X-ray.
Beverly had the IV established and was pushing the Solu-Medrol when he returned.
He glanced at the chart. “Darlene, we’ll have someone here in a few minutes to give you a breathing treatment. It’s going to help.”
She nodded, not looking at him, still fighting to breathe. “Thanks.”
Lukas frowned at her for a moment. Interesting. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles shadowed them—not the typical signs of an asthmatic. She avoided eye contact. She acted as if she had other things on her mind. Other asthmatics watched every move he and the nurse made, desperate for help, needing their reassurance and attention.
He sat down in front of her. “After we get your breathing improved, then we’ll need to do some tests to check you out.” He glanced at the chart again. Beverly had only had time to do the vitals, not a complete assessment.
“Do you take any medicines, Darlene?”
She shook her head. “Supposed to take theophylline and two inhalers, but I haven’t lately. I ran out. Can’t afford refills.”
Lukas nodded. “Any drug allergies?”
She shook her head.
“Any cha
nce of pregnancy?”
This got her attention. She shot him a very startled look, blushed, shook her head. “No.”
“Sorry, I had to ask. We’re doing an X-ray.”
She shot him another startled look. “Do you have to? I don’t have insurance.”
He considered it a moment. He’d like to see an X-ray, but with the other tests, it may not be necessary. “Okay, we’ll put a hold on that for now, but we still may need it, depending on what the other tests show.” That could be what was bothering her.
She looked slightly relieved.
“Hello.” There was a knock at the open door, and Kaye, the respiratory tech, walked in. “Are you Darlene Knight? I’ve got orders to make you start feeling better, or I lose my job. Got a few minutes?”
Lukas smiled at her. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Kaye. Darlene, I’ll be back after your treatment.” He braced himself to face the man with the migraine.
“Do you make a habit of abandoning your patients in this emergency room?” Mr. Little demanded as Lukas walked back in and laid the clipboard down on the counter.
“Not if we can avoid it,” Lukas said calmly. “Would you mind stepping to the bed?”
“Why?”
“If I’m going to treat you, I’m going to check you out. Please move to the bed. If you need some help, I can—”
“I don’t need help,” the man snapped, then grudgingly obeyed Lukas.
Lukas checked heart, lungs, reflexes. Normal. Then he lowered the lights and checked the eyes. Bingo. They were pinpoint, no dilation. In this dimly lit room, that didn’t fit.
He picked up the chart. “Mr. Little, it says here that you’re allergic to Imitrex and Reglan. Those are our drugs of choice for migraine. What medications have you taken before?”
“Demerol and morphine work best.”
“But I can’t in good conscience give you a narcotic without running some tests to make sure you’re not in danger. I need a CT and a urine—”
“What?” Little brought his hands down from his head and glared at Lukas. “What’re you trying to do to me? I just want some simple pain relief! No urine test.”
Lukas checked the time. Forty-five minutes until Camp took over. No problem with this patient; he was about to leave. Federal law had to be satisfied first, though. Lukas knew the regulations well. Unfortunately, Little probably did, too, if he was habitual.
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