Side Effects

by Bobby Hutchinson

  From below she heard David's voice and the muted rumble of Cameron's as he picked up the phone.

  She was tying her housecoat when Cameron came into the bedroom. His shorts were on, but his chest was still bare, and she could tell the intimacy they'd shared was over. He was distracted now, his mind elsewhere.

  "Gotta go up to the mine," he stated tersely. "We've nabbed some guys who've been stealing." He took off the shorts and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He buckled his gun on, and almost as an afterthought came over to her, drawing her into his arms for a quick kiss.

  "David's going out again. He got the job at the mine, and he's going to celebrate. I probably won't make it home until late. We've got warrants in place to search these guys' houses for the rest of the stolen goods, and we have to do it tonight, before anybody gets a chance to move anything.''

  She wondered if he felt as frustrated and let down as she did.

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart" was all he said. He kissed her again lightly. "Be sure to lock the doors before you head for bed," he warned, and hurried down the stairs.

  With Pavarotti complaining at her heels, Alex made her way down to the kitchen. David was at the counter, building himself a massive sandwich, and the look he shot her was rueful. "Sorry I barged in on you guys," he said without any pretense. He was slathering mustard and mayonnaise on top of tomatoes and cheese. "You oughta put a candle in the window or something to warn me off." He lifted the concoction to his mouth and took an immense bite, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was thoughtful. "Alex, what're the odds for having more than one kid with Down's syndrome?"

  She plugged in the kettle to make some instant coffee, giving herself time to absorb the implications of bis unexpected question. "Down's kids are born with an extra chromosome in their cells," she explained, spooning granules into a cup. "They have three number 2 chromosomes, rather than two. Older mothers are mote likely to have Down's children, but there aren't any hard and fast rules. And as far as predicting whether a mother will have more than one, I believe there's a slightly higher risk factor, but we can do amniocentesis and determine whether or not the fetus has Down's. Then the parents have the choice of aborting." She poured boiling water into the cup and took a sip too soon, burning her lip.

  "Ow. Damn." She sat down at the table and looked at David. "We're talking about Becky and Emily, right?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. I want to know everything there is to know about Down's. Can you get me some reading material on it?"

  "I can, yes." She studied him for a moment. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself just a little? You've only met Becky once."

  "I know. I just want to be prepared when the subject of Down's comes up between us."

  "Look, David-"

  He held up a warning hand. "If this is lecture number seventy-seven, don't bother. I'm not gonna do anything to hurt Becky—you can take that to the bank. She deserves to be happy, and I intend to do whatever I can to see she gets a shot at it." He looked straight into Alex's eyes. "I know it sounds crazy, but I fell for her the minute I laid eyes on her." He shook his head. "Cam always said that's how it was for you and him, so I guess that's how it works for us Ross men." He swallowed the last of his sandwich. "Gotta go shower. I'm gonna drop over at her house and tell her I got the job." He started out of the room and stopped at the doorway. "Look, I really do feel bad about barging in just when you and Cam were getting it on, Alex. I'm gonna look for an apartment now I've got some income. You two need privacy."

  Her face flamed, and she shook her head dejectedly. "I'm not sure what we need, David. Cam's different these days. I just can't seem to reach him." The all-too-familiar tears threatened, and she struggled to hold them back, lifting the cup to her lips and forcing herself to sip at the coffee she no longer wanted.

  David came back to the table and sat down. "Hey, he loves you, Alex. Don't ever doubt that." He frowned, groping for words. "I never realized it till lately, but Cam had it rough when we were kids. Mom— Well, she's great, but she wasn't like other kids' moms who had a husband to help them. Cam and me, we had no father to pick up the pieces when things went wrong. So Cam took over that role in the family. He took care of Mom and me both, and it's only now that I see how tough it must have been for him. I mean, it was a huge responsibility, and he was only a little kid, right? Kids shouldn't have to take that much on their shoulders. And he takes things seriously, way more than I ever have. Right now, something's got him tied in knots—I don't have a clue what. But cut him some slack if you can, and I know he'll work it through."

  "I'm trying to do exactly that, but he doesn't make it easy." Alex was surprised at the depth of bitterness in her tone.

  David nodded. "He's not an easy guy. And he's acting like a bozo. I told him so, for all the good it did." He got up and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "I gotta go. If there's anything I can do to help, say the word." He grinned. "Just as long as it's not knocking some sense into Cam. I figure he could still take me if it came to a fist-fight."

  "Never that." Alex tried for a smile and almost managed it. "Thanks, David. And—and best of luck with Becky."

  "Thanks." His smile flashed. He hurried up the stairs, and Alex heard the shower start.

  She sat, hands cupping her now cold coffee, thinking over what David had said. Cameron never spoke much of his childhood, and her heart softened toward him, thinking of the small boy he'd been and the weight of the responsibility he must have borne. In many ways, he'd always taken care of her, too, she realized.

  Except now he wasn't taking care of her in the ways she needed. She'd been pushing him hard, trying to get him to listen to her. Maybe things would be better if she backed off, let him come to her in his own time, on his terms. The problem was, waiting was lonely, and there were no guarantees he would confide in her anytime soon. Her patience was already worn thin. Nevertheless, she'd give it a try.

  And please, Cam, you try too...

  TWO WEEKS PASSED and she did her best, but nothing changed. Cameron seemed to spend even more time at work, and although they made love, the camaraderie they'd once shared was ended.

  Summer was ending as well. Outside Alex's office window this late afternoon, the leaves on the poplars were already turning from green to bright orange-gold.

  She forced her attention to the anxious-looking little woman with the square face and weary blue eyes sitting across from her. Alex glanced down at the chart on the desk, checking for a name, and smiled reassuringly.

  "What can I do for you today, Mrs. Mattera?"

  She had to concentrate, Alex told herself. She couldn't allow her personal problems to interfere with her job, but it was becoming harder and harder to separate them as the distance between her and Cam seemed to increase instead of diminish.

  Alex tried to maintain a smiling countenance for the world, but inside, her heart ached. She had to force herself to pay attention to what Mrs. Mattera was saying.

  "I bin havin' these spells," the woman began in a hesitant voice. "I get real dizzy and fall down. Burned myself quite bad on the oven door yesterday." She pulled up her sleeve and revealed a sizable bandage on her right arm.

  "Do you lose consciousness when you have these attacks, Mrs. Mattera?"

  "Sometimes. Wesley, that's my husband, he said I had to come see you, even though Doc King's been my doctor for years and years."

  Slowly but surely now, Alex was building a patient roster. Some, thanks to Nancy Townsend's word-of-mouth advertising, were young pregnant women who wanted her to deliver their babies and become their family's general practitioner. Others, like Mrs. Mattera, appeared in her office like fugitives, choosing a time to consult her when Dr. King wasn't in.

  "Wes ain't happy about the way Doc King gives out pills," Mrs. Mattera was saying. "Calls him a pill doctor. Wes don't believe in pills, but that's just Wes." She snorted. "Easy fer him. He ain't been sick a day in his life. Me, now, I need my pills just to keep goin'." She tu
gged her polyester skirt down over her plump legs and frowned. "Don't wanna hurt Doc King's feelin's, though. Ruthie said he ain't in this mornin', so no need fer him ta know I came ta you, right?"

  "If you want the visit to be confidential, I'll certainly respect your wishes. Now, what medicines are you taking?"

  "I brung 'em all with me so's you could see." She opened her handbag and pulled out a plastic bag stuffed with vials. "I bin feelin' poorly fer a long time. This here's fer my heart, and this is fer water—I get bad bloat—and this's fer my chest, to keep from getting pleurisy, and this's my little nerve pills because I don't sleep good without 'ern—can't do without those. This one's fer my kidneys, this one's to help my arthritics, and this's fer my digestion, and this is fer my blood pressure."

  Appalled at the array, Alex lifted each vial and studied the label. It was the second time this week she'd encountered this same situation. It seemed Hollister King wrote prescriptions with mad abandon and total disregard for the side effects each potent drug could produce. He didn't seem to be concerned about the cumulative effect of the drugs, nor did he seem to keep track of what other medications his patients were taking each time he dispensed a new drug.

  "Wesley says all these different pills could be makin' me dizzy. You think that's right, Doctor?"

  In Alex's opinion, this combination of pharmaceuti-cals was potent enough to knock an elephant to its knees, but of course she couldn't say so. "We're going to start with a thorough physical, Mrs. Mattera, and then we can make some decisions about medication."

  Forty minutes later, it was clear to Alex that at least some of the symptoms that had led King to prescribe still another medication for Mrs. Mattera were in fact only side effects from a previous drug. She ordered an array of tests to confirm her suspicions, and when she sat down at her desk again and saw the plastic bag full of pills, she felt like scooping the entire mess into the garbage.

  She knew it would take great diplomacy to convince Mrs. Mattera she had to stop taking the majority of the pills she'd come to rely on. And it was difficult for Alex to recommend stopping the pills without implying blame at Dr. King for prescribing them in the first place.

  The medication that concerned her the most was the powerful tranquilizer Mrs. Mattera called her "little nerve pills." They were highly addictive, and Alex began by suggesting as strongly as she could that Mrs. Mattera gradually decrease the number she was taking, doing her best to explain in simple terms how dangerous and addictive the pills could be.

  "But Doc King wouldn't've told me to take 'em if I didn't need 'em, now, would he?" the woman objected, carefully tucking her plastic bag back into her purse.

  When Mrs. Mattera left the office, Alex sank down into her chair and shook her head in frustration. How could King have prescribed such a drug in the first place, when Alex's careful questioning revealed that Mrs. Mattera had never even suffered a serious nervous disorder? Even more disturbing was the fact that King had then complacently renewed the prescription over a period of years simply at Mrs. Mattera's request.

  Alex pondered the difficult situation she was in. More and more often, she was seeing disturbing evidence that King made serious errors in judgment. It wasn't just his misuse of drugs that bothered her, either. She'd witnessed a far more serious incident three days before, when she'd administered anesthetic while he did an emergency cesarean section on a young mother. It had happened late in the afternoon, and although King's hands were less than steady and he appeared distracted and tired, he seemed determined to work at top speed.

  "Two minutes, Alexandra," he stated in a condescending tone. "A good surgeon can always get a baby out in two minutes. But of course, you know that. Didn't I hear that your father was a fine surgeon? Retired now, but still carries a lot of influence, I understand. Can't be that old, your father, but I guess the tempo in those city hospitals wears a man out."

  Alex ignored King's barbs, concentrating on her patient's vital signs, but her stomach tightened as Shirley Boyd slapped a scalpel into his trembling hand and he made the first bold incision from the symphysis, the bone at the bottom of the pelvis, almost up to the navel. To Alex, he didn't seem to have the control that was necessary as he sliced through the abdominal layers to the uterus, and she began to perspire as she watched him come within a hairbreadth of nicking the bladder.

  Becky was present as well as Shirley, and in Becky's hazel eyes above her mask, Alex caught a reflection of her own concern.

  Alex realized she was holding her breath as King cut across the front of the uterus and shoved the bladder out of the way. Shirley was handing him instruments, and at one horrifying point Alex realized that King had become aphasic—he couldn't find the correct words for the instruments he needed. Instead of a Balfour retractor, he kept asking for a Kelly clamp. Shirley covered for him, handing him the proper instrument in spite of what he asked for, but Alex was utterly appalled. There was something very wrong with King.

  By some miracle, the baby girl was delivered safely, the mother's abdomen cleaned and repaired adequately. By the end of the procedure, King was visibly trembling, and Alex's own hands shook for hours afterward. She devoutly prayed that she wouldn't have to spend much time with King in the operating room. And she wouldn't allow his scalpel within a mile of one of her patients, she vowed, even if it meant sending each and every one to Cran-brook or even Vancouver.

  The Hippocratic oath each doctor took upon graduation stated that a doctor's colleagues should be treated as brothers. So what did one do when a brother was no longer capable of performing the tasks his job required? When, as was the case with Mrs. Mattera, his carelessness caused illness instead of alleviating it?

  It was too bad, because Alex was beginning to enjoy her work in Korbin Lake. She was finding she took great pleasure in meeting and treating patients she'd likely see again; in the ER, the work was more hectic, with less chance for prolonged personal contact. This suited her.

  If things were right with Cameron, and if she didn't have to deal with Dr. King, she could be very happy here, she reflected with a wry half smile, picking up the first of the charts she needed to update before she could go home.

  Cam's mother had a saying that was appropriate here: If wishes were horses beggars would ride.

  IT WAS PAST SIX by the time Alex was finally done, and she slumped in her chair and propped her legs up on the desk, realizing that she was dreading going home. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  Physician, heal thyself. Easier said than done.

  Suddenly there was a peremptory knock on her door, and before she could say a word, or even swing her legs down, the door burst open and Hollister King stood there, larger than life, dressed as formally as usual in an impeccably tailored navy blue suit and light blue dress shirt and silk tie.

  He took in Alex's casual blue cotton pants and matching shirt, her bare feet propped on the desk. He looked around at the homey atmosphere she'd created, and he frowned.

  "Well, Alexandra, it's nice that at least one of us has time to relax."

  "Evening, Hollister." She refused to move—it was her office, damn it! "Come on in, why don't you?"

  "Can't." Her sarcasm was entirely lost on him.

  "I'm on my way to a meeting. Just wanted you to know I'm operating first thing tomorrow morning. I'll expect you in at seven to assist me with the anesthetic." He turned on his heel, ready to close the door again.

  Alex's heart sank, and she swung her legs to the floor.

  "Hollister, wait a minute. What sort of operation?"

  "Gall bladder. I'll fill you in on the details in the morning." Oozing impatience, he threw the answer over his shoulder and slammed the door.

  Alex stared at the closed door, unable to shake the sick foreboding inside of her. The very last thing she wanted to do was be a part of King's surgical team again, but there was absolutely nothing she could do to avoid it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ALEX AT LAST GOT to her feet, w
earily locked her office door and drove slowly home. Cameron was working afternoon shift, and David seemed to be spending every moment he wasn't working at Becky's, so the house was empty except for Pavarotti.

  The telephone rang just as she came through the door, and she hurried into the kitchen to pick it up.

  "Alexandra?"

  Just by the way her mother said her name, Alex knew that Eleanor was angry, and her heart sank. That was all she needed tonight, another problem.

  "I don't suppose you've heard the news?"

  Alex muffled a sigh. It couldn't be good, judging by her mother's tone of voice.

  "What news is that, Mother?"

  "That woman—" the words held a wealth of scorn and impotent rage "—that woman has somehow bullied your poor brother into marriage. Some—some ridiculous ceremony was held at the hospital this afternoon. Your father and I weren't even invited! Can you imagine such a thing? It surely can't be legal, considering Wade's condition."

  Alex clutched the receiver, feeling a slow, incredulous grin spread across her face. "Thea and Wade got married?"

  "Apparently. As I just said, your father and I weren't even informed until afterward. In my opinion, your brother isn't well enough to make any such decision. I find it utterly appalling."

  "Well, I don't." Alex was too elated to play the usual game of placating Eleanor. "I think it's wonderful. It means that Wade has decided to take control of his life again."

  "Rubbish." Eleanor was too angry even to analyze the issue. "She's simply taken unfair advantage of him when he's vulnerable, that's all. And she was insufferably rude to me, Alex, when I expressed my very valid objections to this—this travesty. Would you believe she actually said that I needed counseling?"

  "I've thought so myself at times." The words were out before Alex could stop them, and she heard her mother gasp. Before Eleanor could say another word, Alex added in a firm tone, "I'm absolutely delighted for both of them."