Читать книгу A Time To Mend - Angela Hunt - Страница 6

A dazzling white blur of sun stood fixed on the eastern horizon, bathing the enormous Chambers-Wyatt Hospital complex in a sterile light. Jacquelyn Wilkes stepped from her car, adjusted her spotless uniform, then drew a deep, contented breath. Before her stood the concrete and glass cancer clinic, the hospital’s facility for outpatient therapy. Her home away from home. The spot she’d been longing for through two eternal weeks of what was supposed to be a solitary and restful vacation on a Bahamas beach.

“No problem, mon, I’m happy to change gears,” she whispered. “Back to work. Let the rich and famous keep the beaches, I’ll take my job any day.” She lifted her chin, easily slipping back into the disciplined frame of mind through which she had captured the title of “Nurse of the Year” at the hospital’s last two awards banquets. At twenty-seven, she had been the youngest nurse ever to win that coveted honor, and she intended to keep it.

Gaynel Morrow, the receptionist, flashed a warm smile as Jacquelyn entered the building. “Ah, look who’s back! But where’s your tan?”

“Hiding beneath a layer of sunblock, where it belongs.” Jacquelyn paused to sign in. “Skin cancer, remember?”

Gaynel rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun at all, Jackie. You’re the only person I know who could go to the beach for two weeks and come back without a tan—or a man.”

“Red hair and sun don’t mix.” Jacquelyn snapped the pen to the desk. “And I wasn’t looking for romance, I’m perfectly happy with Craig. I wanted to rest!”

In truth, she’d wanted rest about as much as a dog wants fleas, but what else could you do on a solitary vacation?

She sighed in feigned despair as she looked around the reception area. The same old magazines littered the tables, the same morning talk shows droned from the television in the corner. “I see nothing around here has changed.”

“That’s what you think.” Gaynel leaned forward and lowered her voice. “There’s a new doctor in your office. Dr. Kastner finally found someone to replace Dr. Winston.”

“Another one of his old medical school buddies?”

“Hardly.” Gaynel let out a low, throaty laugh. “Jonah Martin is anything but old. He’s—” She grinned. “Well, you’ll have to see him for yourself.”

Jacquelyn felt a disturbing quake in her serenity. She was glad to be back, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with a new doctor. The recently retired Dr. Winston had worked at the clinic for years, and she had grown so used to him she could practically read his mind. But a new doctor would have his own way of doing things, and she’d have to learn to deal with an entirely different set of idiosyncrasies. He might even be one of those bossy types that ordered nurses about with impunity and flung blame on everyone from interns to orderlies when something went wrong….

Jacquelyn leaned against Gaynel’s desk. “What do you know about this new guy?”

“I have his bio right here.” The receptionist pulled a brochure from the papers scattered over her desk. “Dr. Jonah Martin graduated from University of Virginia Medical School with honors seven years ago. He served at UVA Hospital, then transferred to Tidewater General, then to Roanoke Community, followed by the Thomas Morris Cancer Institute in Seattle. Last year he worked at Jackson Memorial in Tallahassee.” She dropped the brochure and lifted an eyebrow. “Now he’s here.”

“So many places.” Jacquelyn frowned. “Don’t you think that’s strange? So many hospitals in how long—seven years? I can’t imagine a doctor moving his family around so much.”

“He’s not married.” Amusement twinkled in the receptionist’s eyes. “And his résumé is impressive—Dr. Kastner says the guy just keeps moving up to bigger and better things. He says we’re lucky Dr. Martin is willing to come here.”

Jacquelyn drummed her fingers on the desk, bracing herself for the day ahead. Not only was she going to have to shift her mental focus from vacation to work, she was also going to have to shift from Dr. Winston mode to Dr. Martin mode, whatever that was….

“Do you like him?” Jacquelyn’s brows lifted at the question.

“What’s not to like?” The phone buzzed on Gaynel’s desk, so the receptionist gave Jacquelyn a parting wave as she answered the call. Jacquelyn’s mind bulged with unasked questions as she crossed the reception area. Gaynel liked the new doctor, and that was a good sign. But receptionists and doctors didn’t work together as closely as doctors and nurses.

A breath of cool morning air blew past her as the wide glass entry doors slid open. Jacquelyn turned and flashed a quick smile at Mrs. Johnson, who led her five-year-old daughter, Megan, by the hand. Megan had gone completely bald from the effects of her treatment, but she gazed up at Jacquelyn with a bright smile and waved enthusiastically.

Jacquelyn gave a quick wave in response, then turned and quickened her pace, sighing in relief when she entered the hallway that led to the nurses’ station. She’d make sure Lauren or Stacy worked with little Megan this morning. The darling kid had been in treatment for two years and the prognosis was not good.

Jacquelyn moved toward the chattering voices at the end of the hall. She could claim to be so exhausted from all the fun she’d had on vacation that she couldn’t handle a squirming child as her first patient of the week….

“Dr. Martin, extension 210. Dr. Martin, please pick up.”

An unusual thread of exasperation echoed in the receptionist’s voice, Jacquelyn noticed as she checked her watch and pressed her fingertips to her patient’s pulse. “Pick up, Mystery Doctor, wherever you are,” she murmured. She paused to look up and smile at the woman seated in the chair beside her. “You’ll have to excuse my little wisecracks, Mrs. Baldovino,” she said, loosening the blood pressure cuff around her patient’s upper arm. “But Dr. Martin is new around here, and I’m beginning to think he’s the invisible man. I haven’t even seen him yet, but that’s the third time I’ve heard him paged this morning.”

“I like him,” the woman answered, her eyes darting nervously to the chart where Jacquelyn recorded the sphygmomanometer’s reading. Thin wisps of dark hair escaped from under the hat she wore and framed her pale face. “I saw him last week, and he’s the first doctor I’ve met who makes me feel like I’m not taking up too much of his time. How is it today—the blood pressure, I mean?”

“Pretty good.” Jacquelyn folded the cuff. “But a little on the low side. Of course that could be a reflection of the weight you’ve been losing.”

Mrs. Baldovino lifted her hands in apology. “It’s the chemo. I can’t eat after my visits here. I’ve tried everything from soup to crackers, but nothing will stay down.” She released a nervous little laugh. “I guess it’s to be expected, but sometimes I wonder if starvation will kill me before the cancer does—”

“We won’t let you starve, Mrs. Baldovino, I promise.” Jacquelyn turned away and studied the patient’s chart. “I see that you were given Adriamycin and Cytoxan on your last visit. Well, the antinausea medicines I’ll give you today should help. Emend and Kytril usually do the trick, and the doctor can prescribe a form of Compazine for you to take at home.”

The woman lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I know the drugs should help, but they don’t.”

“If you’re feeling sick, you should try not eating or drinking anything four to six hours before your chemo treatment. And when you eat, think of yourself as a grazing cow, not a hog at the trough.” Jacquelyn gave her patient a stern smile and took a deep breath for what felt like her ten thousandth speech about how to avoid nausea. She’d pestered her supervising nurse, Lauren Oakes, to put this and other standard lectures on videotape, but Lauren had insisted that personal instruction was more important than saving her nurses time and effort.

Jacquelyn pitched her voice to the tone she would use with a stubborn child. “Eat lightly, take in five or six small snacks a day instead of three traditional large meals. And if you experience uncontrolled nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, you should pick up the phone immediately and call us. Ask for me, Lauren or Stacy, not the doctor. If you let the condition continue all day, you will become dehydrated and we’ll have to put you in the hospital. And I don’t think you want that, do you?”

Blushing, the woman shook her head.

“I thought not. Call us right away, and we’ll be able to get an antiemetic to help control your nausea.” She smiled to cover her annoyance. “So if you’re feeling sick, what will you do?”

“I’ll call you, Nurse Jacquelyn.” Mrs. Baldovino opened her mouth as if she would say something else, but Jacquelyn stood and snapped the chart shut. Unlike Lauren and Stacy, she never encouraged her patients to talk about anything but routine matters. Cancer patients tended to want assurances and answers and Jacquelyn had none to give. She was a medical professional, not a counselor or preacher. How many times had that been hammered into her head during nursing school? She could still hear the echo of her professor’s mantra: Let a patient into your heart, and you won’t last ten days in oncology.

“Let’s get you ready for Dr. Martin. I’m sure he’ll want to hear about this nausea.” Jacquelyn lifted her hand and gestured toward the examination room. “If the invisible doctor materializes, that is.”

Without waiting for her patient, she moved down the hall to the freshly prepped exam room. She slid the woman’s chart into the holder on the door and smiled at the efficient thunking sound the file made. Mrs. Baldovino was now Dr. Martin’s concern.

“Will he be long, do you think?” Mrs. Baldovino asked, one hand lightly gliding over the wallpaper as she moved with glacial slowness down the hall. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous now. I don’t know why, but I don’t know how long I can wait without having to—”

“I’ll get you a basin.” Leaving her patient, Jacquelyn hurried to the supply closet. She flung the door open, then blinked in surprise.

Stacy Derry, another nurse, stood with her back against the shelves, a wad of tissues in her hand. Her nose was red, her face blotchy, and a hint of tears still glistened in the wells of her dark eyes.

“Stacy! Are you all right?”

The nurse nodded, her dark curls bobbing. “I’ll be okay.” She dabbed at her eyes. “It’s just that Hospice called a few minutes ago. Alicia Hubbard passed away last night. Her husband wanted us to know about the funeral.”

“Oh.” Jacquelyn pressed her lips together in a sign of respect. “Wasn’t she one of Dr. Kastner’s patients?”

“Yes.” Stacy gave Jacquelyn a teary smile. “She was such a sweet lady. Always smiling, she never once complained. I know she was in pain, especially at the end, yet she never said a harsh word to anybody.”

As Stacy broke into fresh tears, Jacquelyn folded her arms and took a deep breath. She was used to the sight of tears; she’d cried more than her share of them when her own mother died from complications stemming from breast cancer. At sixteen, Jacquelyn had been a lot like Stacy—frightened, unsure and heartbroken. But broken hearts could mend…if you learned how to bury the pain.

“Listen,” Jacquelyn spoke with calm detachment, “I know it hurts to lose someone. But you’ve got to get past the pain. Trust me, I know. I lost my mother and then became an oncology nurse because I want to help people get better. And as a nurse, I’ve learned to detach myself from the hurt.”

The tissues muffled Stacy’s words. “That sounds impossible.”

“No, it’s not.” Jacquelyn placed her hand on Stacy’s arm. “You can’t help your patients if you allow yourself to be paralyzed by sorrow or worry. They need someone who can be objective, who can stay cool in a crisis. They aren’t asking for our pity. If you go out there looking like this, you’ll only upset the patients who are still fighting to survive. If you’re going to be a good nurse, a professional nurse, you’ve got to stop blubbering every time something goes wrong.”

Do whatever you have to, but don’t let the pain into your heart.

A cloud of guilt crossed Stacy’s face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Jacquelyn sighed. She’d never get that emesis basin for Mrs. Baldovino if Stacy didn’t surrender the supply closet. “Listen, I know you haven’t been here as long as I have—” she reached past Stacy for the stack of aluminum basins on the shelf “—but this is an oncology practice, and many of our patients die. Some of them live for years after treatment, some for months, but death is a part of life. We’ve all got to die sometime, and some of our patients die sooner than the others. But you can’t let it get to you.”

There. She’d just given Stacy the standard speech on how to successfully work in an oncology practice. It was good, practical advice, if Stacy could make it work.

“I can’t help it,” Stacy whispered. She wiped her nose again. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop missing people like Mrs. Hubbard. She wasn’t just a patient, she was a friend. She brought me a pot of homemade chicken soup last winter when she heard I was out with the flu. She said her children always liked chicken soup when they were sick—”

“That’s where you made your mistake,” Jacquelyn interrupted, tucking the basin under her arm. “Rule number one—don’t accept gifts from patients, don’t tell them about your love life, and never, ever go to their homes. They can call rent-a-nurse if they need home care. Don’t get tangled up in their personal lives and don’t let them into yours. Don’t go to funerals. If you were close to a patient, you can send a card to the family. Trust me, I’ve been here five years, and I know what I’m talking about.”

Leaving Stacy in the closet, she tossed a final bit of advice over her shoulder as she moved away. “Don’t grieve for the ones we lose, Stacy, celebrate the ones we manage to save—if even for a little while.”

“Concetta Baldovino, if you keep losing weight, I’m going to have to submit your picture to the Ford Modeling Agency.”

Jacquelyn paused outside the open door of the examination room, the emesis basin in her hand. The tall stranger inside the exam room had to be Jonah Martin, but this man looked like no doctor Jacquelyn had ever seen. He was exquisite—no other word for him. Muscles rippled under the tailored denim shirt he wore, and the arm under his short sleeve was bare and silky with golden hairs. His hands, beautiful, long-fingered and strong, held the patient’s chart with nonchalant grace.

Half-aware that her pulse and breathing had quickened, she stood like a deer caught in a car’s headlights when he looked up.

For a moment he studied her intently, then his square jaw tensed visibly. “Nurse Wilkes, I presume?” he said, the blue of his eyes washing over her like a cold wave. “Does it always take ten minutes to retrieve a basin from the supply closet? Mrs. Baldovino was in need of your attention.”

Momentarily speechless in surprise, Jacquelyn could only gape at him. She hadn’t been gone ten minutes; she had left her patient alone for three minutes at the most. And who was he, the invisible man, to judge her?

“I—I’m sorry, Doctor,” she stammered, the words tripping over her unwilling tongue. She moved into the room and thrust the basin forward onto the table next to Mrs. Baldovino, then moved out of the range of those blue eyes.

The clear-cut lines of his profile softened as he turned again to his patient. “Now, about those photos for the Ford Agency—”

His ridiculous banter brought a smile to his weary patient’s face. “I don’t think so, Doctor.” Mrs. Baldovino shook her head. “My clothes are about to fall off me. And my husband says he’s not going to buy me a new wardrobe because as soon as I go into remission I’ll start eating again.” For an instant, wistfulness stole into her expression. “I think Ernesto prefers me with a little padding on these old bones.”

“I’m sure you grow more beautiful to him with each passing day.” Dr. Martin leaned back in the rolling chair and slid his hands into the pockets of his khaki trousers. “In fact,” he said, the warmth of his smile echoing in his voice, “as soon as you’ve completed this round of chemo, I’ll treat you and your hubby to a lasagna dinner. You name the place and time.”

“Ah, Dr. Martin.” Mrs. Baldovino’s dark eyes gleamed with wicked humor. “You don’t know what you are saying. We Italians are very picky about our pasta.”

“Of course you are,” Dr. Martin answered, leaning forward to pick up her chart. “Why do you think I’m asking you to name the place?”

Mrs. Baldovino’s smile deepened into laughter.

What happened here? Jacquelyn stared at the back of Dr. Martin’s head. A moment ago she had been subjected to a verbal scalding because this patient was supposedly about to vomit, but now the woman was talking about pasta and planning a dinner….

“Excuse me.” Jacquelyn stepped forward, crossed her arms and glanced pointedly at the emesis basin on the exam table. “I thought you were feeling nauseous, Mrs. B.”

“I was.” The woman’s smile brightened as she turned to her doctor. “But this man, he makes me laugh.”

“Ah, Concetta, now you are going to get me into trouble.” Dr. Martin flipped open Mrs. Baldovino’s chart. “According to Nurse Wilkes’s notes, you’ve decided to forego a mastectomy so I can give your husband a tummy tuck.”

The woman threw back her head and let out a great peal of laughter. “Ah, Doctor Martin, you are naughty! But you are right, my Ernesto could use more than a few tucks!”

Jacquelyn turned toward the row of cabinets along the wall and rolled her eyes. So much for polished and proficient…

She turned to him with a let’s-be-professional look on her face and flinched slightly when his powerful gaze met hers.

Dr. Martin leaned toward his patient and lightly slapped his hand on his knee. “I know how to really spice up this dinner we’re planning,” he said, his lowered voice a rough stage whisper. “For entertainment, let’s invite Nurse Wilkes. I have the feeling she’s a regular barrel of laughs.”

Jacquelyn pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling, her embarrassment yielding quickly to raw fury.

“Oh, I don’t know if that is a good idea,” she heard Mrs. Baldovino answer. “My husband would be happy to have such a pretty young woman along, but since I am not as attractive as I used to be—”

“Ernesto won’t even look in her direction,” Dr. Martin answered, making a note in the patient’s file. “He will be too busy gazing at you, Concetta.”

And what am I—dog meat? The prideful thought skittered like a wild rabbit through Jacquelyn’s brain. She glared at him, then jerked in alarm when the doctor lifted his gaze and frankly assessed her.

“Oh, my.” A mocking light gleamed in his eye. “I’m afraid I’ve offended Nurse Wilkes and we’ve only just met. I wouldn’t want us to get started on the wrong foot.”

“The wrong foot?” Jacquelyn sputtered, bristling with indignation. In an instant she forgot everything she’d ever heard about airing her grievances in front of a patient, about professional manners, about the respect a nurse should show to a doctor. He was new; he hadn’t yet earned her respect. He didn’t deserve it.

Rancor sharpened her voice. “I’d call sexual harassment the wrong way to start a working relationship.” She looked pointedly at Mrs. Baldovino, searching for an ally. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. B.?”

“Oh, my.” If possible, the woman grew a shade paler. “Nurse Jacquelyn, the doctor was only joking.”

Jonah Martin’s jaw clenched as he rejected the patient’s softly spoken defense. “Without a doubt, my joke was in bad taste.” Like a Boy Scout taking an oath, he lifted his right hand and stared into Jacquelyn’s eyes with solemn sincerity. “On my word of honor, Nurse Wilkes, I hereby promise that I did in no case intend to demean you or suggest that your participation in an evening of camaraderie and lasagna would be necessary for you to continue your employment. I hope that my jest did in no way cause you discomfort, humiliation or mental distress.”

The biting tone in his voice set Jacquelyn’s teeth on edge—was he teasing or just being cynical? Either way, she didn’t appreciate his approach to his patients or his coworkers.

She lifted her chin and met his icy gaze straight on. “Doctor,” she said, ignoring Mrs. Baldovino’s stricken expression, “if you will approve this patient’s blood tests, I’m ready to take her to the chemo room. We’re behind schedule, and other patients are waiting to see you.” Though why, she couldn’t imagine.

“Of course.” The infuriating man smiled again at his patient, whose nausea had apparently fled with the handsome doctor’s approach. “Mrs. Baldovino, I’m afraid we must get down to business. But my offer for that dinner still stands.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Doctor,” the woman answered, her thin lips twitching with amusement as she took the doctor’s extended hand and slid from the examination table. “Lasagna it will be. But I’d rather have the tummy tuck for Ernesto.”

“That’s plastic surgery and not my field, I’m sorry to say,” Dr. Martin answered, his voice pleasant as he stepped back to let Jacquelyn follow Mrs. Baldovino from the room. As Jacquelyn passed, she thought she detected a flicker in his intense eyes, but then he lowered his gaze to the patient’s chart and offhandedly remarked, “And it’s about time you returned from vacation, Nurse Wilkes. I must admit, I was anxious to observe the fabled ‘Nurse of the Year’ in action.” When he looked at her again, the mocking light was back in his eyes. “And now that I have, my life is complete.”

No honest sentiment in that acknowledgment.

“Good,” Jacquelyn countered, her mouth tight with mutiny. “Now you can die a happy man.” Without a backward glance, she lifted her chin and followed her patient to the chemo room.