Читать книгу A Family for the Children's Doctor - Dianne Drake, Dianne Drake - Страница 6

THE room was basic. One great, open area partitioned into separate exam spaces by curtains, with each cordoned space containing a stainless-steel exam table, a stool for the doctor and a chair for the child’s parent, blood-pressure cuff, hand disinfectant, gloves—the most basic of medical equipment. Minimally equipped, yet equipped well enough.

Near the main entrance to the room stood several rows of brown folding chairs, all set up in neat long rows for parents and children awaiting their turn with one of the doctors. And there was a play area in the corner with donated bright red, blue and green plastic toys for the youngest children. It was always the most popular spot in the room—a place for them to come together to make new friends.

When the room wasn’t in use as a mass exam for Operation Smiling Faces, it served as a hall for hospital meetings and in-service training sessions—a multi-purpose room in function with three white cement block walls and a fourth wall that was more a row of windows overlooking the lush Costa Rican jungle.

Caprice liked the room. Over the many times she’d been here, she’d come to appreciate the sparse quality of it, and even taken it on as a symbol of their mission—basic, without extras, minimally equipped, yet equipped well enough to give the children what they needed. No one complained that, in surgical sequences which would require multiple procedures, the entirety of the medical treatment might be spread out months, even years longer than it would elsewhere. The people here weren’t like that. They weren’t impatient or presumptuous. Rather, they were kind, friendly and, most of all, appreciative.

Perhaps that’s why she kept coming back. In truth, she loved the smiles. One smile on a face that had never before smiled made all the effort worth everything it took to reach the medical end.

The medical end…even her own Isabella hadn’t reached the end yet. She would require more surgeries over time as her face matured. The same with many of these children. Tweaks to compensate for growth, maybe another scar reduction depending on how technology advanced. More dental work. But then, somewhere, came a logical, beautiful end to it—an end everyone in this room wanted badly. Including herself, for them, and for Isabella.

This morning, Caprice had ordered all the blinds closed as there were so many people now waiting outside those windows. Many more than last night. Hopefuls who didn’t have a scheduled appointment but came anyway, in the expectation that their child might find a place on the ever-growing appointment list. Sighing as she shut the last of the blinds on the more than one hundred people out there, Caprice turned back to face her team. “It gets bigger and bigger every time we’re here,” she said, smiling. It didn’t bother her. In fact, it rather pleased her that she was trusted here.

“All facial disfigurations?” Adrian asked.

“No. About half the people here know there’s some kind of free medical treatment being given to children, so they bring their children no matter what’s wrong. Tonsillitis, common virus, skin rashes. Sometimes nothing’s wrong at all.”

“Sometimes the adults try to pass themselves off as children,” Grant Makela commented, laughing.

“And?” Adrian asked.

“If it’s simple,” Grant replied, “and we have time, we take care of them. If it’s anything more than a scratch or a bump, anything requiring real treatment, we refer them to the hospital.”

Caprice nodded her agreement. “Medical standards are good here in Costa Rica, but there are always poor people in need no matter where you go, and in this area the medical facilities aren’t adequate for the overall need,” Caprice said, then smiled. “You can’t blame people for trying. I’d probably do the same.” In her heart she knew there would have been nothing she wouldn’t have done to find help for Isabella. More than anyone else in this group could realize, Caprice did understand that need in a parent.

“And if the hospital won’t see them?” Adrian asked.

“Then there’s nothing we can do.”

“In other words, we let them walk away!”

He sounded exasperated—much more so than he should have. Truth was, he’d known the protocol before he’d come. So why was he on the verge of arguing with her? Caprice’s brow knit with curiosity rather than anger over his near-challenge. “That’s not fair, Doctor. Each and every one of us gives everything we have to this cause, but that doesn’t always work out for the people who want to see us. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.” My, but he was irritable this morning. Irritable and, from the looks of that scowl clamping down over his face, itching to pick a fight with someone. Well, not her, not now. She didn’t have time. “We do the best we can do and hope it’s enough.”

“And the best we can do is send them out the door with a pat on the back and good wishes?” he continued.

Caprice finally leveled a cool stare at Adrian. Well, so much for forcing the situation between them. “You send them to me and I’ll make the decisions. At this stage of the operation your only job is to do a preliminary exam and give me your opinion. Do you understand me, Dr McCallan? The one, and only, thing I want from you is your medical opinion. I’ll take care of the decisions.”

Instead of reacting with a comeback or even a frown, he merely stared back at her, nearly as cooly as she stared at him. And didn’t speak.

One problem doctor out of the bunch. She’d had them before—the ones who knew better than everybody else. The ones whose opinions were the only ones that mattered—or so they thought. In the scheme of things it was easier to leave those types alone and let them do their work. Most were here only two weeks, and for what she got out of them in those two weeks, Caprice found it much easier to allow them their attitudes and opinions and bad moods. In the end she was still in charge, and she still made the final decisions regarding each and every patient they took on. She knew that, and normally she took care not to flaunt it. Yet something about Adrian made her want to flaunt it. Or need to.

She watched him standing by the window, brooding, and desperately hoped that he wasn’t going to present any problem worse than his attitude and mood. Those she could handle, but anything else…

“So, as some of you know, and others may have already observed, there are ten doctors out on this trip. Four surgeons, four anesthesiologists, and two general practitioners. Also along are a group of ten nurses, surgical techs and general medics. Next week I’ll have three dental surgeons coming in.” This was her largest group ever and, judging from the numbers of people lining up outside, she worried if it would be enough. “So, we all know what to do for starters. Find your exam space, and one of the volunteers will start showing patients in. Do a preliminary physical exam, all the standard things, note any other physical observations you find, and based upon what you see, make a recommendation.” She glanced at Adrian, who’d completely turned his back to her now, and was focused on the line of people waiting outside. “We’ll each do general duty today and tomorrow, and go to a third day if necessary. Children who meet the criteria for surgery will be sent to me and children who need medical care not connected to Operation Smiling Faces will be sent to Dr Makela for further evaluation. Any questions?”

She looked straight at Adrian, expecting something from him, but his back was still to her. “Well, then. Good luck. If you need anything, or have any questions, I’ll be in the private exam room across the hall.” That was where she made the final determinations, where she accepted children for facial reconstruction or rejected them. Broke the good news, or the bad, to the hopeful parents and eager children. Gave that pat on the back and good wishes, as Adrian had called it. “Dr McCallan, could I see you in my office in five minutes?” she asked, then signaled for Isabella, who was anxious to go off to the play area with Josefina.

“So, is this where you dole out the punishment for me being out of line?” Adrian asked, strolling into Caprice’s office and shutting the door behind him.

It was a small office, stark. One desk, two chairs. An exam table. No window. Adrian gave it a quick scan then plunked himself down on the edge of the stainless-steel exam table.

“No. This is where I give you the opportunity to tell me what the bad attitude is about.” Like he would! But she figured that was as good an opening as any.

“You consider being inquisitive a bad attitude?”

She’d hoped he might have mellowed out, but apparently he hadn’t. “I consider the way you challenged me in front of the others a bad attitude. Or bad manners.”