Читать книгу The Doctor Returns - Stella MacLean - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

SHERRI HAD SPENT the weekend doing housework, cleaning rooms that were already immaculate, anything to keep from thinking about Neill. When’d she fallen into bed on Sunday night, she’d dreamed of him, each dream ending with her in his arms.

On Monday morning, she went into her shift at the clinic to discover that the hospital was turning away visitors. All the doctors on staff were working to stop the spread of a flu that had hit the town over the weekend.

Public service messages on local television and radio encouraged people to seek medical attention if they developed flu symptoms. The inpatient beds of Eagle Mountain Hospital were filled to capacity.

For the next three weeks while the flu spread through the town, she worked twelve-hour shifts, going home, sleeping a few hours and coming back to work for another twelve hours. Everyone at the hospital was working overtime, and no one complained because of the number of very ill people they had to care for around the clock.

Given the situation, she could no longer avoid Neill. They worked side by side for long hours during which he proved just how capable a doctor he was. Sharing the same need to do their best in a difficult situation, they’d slipped right back into the easy rapport they’d had all those years before when they’d been in high school. Sherri had never been happier or more content despite her constant state of exhaustion. She’d had to call Portsmouth and delay her arrival at her new job. The hospital simply couldn’t spare her.

Finally, the situation had returned to normal and she was back to working full-time in the clinic. They’d had a busy day today, but Sherri had found a couple of hours to sit down in her office and start wading through the pile of paperwork she’d left undone. She rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the headache that had plagued her all morning.

She probably needed something to eat, but she was expected at a meeting to review the results of how the flu situation had been managed by the hospital and its staff. She couldn’t skip it as she was taking the nurse who would replace her when she went to Portsmouth at the end of the month. She wanted to familiarize her replacement with how an emergency situation was handled and introduce her to the members of hospital management who would be at the meeting. One thing was certain, Neill would be given a lot of credit for the success of the plan they’d implemented to manage the flu outbreak.

In fact, she had to admit that Neill’s knowledge and devotion to his work since his arrival at Eagle Mountain Hospital had allowed all the staff to be more involved with patient care and treatment. Neill never hesitated to confer with staff or to explain how he came to a diagnosis. The rest of the medical staff loved every minute of the time he spent with them; he treated them like members of the team.

For her part, she was just relieved that he hadn’t mentioned anything about that night in front of Rigby’s or the fact that they hadn’t gone out to dinner. Maybe he was as relieved as she was. A niggling sense of disappointment clicked through her as she considered the possibility.

She was answering her emails when Neill appeared at the door, looking a little less tired than the last time she’d seen him. She hit the send button on her last email, glancing at him as he strode into her office. “How’s it going?” she asked, shutting off her computer.

“I’ve just come from a meeting of the internal medicine group, and we’ve been discussing the clinics.”

“That sounds interesting. Anything new?”

“Well, yes and no. Have you had time to consider my proposal on reorganizing the clinics?” he asked, settling into the chair across from her.

“Not yet. I’ve had other priorities.”

“Yes, I realize that, but the number of no-shows at the diabetic clinic is worrisome. We talked about this at the meeting and concluded that we need to get more of these people in here for follow-up and education.”

“One of the major problems is that many of those people work all day and find it hard to keep an appointment during working hours.”

“Plus, I suspect they don’t want to change their eating habits.”

“Which only increases the issues around weight reduction and elevated blood sugars.”

“It’s a vicious circle.” He rubbed his jaw in thought. “Could we consider an evening diabetic clinic?”

In the past they’d been unable to schedule an evening clinic. The doctor responsible for the clinic could rarely work evenings because of family responsibilities. “You’d be willing to run it?”

“Sure. Mom is really enjoying looking after Morgan, and she says that if I need to do an evening clinic, she’ll look after her. Could we get nursing and dietitian support?”

How long had she wanted to do this? There had always been little interest by anyone but her. There seemed to be an overall sense that people with diabetes didn’t require more than an assessment, with little consideration given to supporting them while they made long-term lifestyle changes. Basically, they were given a diet and appropriate medications, then sent back out into the community to fend for themselves. The trouble was, they needed a lot more than that. Most of the patients couldn’t leave work to attend the daytime clinics, and without an evening clinic they missed out on further help and evaluation as they tried to keep their diabetes under control.

But with Neill advocating for improvements, there was an opportunity to change these people’s lives and their family’s lives, as well. “I’m sure administration will approve the nursing hours, and Melanie Waller would work with the patients on their diet. Until I find someone to do the evening nursing hours, I’ll be there.”

“That’s fantastic! With your involvement we’ll be able to make this into a really effective program,” he said, his pleasure shining in his eyes.

Before she left for Portsmouth, she’d find a nurse with a special interest in diabetes to look after the evening clinic, someone who felt the same way she did about the support needed for these people. “I’ll set up a meeting with Melanie, you and me, and we can decide which evening of the week and how many people we can reasonably see during the clinic.”

“Great.” He tapped the desk, his brow furrowed, as if he wanted to say more.

He glanced up, his eyes searching her face. She waited for him to share his thoughts with her the way they’d once done so easily.

Stop thinking that way. You’re not a teenager. Neill is not your boyfriend.

“Was there something else?”

His eyes met hers, and a tentative smile softened the lines around his mouth. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m looking forward to working on the plan for the new clinic.”

* * *

THE ORGANIZATIONAL MEETING went without a hitch, and a week later they were holding their first evening diabetic clinic. Sherri was delighted to be able to get this up and running before she moved to Portsmouth. Twelve people registered for it and all twelve showed up, which meant a busy evening.

Sherri was putting a final nursing note on Alice Higgins’s chart when Neill came around the corner of the nurses’ station with two cups of coffee in his hands. “Here, drink this. You look like you could use a little caffeine.”

She did feel tired, even irritable at times. She had for weeks. “Not coffee at this hour.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“I thought you were a night owl.” He glanced at the pile of paperwork next to her. “You still have charting to complete. You need a little caffeine—it’s the best defense against falling asleep on the job. Take it from someone who knows,” he teased, putting the cup on the desk and sitting down in the chair beside her. “I put cream in it, just the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” she said, pleasure spiking through her at the concern he showed for her, the camaraderie that had grown between them in the past hectic weeks.

Sitting so near him, the heat of his body mingling with hers, she wanted to close her eyes and imagine what it would be like if they’d moved back together to work as a team. The number of shifts they would have worked together, the hours they would have spent in his office where she would have worked as his nurse.

Firmly shifting her thoughts back to reality, she forced a smile to her dry lips. “Yeah, I’m a night owl who needs food. I’m starving. Come to think of it, I’m always starving.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but other than a few stale crackers and a bottle of orange juice, the kitchenette is empty. I’m going to talk to Melanie about restocking the cupboards with food appropriate to the diabetic diet. What do you think?”

“That’s a great idea.” She looked directly into his eyes and knew that his interest in the success of the clinic and the well-being of its patients was real. “Maybe we should consider holding meal-planning and cooking classes, as well.”

“I like that idea,” he said, his voice warm, his smile pulling her into his space in that same old way of his.

“I’ve always believed we’d do a better job with our patients if we could show them how to prepare healthy meals,” she said, her eyes seeking his, despite her determination not to give in to his appeal.

“Has anyone told you lately how much you’re appreciated around here?” he asked, his familiar quirky smile lighting his face.

Sighing, she put her pen down and leaned back in her chair, tiredness claiming her limbs. “Not recently.”

He put his hand over hers, where they rested in her lap. “You are so important to this clinic, your patients—” He hesitated. “You’re a fantastic nurse. I...we are so lucky to have you here.”

Lost in the moment, his words flowed around her, easing her loneliness. He was so sweet, so much like the Neill Brandon she remembered.

For a fleeting interval, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if they could erase their past and step back into the life they’d known as teenagers.

The gentle squeeze of his fingers on hers suspended her thoughts, slowed her pulse. She desperately wanted to lean her head on his shoulders and feel his arms around her. It had to be the tiredness that had plagued her all evening that made her feel this way. Suddenly her head swam and her stomach rolled as nausea swept over her. She pulled her fingers from his, and the sick feeling grew worse. “I need something to eat. I feel really faint.”

“Do you need to lie down?” he asked, his tone worried.

“No. I...don’t think so.” She clutched the edge of the counter for support.

“Your color’s not good. Put your head down between your knees,” he ordered, his voice gentle but firm.

She lowered her head, but she still felt awful.

“Have you been nauseated like this before?” he asked, his hand on her back as he leaned closer, his other hand reaching to check her pulse.

“No,” she said over another wave of nausea that made her gag.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arm around her as he ushered her toward an exam room. “Okay, it’s time we checked you out.”

“I’m fine,” she protested.

“No, you’re not.” His firm grip allowed no argument as he led her to one of the clinic exam rooms.

She climbed up on the stretcher and laid down, the cool pillow beneath her head a welcome comfort.

“I’m going to check your blood pressure, and then we’ll get a stat blood test done on you.”

“Please don’t do that. I just need to eat something.”

“Maybe so, but better safe than sorry.” His eyebrows twitched in concentration, his attention focused on taking her blood pressure. He unfurled the cuff and the air slid out.

“Your blood pressure’s low, your color’s not good and your pulse is way too fast.” He touched her forehead, his hand cool against her skin, his glance analytical and professional.

She had to get out of there. The last thing she needed in her life was for Neill to be involved in her medical care. Facing him at work was one thing; having him near her in an intimate way as her family physician was out of the question. She had to leave before he offered to drive her home. She couldn’t have him come home with her, a poignant reminder of what might have been. Determined to escape, she swung her legs down and sat up. “I feel much better. I’m going to go home and get something to eat. I’ll be fine,” she said emphatically.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his gaze searching her face. “I want to check your throat.” His tone was serious as he reached for the light on the wall and a tongue depressor.

“All I need is something to eat. I’m hungry,” she protested after he checked her throat.

“You’re feeling fatigued, right?”

“Yes, for a while now, but I’ve been so busy with the clinic.”

“Have you lost weight recently?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Let’s see.” He took her hands and eased her to her feet. “Hop on the scale.”

Not with him watching. “What’s my weight got to do with it?”

“If you’ve lost weight, it might help me determine what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t see how,” she said grumpily.

“Humor me.” He led her to the scale in the corner of the exam room. “Here, get on. I won’t look. Just tell me if you’ve lost weight.”

Grudgingly, she climbed on the scale and adjusted the weights. Down three pounds. “Yeah, I’ve lost a little more.”

“More? How much more?”

She held up three fingers.

“How much in total?”

“Nine over the past two months, but I’ve been trying to lose weight,” she said defensively.

“Are you thirsty more often than before?”

“Yeah, I am. But it’s dry in here, and I’m in this building more than I’m home,” she said, making her way back to the examination table as a wave of dizziness assailed her. She grabbed the soft edge of the table, shifted her feet up onto the stool, turned and sat down as the room whirled before her eyes.

“Lie back,” he said as he expertly gathered the blood-testing equipment, tightened a tourniquet around her arm and inserted the needle into the engorged vein. When he finished, he released the tourniquet and carefully put the blood samples in a webbed plastic box. He took the diabetic testing unit off the shelf next to the exam table. “Hold out your finger.”

“You don’t think I have diabetes.”

“Let’s see,” he said, his tone offering her no choice but to comply with his request.

She watched as if in a dream, her mind racing over the possibilities, apprehension flooding her thoughts.

He checked the meter. His jaw tightened. “Your blood sugar is 432.”

She was stunned. It had to be a mistake.

“Wait right here,” he ordered, leaving the room only to return with a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

She sipped the water, feeling the coolness of it all the way down to her stomach. It felt so good. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was until Neill returned with another glass filled to the brim. She drank that also.

“Do you have a ketone meter around here?” he asked.

“No. We did have one, but we ran out of strips. The clinic budget is pretty tight. We don’t use them very often and they often go past their due date on us. If the doctor wants ketones done, we send the patient to the lab.”

Neill observed her closely. “So let’s run through this. You’ve lost weight. Your blood sugar is high. You’re hungry, and you’re tired most of the time. And now you’re dizzy and feeling nauseated. I’m ordering a full workup on you. It may be that your symptoms are due to type one diabetes.”

“Type one? No, it can’t be. Young people get type one.” His words hit hard, and her head swam as her dizziness returned. The glass nearly slipped from her fingers as she clutched the edge of the exam table and steadied her breathing.

There had to be some mistake. Surely she would have had some warning. She was a nurse and knew the symptoms.

Like a kaleidoscope, the past few weeks flashed and mutated before her eyes. She had been so tired and listless, hungry and thirsty, going to the bathroom a lot more than normal. She’d assumed that it was because of the long hours she’d been putting in at work—if she thought about it at all.

Neill had to be wrong. Her mother depended on her. Her cousin Anna, a single mom, needed her to help with the boys. She didn’t have time to deal with a serious health issue, and certainly not one as complicated as diabetes. “That can’t be. I’m healthy. A little tired, but otherwise fine.”

“Didn’t you recently have a pretty severe bout of the flu?” he asked.

She knew what he was getting at. Type one diabetes was often preceded by a viral illness. “About a month ago I had flu symptoms, but they only lasted a couple of days...I think.” It was hard to remember given how busy she’d been with her job and her plans.

He took her hand, his touch warm as his gentle smile entwined itself around her heart. “Let’s do the workup and be sure.”

“You’re not thinking of admitting me to the hospital, are you?” she asked, aghast at the idea that he’d even consider such a thing and equally determined to stop him. “All the necessary blood work can be done from my doctor’s office.”

He turned his high-powered gaze on her in that inquisitive way of his. “Normally, I’d agree. Do you live alone?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling that she’d exposed her private life to him, shown him that she had no one special in her life. It was true, but it was also none of his business.

“Then I’d like to admit you to hospital while I do the workup. I want to know you’re safe.”

“Safe?” she asked, shocked at his words.

“Sherri, you nearly passed out sitting at your desk. I’m concerned that you could be in ketoacidosis. You had no idea your blood sugar was so high, and we don’t know how long this has been going on. I need to see your full blood chemistry. As you know there’s always a danger of a coma in these circumstances.”

“Neill.” Rarely had she spoken his first name aloud since he’d returned to Eden Harbor, yet it left her lips with such ease. “All that’s wrong is I’m exhausted and I’m starving. Once I have a good meal, I’m certain I’ll be fine.”

“Listen to your doctor,” he said, a teasing but kind note in his voice. “I’m not prepared to take chances with you. I’ll admit you, and it will only take a couple of days to sort out what’s happening.”