shivering so hard her teeth were chattering.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she gasped. “I’ve been constipated for a while. I took some of those laxatives Gladys brought over. If my bowels would just move, I’m sure I’d feel better.”
Melissa knew that wasn’t the solution. Constipation was a symptom. She’d begun her career as a nurse, working in the ER for some years before going back to school to get her master’s in health administration. Talking in a soothing tone now despite her alarm, she asked questions as she felt her mother’s abdomen and again assessed her temperature.
It was immediately obvious that Betsy needed medical attention—and fast. The problem would be getting her to agree. Along with her dread of intruders, Betsy had what amounted to a paranoid fear of doctors and hospitals.
When Melissa was still a toddler, her mother had lost both her parents and Melissa’s father within a six-month period. Their illnesses, in Betsy’s opinion, had all been misdiagnosed and mistreated by the family physician. He’d put Melissa’s father, Frank, “under the knife” when an ulcer perforated. Frank had never regained consciousness, and Melissa had listened to complaints of professional bungling throughout her growing-up years.
She wondered sometimes if her own attraction to the medical field wasn’t some sort of rebellion on her part.
Betsy hadn’t been to a doctor since she’d broken her wrist nineteen years ago, a long enough time between doctor’s visits, Melissa decided.
“Mom, I’m calling an ambulance. You need to go to Emergency.”
The closest ER was Burnaby General, but Betsy had no family doctor. Melissa had met all the doctors at St. Joe’s, and she wanted someone she knew to care for her mother.
Betsy shook her head.
“Mom, you’ve got something seriously wrong, and there’s no other alternative. You have to be seen by a doctor.”
“No, Lissa,” Betsy moaned. “I won’t go to any hospital. Once they get you in, that’s the end of you.”
Betsy had responded as Melissa had expected, but the lack of willfulness in her tone showed exactly how sick she really was. Melissa didn’t bother arguing. She phoned 911, and within twenty minutes paramedics were gently loading Betsy on a stretcher. She had stopped objecting, which Melissa found almost as terrifying as the sound of her mother whimpering.
At St. Joe’s, Dr. Greg Brulotte was in charge of the evening shift, for which Melissa was grateful; he was highly proficient. Betsy couldn’t be in better hands, but it didn’t quell the fear that made Melissa’s own hands tremble as she filled out the necessary forms.
She paced the waiting room while her mother was being examined, and her heart hammered when Brulotte came hurrying toward her, his slight limp not slowing him down at all.
“Your mother has a bowel obstruction, Melissa,” he said without preamble. “X rays show a sizable mass, which has to be removed. We’re taking her up to surgery immediately.”
Chapter Three
Melissa swallowed hard, assessed the information and then nodded. “Which surgeon?”
“Seeley’s on.”
Melissa shook her head. She was in a position to pull rank, and she didn’t hesitate. She wanted the finest surgeon in the country for her mother, and although she knew Seeley was more than competent, he wasn’t her first choice.
“I want James Burke,” she stated. She had on file a number of glowing letters of praise from former patients of Burke’s. His genius as a surgeon was fast becoming a legend at St. Joe’s. That his dif ficult temperament was as well known as his surgical skill wasn’t even a consideration. Melissa wanted and needed expertise at this moment, not a good bedside manner.
Dr. Brulotte nodded. “Okay, let me try to get hold of him. You can visit your mom meanwhile.”
Melissa hurried into the treatment room.
Betsy grabbed her hand and clung to it. “I don’t want any operation, Lissa.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she gasped. “I’ve been constipated for a while. I took some of those laxatives Gladys brought over. If my bowels would just move, I’m sure I’d feel better.”
Melissa knew that wasn’t the solution. Constipation was a symptom. She’d begun her career as a nurse, working in the ER for some years before going back to school to get her master’s in health administration. Talking in a soothing tone now despite her alarm, she asked questions as she felt her mother’s abdomen and again assessed her temperature.
It was immediately obvious that Betsy needed medical attention—and fast. The problem would be getting her to agree. Along with her dread of intruders, Betsy had what amounted to a paranoid fear of doctors and hospitals.
When Melissa was still a toddler, her mother had lost both her parents and Melissa’s father within a six-month period. Their illnesses, in Betsy’s opinion, had all been misdiagnosed and mistreated by the family physician. He’d put Melissa’s father, Frank, “under the knife” when an ulcer perforated. Frank had never regained consciousness, and Melissa had listened to complaints of professional bungling throughout her growing-up years.
She wondered sometimes if her own attraction to the medical field wasn’t some sort of rebellion on her part.
Betsy hadn’t been to a doctor since she’d broken her wrist nineteen years ago, a long enough time between doctor’s visits, Melissa decided.
“Mom, I’m calling an ambulance. You need to go to Emergency.”
The closest ER was Burnaby General, but Betsy had no family doctor. Melissa had met all the doctors at St. Joe’s, and she wanted someone she knew to care for her mother.
Betsy shook her head.
“Mom, you’ve got something seriously wrong, and there’s no other alternative. You have to be seen by a doctor.”
“No, Lissa,” Betsy moaned. “I won’t go to any hospital. Once they get you in, that’s the end of you.”
Betsy had responded as Melissa had expected, but the lack of willfulness in her tone showed exactly how sick she really was. Melissa didn’t bother arguing. She phoned 911, and within twenty minutes paramedics were gently loading Betsy on a stretcher. She had stopped objecting, which Melissa found almost as terrifying as the sound of her mother whimpering.
At St. Joe’s, Dr. Greg Brulotte was in charge of the evening shift, for which Melissa was grateful; he was highly proficient. Betsy couldn’t be in better hands, but it didn’t quell the fear that made Melissa’s own hands tremble as she filled out the necessary forms.
She paced the waiting room while her mother was being examined, and her heart hammered when Brulotte came hurrying toward her, his slight limp not slowing him down at all.
“Your mother has a bowel obstruction, Melissa,” he said without preamble. “X rays show a sizable mass, which has to be removed. We’re taking her up to surgery immediately.”
Chapter Three
Melissa swallowed hard, assessed the information and then nodded. “Which surgeon?”
“Seeley’s on.”
Melissa shook her head. She was in a position to pull rank, and she didn’t hesitate. She wanted the finest surgeon in the country for her mother, and although she knew Seeley was more than competent, he wasn’t her first choice.
“I want James Burke,” she stated. She had on file a number of glowing letters of praise from former patients of Burke’s. His genius as a surgeon was fast becoming a legend at St. Joe’s. That his dif ficult temperament was as well known as his surgical skill wasn’t even a consideration. Melissa wanted and needed expertise at this moment, not a good bedside manner.
Dr. Brulotte nodded. “Okay, let me try to get hold of him. You can visit your mom meanwhile.”
Melissa hurried into the treatment room.
Betsy grabbed her hand and clung to it. “I don’t want any operation, Lissa.
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