Nursing The Doctor Page 4

  Apart from a dizzy, slightly nauseated feeling, giving blood didn’t really affect her. It wasn’t the physical act of giving blood that took time, it was the barrage of questions a donor was required to answer beforehand that ate up the better part of an hour. She was good at it by now; she practically knew the questions off by heart.

  Have you ever had hepatitis? Epilepsy? Heart or blood-pressure problems? Cancer? Diabetes?

  Have you had multiple sexual partners? Accepted money or drugs in exchange for sex? Shared needles? Had sex, even once, with someone who might have engaged in high-risk sexual activities?

  Have you received blood?

  Have you had any operations?

  And on and on. The comprehensive form seemed to cover everything except her great grandmother’s sex life. And in all probability, Great-grandma had more to report about her sex life than she did.

  Lily had been celibate since Richard, and that was almost a year now. Sex wasn’t a casual pastime to her, and although she desperately missed the physical joy of lovemaking, she wasn’t about to go to bed with someone she didn’t love and respect and know very well.

  And, she reminded herself firmly, love and mutual respect were vastly different from lust, which was what she experienced each time she was around Greg Brulotte, for instance. He definitely made the back of her knees sweat, and it had nothing to do with love. It was lust, pure and simple.

  Idly watching the last few drops of blood flow into the container, she wondered how his weekend had gone. He was so damned good-looking, it just wasn’t fair. Not for the first time, she wondered what his kisses felt like, how his hands would feel on her moist, bare skin.

  “That’s it, Ms. Sullivan, we’re all done. Here’s your juice. Sit up slowly now, won’t you?” The nurse expertly slid the needle out, plastered on a bandage, attached an identifying bar code to the filled container and unhooked the apparatus.

  Lily swung her feet to the floor.

  “Thanks.” She sipped the juice and told herself that she devoted far too much idle time to thinking about Greg Brulotte. And she obviously needed to get a life when donating blood inspired sexual fantasies, for heaven’s sake.

  The slight dizziness passed quickly, and she got to her feet. It was almost five. The downtown stores were open on Sunday, but they were probably about to close. Would she be able to make it to the boutique on Robson in time to try on the blue skirt she’d seen in the window?

  She had to drive past St. Joe’s to reach the boutique, and fleetingly she wondered how it was going this afternoon in the ER. Probably quiet, a cold Sunday afternoon, not too many crazies out in the winter weather.

  She sent warm, affectionate thoughts to her coworkers and then forgot all about the hospital as she pulled into a conveniently empty parking space just outside the door of the boutique.

  The store was about to close, but the clerk let her in. The skirt was still in the window, a long, fluid sweep of soft indigo wool that clung to her hips and flared into a tulip shape around her legs. She’d wear it next Thursday when she met Frannie for dinner.

  “Gcs 2-2-5. BP fifty over thirty. Pulse 130...”

  From a far and foggy distance, Greg recognized the voices as those of his co-workers in Emerg at St. Joe’s.

  He heard the familiar staccato recitation of the vitals, and he knew from the numbers that whoever the patient was, he was critical.

  It was ABC time—airways, breathing, circulation. Familiar terms penetrated the strange dream he was having, and now the icy cold had disappeared, giving way to a flush of terrible heat that made his body sweat and shake.

  “...contusion, decreased air entry right side, mid and lower lobes, circumoral cyanosis. Chest X ray, c-spine X ray. Set up for insertion of chest tube...”

  “...pneumorthorax, haemorthorax, blood in the left lung.”

  “...need a bigger IV site here...”

  “...abdominal tap indicates ruptured

  spleen...”

  “...hemorrhaging... “

  “...blood cross-matched, AB negative...”

  “...phone the OR, tell Bellamy he’s on his way up.”

  Greg floated in and out, mildly interested. Whoever the patient was, he had the same rare blood type as Greg himself did.

  Once again he gave up the enormous effort it required to remain conscious. He welcomed the darkness now, and the release from time.

  “Dr. Brulotte, you’re in recovery. Can you hear me? Can you wake up? Can you answer me, Dr. Brulotte? Dr. Brulotte, it’s time for you to wake up now, your operation’s over and you’re in recovery.”

  His mouth was dry and there was an immense weight sitting on his chest. He tried to move, couldn’t manage it and began to panic.

  He forced his eyes open, staring at the male nurse whose image wavered in and out of focus. He was propped up, and he looked past the nurse, down the length of the bed. There was a huge white thing hanging from pulleys that he realized after a while was his own leg. His right arm was encased in plaster, and a sense of panic rose as he realized he couldn’t seem to move his body.

  “What...operation?” His voice was barely audible.

  The nurse was checking the IV, touching his hands and toes. “You had an accident, Doctor. Do you remember?”

  Greg grunted. He remembered.

  “Where’s... Ben?” Speech took enormous effort.

  “Dr. Halsey’s right here.”

  The nurse’s face faded and Ben’s familiar features, haggard and unshaven, took its place.

  “You’re doing great, Greg. Everything went fine in the OR. Bellamy’s around somewhere, I’ll have him come in and talk to you about the operation. Just stay calm, you’re doin’ great.”

  Ben faded.

  Drugged sleep again.

  Another voice calling his name from a distance.

  “Greg? Dr. Brulotte, can you wake up?”

  Layers of cotton wool. Bellamy’s storklike figure shimmering beside the bed.

  “Greg, do you know who I am?”

  Irritation filled in the spaces the cotton wool left blank. Of course he knew who the hell Bellamy was. He talked with him almost daily, for God’s sake. What the hell was wrong with John, thinking he didn’t recognize him?

  “John. How’s...the golf game...going?” His voice was a croak, and he tried to clear his throat, but he remembered quickly that the pain was there in his chest like a sleeping tiger, waiting to pounce. He couldn’t waste an instant, because when that pain came, he’d have to leave again.

  “What...did you...operate...on...me for?” Bellamy was bending and swaying, and Greg felt his stomach rebel. He wondered how long he could hold the nausea at bay.

  “Do you remember what happened to you, Greg? The accident?”

  Greg was losing patience. Why was everyone treating him like an imbecile?

  “Skiing. With Ben. Fell,” he managed to reply. Acid bit at the back of his throat and he gagged.

  The nurse held a kidney basin under his chin, but he couldn’t spit. His chest hurt too much. Spittle trickled out of his mouth in a long stream. The nurse wiped it away.

  “Good, good. Well, you managed to do a fair bit of damage, nothing we couldn’t repair, of course. You’ll be back working in the ER in a couple months, I’d wager.”

  Months. Months? That had to be wrong. John meant weeks, surely?

  The surgeon lapsed into the terminology Greg needed to hear. “They did a four-quadrant tap down in the ER, all four quadrants had blood, so we did a laparotomy, removed your spleen.”

  It was shocking, having Bellamy casually tell Greg they’d removed one of his organs. He tried to steel himself for what else was coming.

  “You fractured three ribs on the right side, that’s what did the damage,” Bellamy was explaining. “But of course, I don’t have to tell you that you can manage perfectly well without a spleen. Had several lacerations to the liver, so we put a couple of stitches in. There was some bruising in and around the kidneys but nothing serious, a small tear to the omentum, we put several stitches in there, as well. That chest tube can come out in two or three days.”

  Chest tube. He’d put them in enough times, but it was different when it was his chest....

  Bellamy was still talking. “You managed a rather tricky compound fracture of your right leg. Ben says that’s the side you landed on, hence all the damage. We called in the Ortho team, Marvins and Copeland. They opened it up and plated it back in place. You’ll be in traction for a few days, pin through your knee and so forth. They’ll cast it as soon as the swelling comes down and the wound heals. They expect a good result.

  “And of course the fractured ribs will heal on their own. Bit painful, I’m afraid. The arm, now, Ben did an excellent job of splinting it, used a ski pole. Damned ingenious of him. Marvins put on a plaster cast and we’ll redo it in a few days. All in all, you came through very well, old boy, considering. We had to transfuse with whole blood, because you were well on the way to bleeding out. You’re going to be pretty uncomfortable for a short time, so we’ve hooked up a PCA.”

  PCA. A Patient Controlled Analgesic device he could trigger himself.

  He’d been waiting, steeling himself for the worst, and now, as Bellamy paused in his recital, Greg couldn’t wait any longer. “John. Spine? Damage?”

  Bellamy hesitated, and Greg felt vomit gather again in his throat as cold fear knotted his intestines.

  “None that we could immediately determine, but of course there’s too much swelling at the moment to be certain of anything. I can’t give you a written guarantee, Greg, but I would guess you’ll be fine once the swelling subsides.”

  It wasn’t exactly a promise, but tears of relief spilled from Greg’s eyes. Humiliated, he lifted his left hand to wipe them away and the movement caused agony in his chest. It hit like a heavy blow, and when he couldn’t bear it any longer, the blessed blackness once again took him down.

  “Greg? Are you awake, son?”

  Elise. Why was his mother here? He struggled for what seemed a long time to figure out where here actually was.

  Finally, through the fog, he remembered. They’d moved him down to the orthopedic ward late at night.

  Last night? He vaguely remembered the orderlies pushing the bed, the sensation of the elevator, the snoring of the other patient in the room.

  He’d wanted a private, he’d told them that, but they’d put him here in a semi. He remembered the old man in the other bed, shrunken and toothless, his mouth an open cavern.

  Elise’s soft voice and the pervasive smell of White Shoulders perfume that had always surrounded her wafted into his nostrils now, and in a panic he fought his way up through the thick gray fog, past the dream creatures that had been chasing him. It was daylight. What day?

  “Elise?” He’d meant it to be strong, but his voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “I’m here, Greg. Are you in pain, dear?”

  Her cool hand smoothed his hair back from his forehead, and although he couldn’t move far, still he shrank from her touch.

  “Your friend Dr. Halsey called me this morning. He told me about your accident yesterday. I’ve called your brothers and they’ll be here after work.”

  He had no reserves to call upon. The usual air of cool detachment he maintained around Elise was impossible right now. It took a supreme effort of will just to speak, because the pain in his chest was consuming him again.

  “Get...out. Don’t want you...here. Any of you. Leave...me...alone.”

  “Oh, Greg, please, dear, don’t say that. We’re all worried about you. Please let us be here for you.”

  He refused to acknowledge the pleading in her voice.

  “Nurse. Nurse!"" It was agony to raise his voice, they knew it was. It made him furious that they forced him to do it. And it hurt even more to move his hand into position so he could press the call bell. He pushed down and held it, wondering if it was even functional. They were all in it together, this conspiracy to ignore his needs, to cause him pain.

  At last a nurse appeared. “What is it, Dr. Brulotte?”

  “Want...this woman...out of here.”

  “Dr. Brulotte, she’s your mother, she’s concerned about you.” The nurse sounded shocked.

  “Don’t...want.. .her here. Want her...to leave.”

  Now the nurse sounded embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Larue. It might be best if you came back at another time.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Elise’s voice was trembling. “I’m going.”

  Greg had his eyes closed again, and he heard the soft rustle as Elise slipped her coat on, the clicking of heels as both women left the room, their voices fading as they walked down the corridor. Elise’s perfume lingered, and he tried not to breathe it in. He could hear what they were saying.

  “He’s in a great deal of pain. He’s self-medicating with morphine, and it often makes patients hallucinate,” the nurse was explaining.

  Elise’s soft voice replied, “Of course, I understand.”

  She doesn't understand anything. Greg wanted to call the nurse back and set her straight, but instead he triggered the mechanism that would drip morphine into his system and bring oblivion.

  To hell with them all. Elise and his brothers weren’t a part of his life when he was well, why should they bother him now? Didn’t he have the right to decide who visited him and who didn’t?

  And he was going to tear a strip off Ben when he saw him next. Ben had no business notifying Elise without his permission....

  The medication kicked in and the dream place beckoned.

  He went gladly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Greg swam up from some infinitely horrible place and knew he was in terrible danger. A menacing male shape loomed over him, its eyes demonic. Hands pushed and prodded at his body.

  “Get away from me.” Sweat trickled down the sides of his face and he held his finger on the call button until at last a nurse appeared.

  “Yes, Dr. Brulotte?”

  “Get this man out of here,” he gasped. “He’s not a doctor, he’s pretending he has medical knowledge and he doesn’t. He’s going to kill me, he’s going to inject me with something...something... lethal.”

  “Dr. Brulotte, Kenny is an orderly. He’s just trying to make you more comfortable. You’re having a reaction to the morphine again. You’re overmedicating and it’s making you hallucinate. Now we’ve told you about this before, you have to ease up on the trigger. Morphine brings out the very worst qualities in a person, and it causes these hallucinations you’re having.”

  Greg’s rage was instantaneous. “Damn you, I’m not hallucinating. I’m a doctor, for God’s sake. I know what I’m talking about. What’s wrong with you, you stupid woman? You’re incompetent, you’re all incompetent. I want to

  talk to my physician right away. Edward Fyfe. You go page him, STAT. Where the hell is he? I never see him.”

  “Dr. Fyfe was in to see you less than an hour ago, Dr. Brulotte. And he agrees with the nursing staff that you have to stop overmedicating with the morphine. He’s going to remove the IV tomorrow and put you on oral meds.”

  “How long since my operation?” They lied to him all the time. He was going to catch them at it and report them, because he knew the operation had been yesterday.

  “This is the third day, Doctor. It’s Wednesday. Your operation was Sunday.” She turned and walked away, leaving him with the orderly, who shifted his injured leg, sending a bolt of pain through Greg’s body.

  Deliberate, his mind concluded. He would report them all, the entire staff on this floor. They were all against him. They were going to kill him. It didn’t matter how much morphine he used, he’d be dead soon anyway.

  Rebelliously, he pressed the trigger that released another dose into his system, and then he dipped once more into the half-world of wild dreams that he’d inhabited for an endless time.

  Early Thursday evening, Lily hurried into the Granville Island Restaurant, her eyes skimming the crowd for Frannie.

  Kaleb had been late home from his course tonight to take over with Gram and Zoe, and then it had been tough to find a parking space. She was late.

  “Lily, over here.” Frannie was seated at a cozy table for two near the windows that looked out on the water. She was sipping a glass of wine, and she got to her feet as Lily approached. The two women hugged affectionately.

  Lily was tall, but Frannie was even taller, just an inch under six feet. She was slender, striking, with her long brown mane pulled into its characteristic tight knot at the nape of her neck, and her deep blue eyes filled with welcome behind funky round glasses.

  “You look great, Lily. Time off agrees with you. I love that skirt.”

  “Thanks, it’s new. I got it at that little boutique on Robson.”

  They chatted about clothes. Frannie asked about Zoe, whom she’d met, and about Hannah. The only one in Lily’s family Frannie hadn’t met was Kaleb; he’d been at work on the several occasions Frannie had dropped by.

  “How’s Heather doing?” Frannie’s sister was an artist and a single mother. Heather suffered from manic-depressive illness, which had caused her enormous problems in the past.

  “She seems really well. I think she’s staying on her medication, and Taylor’s happy in his day care.” Just as Lily doted on Zoe, Frannie adored her three-year-old nephew, Taylor. Being doting aunts was a bond the two women shared, among many others. They’d met at the hospital and become good friends over the past months, confiding in each other about their families and their personal lives. Neither of them was dating at the moment, and that, too, was a bond.

  The waiter came and they ordered bowls of the restaurant’s famous chowder. A large basket of sourdough bread arrived, and they each buttered a slice.

  “Isn’t it terrible about Doc Brulotte?” Frannie took a bite of her bread and murmured appreciation as she chewed, missing Lily’s shocked reaction to her words.

  “Dr. Brulotte? What...what happened?” Lily gripped the napkin in her lap with both hands. She was suddenly trembling.