Page 28 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)
? Every Legacy Has a First Step ?
Emergency room work pushed learning. It was why so many med students used it as a rotation.
It helped them get proficient at patient care, basic procedures, and diagnosis.
Cait used it for immediate access to trauma victims, and patients who would help her keep little used skills flexible for QM’s people.
Using the counter at the end of the nurse’s station, she updated the chart for her last patient and authorized release.
A chaotic schedule for the last two weeks screwed with her energy level.
Her husband had been home for four days, too.
His silences were longer than usual, and she wasn’t ready for any sudden, urgent exits.
Several babies wailed in the waiting room, the sounds piercing.
A woman screamed. A family who spoke only Korean tried to explain their mother’s condition to an interpreter.
The noise level clawed at her focus, her TBI sparking with irritation.
She inhaled and exhaled in careful cadence, and reminded herself that just because the area sounded like glass shattering didn’t mean it was.
“Dr. Hunter?”
Cait shut her tablet and found her calm. “Dr. Sung? Correct?” First year resident.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Can I help you?”
“I have a patient.”
“Surgical?”
“Uh, no.”
“You should talk to Dr. Day.”
The first-year residents appeared younger and more naive every year to her. The straight black hair, short stature, and clear eyes of this one suggested fresh from the classroom.
Doggedly, the resident continued. “He’s a veteran. You’re a veteran, too, right?”
Surprised, Cait shifted to give the woman her full attention. “Give me a brief, Doctor?”
“Patient is a fifty-two-year-old male, homeless, former Army, bee sting, allergic. He has a numb left forearm and hand from undetermined injury. He’s uncooperative edging into combative.
I wondered if talking to someone who could understand his experiences would help.
I’m sorry. I should have checked with Dr. Day first.”
While not her lane, veterans were her weak spot. “For future reference, yes. Looping in Dr. Day is advisable. But I can talk to him.” No surgeries on deck. No reason not to.
“He’s in treatment seven.” She handed off the tablet with his chart and dropped her hands behind her back.
“Go tell Dr. Day, and inform Bets so she knows where I am, please. Then join me.”
“Yes, Dr. Hunter. Thank you.”
Cait ran a practiced eye over the chart, noting the bee sting protocol by paramedics. At the treatment room, she slowly opened the drape. “Mr. Delaney?”
“God dammit, not another doctor.” The man was half on and half off the bed, IV dangling, his chest bare, and jeans barely in place.
His similar height would put him at eye level with her husband; his bloodshot eyes, lean frame, tattoos up his arms and back, thinning gray hair, and the way he protected his right side suggested a long and varied life.
Holding himself with sheer stubbornness, he ignored her.
She leaned out of the cubicle. “Orderly,” she called. She dropped the man’s chart on the counter and went to help him.
“Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” His eyes narrowed, and every line of his body broadcast he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Yeah, you’ll still be saying you’re fine when you slide to the floor and break an arm.” She moved in to help.
He slapped at her. “I can manage. I want out of here.”
The orderly pulled back the curtain, took one look, and stepped to take her place. “Settle down, man. Doc’s just here to help.” He bodily lifted the man back to the bed, minding the IV.
“Thanks, Tim. Tell Bets I need a nurse.” She settled in the rolling chair with his chart and decided the soft touch wouldn’t work with this guy.
Pulling out every conversation she’d had with Tommy, with Baxter, with Mackey, she settled for brisk and unsympathetic.
“Dr. Cait Hunter. What branch?”
“What are you talking about, girl?”
“Doc-tor, Mr. Delaney. Army, is it?” She kept her eyes on his chart. “I’d guess First Sergeant. Never heard of a first sergeant who, once gained, gave up the tough tone.”
“How would you know?”
“Army, too.”
“You were not.” The man’s eyes flashed, irritation in his stone-still posture.
“Eleven years. Left the service as a Captain. Surgeon 61J. Three tours of Afghanistan. Want to tell me what happened?”
“Says in my chart.”
“I want to hear it from you, if I may.”
“Got stung by a bee.”
“Your arm and hand? What happened there?”
“According to the Army, nothing.” He spit the words at her.
She studied his gray eyes, letting him read her reaction. “Bullshit. Start at the beginning. What’s your MOS?”
Taken aback, he stared at her. “11B. Infantry.” He spit the words with surety she wouldn’t know. But she’d sent so many 11B soldiers home with flags over their coffins, she could predict who they were and assign the number in her sleep.
“Where’d you serve? Afghanistan?”
“Iraq first. Then Afghanistan. Kandahar, 2011. Casualty escort, security, training Afghan troops.”
The nurse came into the room. “You need help, Dr. Hunter?”
“Yes, please. Check his IV and reset his vitals monitor, will you?”
The nurse did as she requested. “Anything else?”
“What is he waiting for? Can his IV be disconnected?” She hoped not. She had more to ask him.
“Dr. Sung was waiting for Dr. Day to review. He’s tied up.”
The sergeant straightened in his bed. “I’d like to go home.”
Cait stared directly at him, choosing honesty and strong eye contact. “Soon, Mr. Delaney. Let the IV run through. It takes a bit to stabilize from an epi-pen. I see here a neighbor had one?”
“Yeah, mouth went numb first. He stabbed me with the pen when he figured out what happened. Pretty sure I owe him lunch.”
“Have you ever responded like this to a bee sting before?”
“Yeah, a couple of times.”
“Mind if I check your arm?”
“No point. VA won’t pay for any repair.”
“Can I look anyway?”
His eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. “Knock your socks off, Doc.”
She took several minutes to examine his arm, test his stiff elbow, and identify the numb spots. “How did this happen?”
“Kandahar out of FOB Wilson. Hasty evacuation after an IED strike, got thrown against the door frame of a MRAP while loading an injured soldier. Hit my elbow hard.” He spit the words out like he expected her not to understand the acronyms.
She kept on with her questions. “Did you go to medical? Have it treated?”
Delaney’s face soured. “No, no time. Shit show going on.”
“Never served in Kandahar, Sergeant. Heard about it, though. One of my surgical partners was there.” Duncan Moss had to be drunk to talk about the bloody mess, but he’d done so once. “Self-treated, then?”
“Yeah. No choice.”
“Had X-rays on the arm lately?”
“Tried to at the VA. They had no record of combat-related injury and wouldn’t authorize treatment.”
Cait sighed, recognizing his frustration and the familiar pain in his voice. “Unfortunately, not uncommon. You continued your tour?”
“Yes. It’s been worsening over time. Retired ten years ago. Feeling in my arm was intermittent. The fingers went about two years ago.”
That he’d suffered this long made her angry. “Let me see if I can get an x-ray authorized through the hospital.”
The man paled. “I can’t pay for that.”
“There may be funds, though. Let me ask.”
“What’s the point, Doc?”
She dropped his chart in her lap and chose personal. “Because about five years ago, I was severely injured in a suicide bombing at Bagram. I had two years of hell fighting to get the feeling back in my left hand. I know this injury. I can fix this injury.”
He went still, his face blank and hollow. “While I appreciate the offer, Doctor, I don’t have the money or the time to spare.”
“Let me work this out.” She opened a request for an elbow x-ray, but there was no more time.
Dr. Day entered with Dr. Sung to review the young resident’s work and get him released. Day raised a brow at Cait’s presence.
She rose to her feet. “It was an honor to speak with you, Sergeant Delaney.”
Delaney nodded. “You too, Doctor Hunter.”
She left.
People hurt. She could help. But fighting the system took grit, and she knew hopelessness when it looked her in the face.
§§§§§§§§§§
? Building a Blueprint ?
For once, before leaving the hospital, Cait went to the locker room and changed into black pants, a white shirt with thin black stripes, black shoes, and added her necklace and the watch Hunt gave her.
With black hoops in her pierced ears, she did a quick brush of her hair.
A reapply of her makeup eased her look away from an exhausted doctor in wrinkled scrubs to a put-together professional.
In the elevator, she made a quick call to her husband. No answer. Stifling a sigh, she left him a short ‘checking in, honey’ message and slipped her phone into her purse. If she was desperate, she’d call Marnie, but she only wanted to hear his voice.
Bets left at the same time, exiting the side door near the emergency room with her. The nurse whistled under her breath. “Where are you going?” The woman was still in her scrubs.
Cait lifted her chin, trying to appear awake and aware. “I have a meeting at QM. Can’t be a tired doctor.”
Bets grinned. “You are a tired doctor.”
Cait smothered a laugh. “Thanks.”
“But you look good. Go impress!” Bets waved and went in the opposite direction to her car.
Light traffic helped get her to the QM parking lot in record time.
Pictures of Gordo’s six-month-old baby girl delayed her at the security desk because who turns down pictures of a baby?
Not her. She pushed through the double glass doors into the admin area on the third floor and waved at Celissa Davies. “Elizabeth in?”
Celissa lifted the phone. “Let me check and see if she’s available.”