Richard Mabry - Code Blue

Josh had given her a lot to think about on the drive back to Dainger. A lot.

The morning had been frustrating. Not busy-just frustrating. Three patients cancelled, giving no reason. Several sizable bills arrived in the mail, but no payments came to offset them. Cathy wanted to scream. Instead, she grabbed a cold Diet Coke and retreated to her office. She'd hardly settled into her chair when Jane rapped on the doorframe."SheriffDunaway's here."

"Please send him in." There was movement behind the nurse. Cathy rose and extended her hand. "Sheriff, I'm Dr. Cathy Sewell."

The sheriffstrode confidently across the room, and all Cathy's preconceived images fled. The man was in his late fifties or early sixties, muscular but certainly not fat. He wore starched, sharply pressed chinos. His white dress shirt bore a modest-sized shield on its breast pocket. A silver replica of the state of Texas secured his black bolo tie. He carried a snub-nosed revolver high on his right hip. He could have been a detective in Dallas, rather than the sheriff of a moderate-sized Texas county. Certainly, this was no country bumpkin.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm J. C. Dunaway." He gave her a brief handshake, firm but not aggressive, and settled into the chair across from her. When he crossed his legs, she saw that his black snakeskin boots were shined to a high gloss.

"Thank you for coming here. Do you have some pictures for me?"

He placed a manila folder on the desk and flipped it open. Inside were a dozen or more sheets of photo stock, each with a large picture of a vehicle. "You know, in the old days I'd have sent a deputy to a bunch of dealerships for pamphlets. Now we go on the Internet, find the picture we want, and print it out. Took less than half an hour to get all these." He tapped a finger on the top picture. "Any of them look like the vehicle that's been giving you trouble?"

Cathy shuffled through them quickly, setting aside two or three, which she studied with care. Finally, she said, "I'm pretty sure it's this one."

He pulled the photo toward him and looked at it, then turned it over and nodded. "Ford Expedition. Are you sure?"

"Not really. You have to admit, they all look pretty much alike, but I think this is it."

"That's a really common vehicle around here, but we'll do some digging. See if someone who owns a black Ford Expedition might have something against you." He scratched his chin. "Or maybe they had a grudge against your family. Know if your daddy had any enemies?"

"Sheriff, he was a physician. The people he helped loved him. I guess there are always a few folks who hold it against the doctor when he can't cure the incurable, or when the time comes to pay for their care, or when he does something they don't like." Cathy clamped her lips shut. She'd thought of another reason for someone to have a grudge against her father. Had he broken offa relationship a woman thought would end in marriage?

"Dr. Sewell, are you prepared to assist me?" Arthur Harshman's tone implied that he was as likely to get help from a trained baboon as from this upstart family practice doctor.

Cathy forced a smile. "Absolutely. May I go in and say hello to the Gladstones?"

Harshman waved her request away as though he were shooing a particularly pesky fly. "I suppose so, but be quick. I've already spoken with them. I answered her questions, the permit's signed, and Ernest knows that I don't want him in the operating room looking over my shoulder. Don't do anything that might cause problems."

Emma Gladstone lay on a gurney in the pre-op holding area. Her husband stood at her side, holding her hand and occasionally smoothing her hair. They both turned when Cathy slipped between the curtains that gave them the limited amount of privacy available in that setting.

"Mrs. Gladstone, I just wanted you to know that I'm here. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, dear. Will you pray with us? I think I'd feel much better if you did." Her reply so nonplussed Cathy that it took her a moment to process it.

To Cathy's surprise, Dr. Gladstone nodded at his wife's request. In Cathy's home, her father's praying had been confined to a rote-memorized grace that he said at mealtimes, primarily, she suspected, to appease her mother. In her residency Cathy had encountered a few doctors who mentioned that they prayed before every operation, but like her colleagues she'd tended to dismiss them as a rather unusual minority in the profession.

"I… I suppose so," Cathy stammered.

"Ernest, will you pray first? Then Dr. Sewell can pray."Emma reached out her other hand, careful not to put traction on the IV taped to it, and grasped Cathy's hand.

Dr. Gladstone cleared his throat. "Dear God, I love this woman. She's good and kind and the most caring person ever to walk this earth. Please carry her through this procedure safely. Give her the grace to tolerate whatever comes afterward, and help me be the kind of husband and helper she deserves." There was a moment of silence. Then Gladstone murmured, "And give skill and discernment to Arthur, Cathy, and all those who help them. In your name, Amen."

Cathy was so startled by Dr. Gladstone's use of her first name that it took a gentle squeeze from Emma for her to stammer out her own prayer. "God, please help all of us through this. Help me to do my very best and to be worthy of the trust of these people. Amen."

More traction." Harshman tapped the retractor with the hemostat in his hand. "I need to see right here."

Cathy pulled a bit harder. She'd bent over the operating table opposite the surgeon for over two hours and could hardly bear the pain in her back. Her head throbbed with every movement she made. The air conditioning in the operating room didn't come close to overcoming the heat from the high-intensity lights that glared down on the surgical field, and a constant stream of sweat trickled down her back.

Cathy decided she had to risk the surgeon's wrath. She flexed her shoulders, even though it meant a momentary easing of the pressure she held on the retractor.

"You're doing a nice job," she ventured.

"I should hope so," he grumbled. "I've done dozens of these." He dropped a clamp onto the instrument tray. He straightened, took a deep breath, and used a gauze square to blot blood from the surgical area. "Did a fellowship in gynecologic oncology at M.D. Anderson. Some of us live in Dainger because the pace is slower, and we like the town. Not all of us here are incompetent old coots who couldn't make it in a larger medical center."

Cathy realized she'd made exactly that assumption about Harshman. "I'm sorry. I-"

Harshman tapped on the retractor with his finger, "Take that out now. I think the self-retaining retractor will be enough at this point." Then, like a flashback to her days as a resident, Harshman asked, "What's the most critical part of the operation to this point?"

Cathy gave the answer automatically. "Avoiding damage to the ureter or bladder."

"Have I come close to cutting either one?"

"No. No, you haven't."

"Good. Do you think you could have done this operation?"

Cathy considered that for a moment. She'd known most of the steps, but there were a few points where she wasn't sure where Harshman's next cut would be, while his movements never appeared to be anything less than sure and certain. "No, I don't think so."

"Do you think you deserve privileges to do a modified radical hysterectomy?"

"Dr. Harshman, I never asked for anything like that. I recognize that I'm a family practitioner, and I'm proud of it. But, if you'd read the letters I presented to the committee you'd know that I had a great deal of exposure to obstetrics and gynecology during my FP residency. Actually, I originally planned to go into OB-Gyn, but I changed my mind. What I want now are privileges to perform deliveries. You'll notice that I didn't ask for C-section privileges, even though I've had the training. I recognize that there are competent obstetricians available in town, and they should be doing those cases. I'm not about to steal your patients. I only want to offer more complete care to my patients, especially the women, many of whom would prefer a female physician."