Caro Carson - Doctor, Soldier, Daddy

Kendry loved the pediatric ward, even if it broke her heart half the time. Kids were kids, though, and even when they sported IV tubing and wore hospital gowns, they tended to be adorable. Kendry loved their earnestness when they described their little lives. She loved their willingness to play as hard as they possibly could, even when they found themselves forced to use their wrong hand or unable to climb out of a wheelchair.

Unlike the adult patients, the kids were still eager to grab life with both hands—unless they were in pain. Although an infant named Myrna was due to be discharged today, Kendry wondered if the little girl was in pain. Hour after hour, Myrna had been growing quieter and quieter. Kendry’s shift was over in only minutes, but she couldn’t leave Myrna without trying, one more time, to get the nurse to pay attention to the change in the baby’s behavior.

She pushed the button to call the nurses’ station. Again.

“What is it this time, Kendry?” The voice over the speaker was clearly irritated.

“I’d like a nurse to check on Myrna Quinones for me, please.” If she kept her voice cool and factual, the way the doctors and nurses spoke, then she would be taken more seriously. Unfortunately, her nose was stuffy, and she barely grabbed a tissue in time for a sneeze.

“We’ve checked on her every hour. She’s fine. She’ll be going home when her mother gets off work today.” And then, with the most sarcastic version of sugary sweetness the nurse could muster, her tinny voice came over the speaker. “And you’re officially off work now, so go on home, darlin’. Take something for that cold, or you’ll get all the children sick.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Kendry said through clenched teeth. “It’s just allergies.”

She was the only adult in the pediatric ward’s playroom, making it impossible for her to leave, but she resisted the urge to point that out to the nurse. Instead, she released the intercom’s talk button and went to the sink to wash her hands for the fiftieth time of the day.

Every young patient who was able spent a good part of his or her waking hours in the ward’s colorful playroom. There were hard plastic chairs and tables that could be sprayed down with bleach, plenty of floor space for children to play while they tugged along their wheeled poles with their hanging IV bags. A few of the children were not patients, but were the children of staff members. As long as the child wasn’t contagious, staff members could pay a small fee to have their child spend the day in the playroom when their regular childcare fell through—a benefit that made West Central Texas Hospital one of Austin’s top-rated employers.

For doctors, the policy was even more lenient. If it meant doctors would show up for every shift, the hospital was happy to provide childcare. These kids Kendry got to know well. One of them, a little charmer named Sammy, was demanding her attention now, as he often did.

Kendry scooped him off the floor and settled him on her hip. “That’s right, Sammy. It doesn’t matter if I’m off the clock, I’m not going home and leaving Myrna here in this condition, now am I?”

Sammy didn’t get a chance to coo or babble an answer to her, because the person scheduled to replace Kendry had arrived and was listening in.

“Which one’s Myrna?” she asked.

Kendry thought her replacement was kidding. For a second. One look at the woman’s face—Paula, she remembered—revealed that she wasn’t.

“Myrna is the little girl whose hand I’m holding. She was technically discharged because we were short beds, but her mother has to work, so admin said she could stay here.” The little girl’s belongings were packed in a plastic bag and her IV lines had been removed upon discharge, but her crib had been wheeled into the playroom until her mother could come to pick her up. Her room had already been filled by another patient.

“What time is her mother supposed to arrive?”

“Not for another hour. I don’t want to leave Myrna like this.”

Paula frowned at the baby in the stainless-steel hospital crib. “Like what? Calm and peaceful? Lord help me, I hope they all get like that and stay like that.”

Kendry couldn’t force herself to chuckle along with Paula’s joke, although she knew that was what was expected of her. “Myrna’s been here all week. Don’t you realize this isn’t her normal disposition?”

Paula shot Kendry a look. “Well, excuse me, Miss Know-It-All. There’s a lot of kids in here, and they change every day.”

Dang it. Now Kendry had taken the attention off the little girl and unwittingly put it on herself. Paula, unlike Kendry, was a certified medical assistant, a CMA. There was always a CMA on duty overnight. Paula was higher up on the hospital ladder, and Kendry had offended her.

“You’re so right. The ward has been at full occupancy all week.” Kendry could swallow her pride with the best of them when it came to helping a child. Heck, when it came to nearly every aspect of her life. “Myrna Quinones is acting like she’s fighting an infection, maybe. Something is making her listless.”

Paula pressed the call button for the nurses’ station, announcing herself as she did so. “Hey, it’s Paula here. Have you gotten a temperature on this Quinones child?”

The tinny response sounded exasperated. “Of course we have. Her vitals have been normal every single time we’ve checked them. Tell that orderly to go home. There’s no budget for overtime around here. She should have clocked out five minutes ago.”

Paula wasn’t here five minutes ago, so I couldn’t have clocked out.

Kendry spoke to Sammy, who sat on her hip as he chewed his fingers. “Let’s go for a walk, little guy. We’ll clock me out, then come back to say bye-bye to Myrna.”

The lively little boy on her hip cheerfully called, “Da-da!”

Sammy’s dad was here. Kendry knew what Da-da’s voice would sound like. She braced herself for that educated, masculine timbre, that voice with just a hint of native Texas drawl.

“Hey, little buddy. How was your day?”

It didn’t matter how many times she heard it, it still made her melt a little. Sammy kicked Kendry vigorously in happy response as she turned around to find Sammy’s father, all six-feet-something of him, standing close enough to take his son out of her arms.

“Hi, Dr. MacDowell. Sammy’s doing well today. He drank every ounce of formula. He seems to have an easier time taking his bottle when I have him sitting almost straight up. It makes me wonder if—”

“Good evening, Dr. MacDowell.” Paula’s voice had a different tone to it now. All peaches and cream.

Kendry stifled her frustration. She wanted to discuss Sam’s ability to eat, but Paula wanted to...to...

Flirt. There wasn’t a woman in the hospital who didn’t know Dr. MacDowell was single. Never had been married, apparently. He’d returned from military service in Afghanistan with Sammy, so the rumor mill said, and had turned in his camouflage for a civilian career in order to spend more time with his son. Because no mother was in the picture, some people speculated that the baby was an orphan whom Dr. MacDowell had adopted. This only made women sigh with even more approval.

Sammy grabbed the tubing of Dr. MacDowell’s stethoscope and tried to get it—and his fist—in his mouth. The doctor calmly pried the baby’s fingers open, removed the stethoscope from around his neck and tucked it into the pocket of his white lab coat, all in one smooth move. Then he dropped a kiss on top of Sammy’s head.

He was Sammy’s father, all right. Who cared if the baby’s hair was a darker black than his father’s deep brown? Who cared if the child seemed petite compared to his strapping American father? This baby was loved. Kendry wished all the children that came through West Central were so lucky.