Caro Carson - Doctor, Soldier, Daddy

“You can go home now, Kendry,” Paula said.

“What were you saying about Sam’s bottles?” Dr. MacDowell asked.

“I’m wondering if—”

“I’ve got his daily sheet right here, with all his feedings listed,” Paula interrupted. “Kendry, you need to go clock out. There’s no overtime in the budget, and you don’t want to tick off the supervisor.”

Kendry wished her Irish heritage didn’t make it so easy for her pale skin to blush. She hated being put in her place, but even more, she hated being so firmly reminded she was an hourly-wage orderly in front of Dr. MacDowell.

“I’ll walk with you, Miss Harrison,” Dr. MacDowell said. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

Miss Harrison. He addressed everyone in the hospital by their proper names and titles. Still, she couldn’t help but appreciate the respect he showed her. He wanted to hear what she had to say. He always did. He was the kind of doctor who would patiently listen to family members who anxiously brought someone to the E.R. He would listen...

Her gaze returned to Myrna, who was lying as she’d been for the past hour. She hadn’t responded to Paula or Dr. MacDowell’s appearance by her crib.

Dr. MacDowell would listen.

“Could you look at this patient for me? Her name is Myrna Quinones, she’s nine months old, and she’s due to be discharged today. She had surgery three days ago, and I’m wondering if she might have an infection or something. She’s grown increasingly listless today, and I haven’t been able to interest her in taking more than a couple of ounces from her bottle, but she’s been off IV fluids since this morning. Maybe she’s dehydrated?”

“Kendry, please.” Paula sounded shocked. “You don’t bother physicians with cases that aren’t theirs. Dr. MacDowell, I assure you, the nurses on the floor have been checking on Myrna every hour. I’ve requested an update myself, and she isn’t running a fever or showing any signs of infection.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cook.”

Kendry bit her lower lip. Dr. MacDowell had said thank you in that dismissive tone doctors seemed to master, the one that said when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Kendry saw Paula call for the floor nurse with a press of a button. Once the nurses realized a doctor was checking the patient, they’d show up. Doctors were at the opposite end of the food chain from orderlies.

“Could you hold Sammy for me, please?” Dr. MacDowell asked.

Kendry held out her arms for the little boy, who dove right into them. Dr. MacDowell took his stethoscope out of his pocket and slung it around his neck. As he walked the few steps to the hand sanitizer station, he asked Kendry questions briskly, impersonally. Normal fluid intake? Number of wet diapers today? Normal activity level?

Then he was bending over the crib, opening Myrna’s hospital gown, listening to her chest, running strong hands over the baby’s limbs, feeling for pulse points. Thank you, Kendry wanted to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The baby seemed fine, if unnaturally calm. The doctor didn’t seem to be finding anything out of the ordinary. Kendry started to feel absurd.

“Is it possible to have an infection without running a fever?” she asked.

“No,” Paula answered.

“Yes,” Dr. MacDowell said. “Which procedure did this child have?”

Kendry waited a beat for Paula to answer, but Paula obviously didn’t know and gestured toward Kendry with one hand.

“It was a kidney repair of some kind. I believe they opened a blocked tube, but whether it was going into the kidney or leading out, I’m not sure.”

Dr. MacDowell opened the baby’s diaper and palpated her pelvis and bladder. “Did you recently change her diaper?”

“It’s been hours. I keep checking, but it’s dry.”

“Her bladder’s distended. Mrs. Cook, I want this patient transported to the E.R. Get Dr. Gregory on the phone for me.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Dr. MacDowell gently flipped the baby over and removed her incision bandages. Some unhealthy pus oozed from the tiny incision site. Kendry had never been so sorry to be proved so right.

Dr. MacDowell did not look happy. At all.

“I’m sorry,” Kendry said. “I’m an orderly. I’m not allowed to remove a patient’s bandage.”

“No, but the nurses are,” he said, and she didn’t think she was imagining the quiet anger in his voice. “They should have, given your report.”

For the first time in her memory, Kendry was suddenly glad she wasn’t a nurse. No doubt Paula felt the same as she handed the phone to Dr. MacDowell. “Dr. Gregory on the line for you.”

Kendry busied herself by packing up Sam’s diaper bag with one hand as she held him on her hip with the other. Then she quieted another fussy baby, feeling soothed herself as she listened to Dr. MacDowell updating Dr. Gregory on the patient he was sending his way. One of her fellow orderlies arrived to wheel Myrna downstairs to the E.R.

Paula hissed in Kendry’s ear as the crib was being rolled away. “Get off the clock before you get in trouble for going over.”

“Here, hold Sammy then.”

But Sammy wouldn’t go to Paula. He clung to Kendry’s neck as fiercely as any nine-month-old could, which was pretty darned hard.

Paula tried, anyway, pitching her voice to a falsetto coo. “Come on, Sam, let Miss Paula hold you.” She started prying Sammy’s small fingers off Kendry’s neck, which only served to make the child more desperate to cling to the adult of his choice.

Dr. MacDowell hung up the house phone and came over to intercede. “Hey, buddy, come see Daddy.”

Sam was in full-pitch tantrum mode now. He wanted to cling to Kendry’s neck, and by God, that’s what he was gonna do.

“He usually comes to me,” Dr. MacDowell said, frowning.

Kendry patted the baby’s back and fought her urge to back away from Paula and Dr. MacDowell. She interjected a deliberate note of cheerfulness into her voice. “That’s okay—it’s okay. Shh, Sammy.” She gave Paula’s arm a pat to get her to stop clawing at the child’s fingers, then started bouncing Sammy gently. “Just let him catch his breath. He’ll be fine. He needs a second to decide what to do next.”

Paula dropped her hand.

Dr. MacDowell spread his large hand over his son’s back and stayed that way. “Okay, buddy,” he said to Sammy. “Okay.”

“I think he picked up on the tension. He knew I was worried about Myrna. Thank you again for taking a look at her.”

“That was a good catch on your part. You were going to tell me something about Sam’s bottles?”

From the corner of her eye, Kendry saw Paula turn away and start the closing routine for the playroom, although it would be a couple of hours before she’d bring the last children back to their regular beds for the night.

“It takes Sam a lot longer to finish a bottle than the other kids.”

“It does?” His hand stilled on Sammy’s back.

Kendry nodded. “I don’t think he’s just a slow eater. I think he has a hard time swallowing. I tried feeding him almost sitting up today, and he got that bottle down so much faster. You might want to try it yourself and see if that works for you.”

“I will. Thanks.” The man was really frowning now. Kendry could tell he was mentally recalling feeding sessions with his son, reviewing them for anomalies.

Such a doctor.

“I had no idea he was slower than the other kids,” he said, sounding less like a doctor, more like an apologetic, perhaps a little bit defensive, father.

“I guess if you’d never fed another baby, you wouldn’t.” Kendry smiled at him, not wanting him to feel badly about himself. Sammy helped her out by choosing that moment to decide to turn his face toward his father. The steady, adult conversation had given Sam the chance to calm down enough to realize that he did, indeed, want Daddy.