Kit Wilkinson - Lancaster County Target

But he could hardly think with all this unorthodox nonsense at the hospital. If this had been an accident of some sort, then someone had really fouled up, medically speaking, with this patient. Blake wanted to know who and why. “I’m not signing a death certificate until I get some more information on this patient. This situation is—” Blake could not keep the strain of emotion from his voice “—unacceptable—medically, ethically and professionally unacceptable. Get the hospital administrator down here. Someone needs to look into this.”

The nurse began to shut down the machines. “I’ll inform Dr. Dodd.”

Blake headed toward the door. He felt a dark cloud over him. The same one he’d had over him in NYC. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to the nurse. “So you changed the drip bag. But did you change the IV tubing?”

She shook her head. “No. The tubing was securely in place. I didn’t see any reason to insert another IV needle into the patient.”

“Then save the entire IV, tubing and all, in a hermetically sealed container. It’s possible medications or a mixture of medications were administered prior to his arrival that caused the cardiac arrest. We have to cover ourselves legally in this day and time. Also, I’d like a copy of that chart. I want to find out how my name became associated with this patient.”

“Of course, Doctor. Naturally.”

Naturally? There was nothing natural about any of this. This was the twenty-first century. You didn’t lose patients to gallstone surgery.

“Dr. Blake Jamison. Dr. Blake Jamison, please report to the E.R. as soon as possible. Please report to the E.R.”

No way. This is not happening. Blake let out a deep sigh as he stepped back into the elevator. At least it’s not a Code Blue.

“This way, Doctor. Follow me.” Janice, a nurse assigned to assist him in the E.R. just the day before, held a grim expression. She led him to bay ten, where she stopped and flipped back a flimsy blue curtain.

“She’s one of our nurses...Abigail Miller.” Janice pulled him inside.

“I don’t know her.” Blake shook his head. A face that beautiful he definitely would have remembered. He drew closer. She was early twenties, pale with a long, golden braid flung across her shoulder. Her forehead had a nasty contusion. Her left arm sported a rough and fresh abrasion. “What happened to her?”

Janice shrugged. “The custodian found her like this in the stairwell off the third floor. Out cold. She hasn’t even blinked.”

“Pulse?”

“Rapid. BP low. This was found next to her.” She handed him a large syringe.

Epinephrine, he read on the side label. Blake handed the syringe back to the nurse. With his other hand, he felt the woman’s racing pulse at her neck. Her breathing was labored. Traumatic stress? “Get her on a monitor. Are you sure she was injected?”

Janice shook her head. “It was beside her. That’s all I know.”

“Is she known to have any severe allergies?”

Janice shook her head again. “No. She’s never sick. Healthiest person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re sure nothing’s broken? You moved her?”

This time Janice nodded. “Yes, Doctor. I’m sure the orderlies were very careful. No one would want to hurt Abigail.”

Blake touched her cold cheek. “Miss Miller? Miss Miller? Wake up. I need you to tell me what happened.”

On the outside, she lay there like Sleeping Beauty. On the inside, Blake knew that her body was fighting for its life. Janice rolled up the mobile heart monitor and began to put the sensors in place. As the cold nodes stuck to her skin, Abigail awoke with a start. She sat up, gasped for air and tried to reach for Janice. “It hurts. My chest. It hurts. I can’t bre—”

The heart monitor sensors reacted with an alert.

Blake kept a firm hand on the woman’s shoulder, pushing her back down to the bed. “Prep me a dose of Inderal, stat,” he said. “She’s going into cardiac arrest.”

Just like Nicolas Hancock.

TWO

Streams of blinding white light seeped under Abigail’s heavy eyelids. Beeps and buzzes echoed in her ears. Everything around her whirled in a blurred circle. Fatigue. Nausea. Pain. Everywhere pain. Especially her head.

“Ugh.” She lifted a sore arm only to touch a nice hard knot on the front of her head. Ouch. What in the world? Where am I?

She glanced around the small space. Heart monitor. Oxygen supply. Blood-pressure gauge. Blue hospital curtain wrapped around the small bed she lay in. I’m in the Emergency Room!

“Hello.” A tall, sandy-haired man peered around the curtain at her, then stepped inside. He wore a white lab coat over a pressed blue oxford. His stethoscope and Fairview ID badge hung loosely around his opened collar.

“How are you feeling, Abigail?”

“I’m feeling a little confused.” She looked down at her limp body in the hospital bed. “I don’t remember how I got here.... I don’t know you, Doctor, do I?”

“Nope. I’m new. Jamison. Blake Jamison.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Jamison.” Her mouth was dry and it hurt to try to sit up.

“Call me Blake. Please.” He smiled. “And take it easy. You’ve had a pretty rough day. Don’t worry if you aren’t remembering everything just yet. You will.”

Her head was foggy and thick, but she tried to focus. An IV drip fed into her left hand. The doctor—Blake—sat on a stool to her right. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was a handsome man, with a nice build and a kind face.

“So, why am I here?”

“I was sort of hoping you could tell me that. Maybe once your head clears up.” He took her wrist in his hand. He studied her face as he counted her pulse. A strange and awkward sensation passed over Abby as his fingertips pressed her skin. She was unaccustomed to the touch of a man and especially that of a fancy Englischer.

“I didn’t know Fairview was getting a new E.R. doctor. When did you start?”

“Well...I’m just here temporarily. I’m filling in for Dr. Finley.”

“Oh, right. I remember now reading something about him teaching a course in one of the hospital newsletters. I didn’t realize he would be away from the hospital for that. Do you often fill in for doctors on leave?”

“This is my first time. I have a private practice in New York. I’m just here for a change of scenery. Eight weeks. Then I’ll go back.” He released her arm. His lips pursed, as if he was thinking about something far away. “Seventy-two. Much better. You had me pretty scared there. Never a dull moment at this place.”

He used his stethoscope and listened to her breathing and her heart. Then he whipped the instrument out from his ears and again rested it like an adornment around his neck. The light scent of musky cologne wafted over her.

“Did you say never a dull moment?” She tilted her head and glanced at him sideways. “I am still at Fairview Hospital, right?”

He chuckled and started to respond when an electronic device at his waist began to vibrate. “See what I mean?”

He took the phone into his hands, silenced it, read the message and returned it to his waist. “Not important. So, how’s the head?”

“It’s a little tender.”

“I’ll have Janice bring you some Tylenol. Drink lots of fluids. Get some more rest. I’ll check back in another hour.”

“Wait. I have questions. You can’t leave yet.” She wanted more information than that. “How did I get here? Where did this bruising come from? Why am I hooked up to a heart monitor? How long was I unconscious? And why?”

His phone began to buzz again. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the screen and silenced it. “Sorry. Friends back in New York who think I’m available 24/7. Not important. Again. And that’s a lot of questions. I thought the doctor always asked the questions.”