paused for a moment, then winced. “No children. Divorced. No future plans for anything except working.”
“And yet you complain about too much work.”
“Not complain so much as remark. We’re busy here. We needed you. Simple as that.” He chuckled. “Almost as much as you need me.”
“Well, you’ve got me there. We do need you, especially right now.”
Simon nodded. “During the flu outbreak the average wait time was an hour per patient. Which is too long for a sick kid to have to sit there and wait.”
“See, you could have told me that right off.”
“Pent-up frustrations,” he said. “I’ve been working hard.”
“I can see that.” She smiled at him. “Well, you’re right. An hour is too long. We like to guarantee no more than twenty minutes. Shorter if we can get away with it.”
“Sorry about my attitude, but all I could picture in my mind was you sitting at home playing with your baby when we had patients lined up in the hallways.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t all play. Babies require a lot of work.”
“I know, I know. I’m think I’m just tired... I know it must have been hard work, especially on your own,” he said.
“So how about we get off to a fresh start? Hello, I’m Del Carson and you’re...”
“Simon Michaels.” He held out his hand to shake hers and they both smiled. “So how was your maternity leave?”
“Great. I hated for it to be over with but all good things must end. So, how many patients do we have to see this morning?”
“About twenty, barring emergencies.”
She nodded. “I’ll grab some charts and get started.”
“And after I get my foot out of my mouth, I’ll do the same.”
Del laughed. “You were right up to a point. I was entitled to my maternity leave and I don’t regret taking it. But things shouldn’t have gotten so out of control here at the clinic. Someone should have called me and I might have been able to get a couple of our specialists out here to help with the overflow.”
“I tried,” Simon confessed, “but I’ll admit my attitude might have been better.”
“I didn’t read anything about a bad attitude in your application or your letters of recommendation. And even though I never met you until just a few minutes ago, I called your superiors in Boston and they gave you glowing reviews.”
“Probably anxious to get me out of there. I’m a pretty fair doctor but I do let things get to me too easily, I suppose. You know, take it all too personally.”
“We all do at times. And I suppose especially the newcomer who’s being the logical target.” For a moment, a softness flashed through his eyes.
“Six months is a long time to be away.”
“Not long enough,” she replied. “I was actually thinking about another six, but I love my work as much as you seem to love yours. So I came back.”
“Straight into the arms of a disgruntled employee.”
“Nice, sturdy arms, though. And I’m willing to bet they hold no grudges.”
“Me? Hold a grudge?” He laughed outright. “Grudge is my middle name. Ask my ex-wife.”
“Think I’ll stay out of the family problems.”
“So, I understand you’re raising your baby all on your own.”
“Yes, it’s just Charlie and me but that’s the way I planned it.”
“Well, I suppose that’s the way to do it if you want to keep your autonomy.”
“More like my sanity.” They meandered down the hall to the clinic’s nursing hub and she picked up the first chart off the stack. “And contrary to popular belief, I am sane.”
“Reasonable, too, dealing with me as diplomatically as you have this morning. I must confess that when I heard you were coming back I put together some mighty well-chosen words for you.”
“So I noticed,” she said as she opened the chart and looked at the info contained inside. “But they could have been worse.” The first patient was a child named Sam with some sort of rash. Her first fear was a communicable rash and her next fear was that she might transfer something to Charlie. Truth was, if she didn’t get over her irrational fears, she wasn’t going to be any good as a pediatrician anymore. Most kids that came in were communicable and if she worried about carrying something home to her baby every time she came into contact with a sick kid, she’d drive herself crazy. Plus there was also the possibility that she might be too cautious to make a proper diagnosis. Obsession. That was what it was called. She had an obsession, and she wondered for a moment if she should seek professional help for it. But the instant she stepped in Sam’s exam room and saw the rash she knew the poor kid was miserable. He was obviously allergic to something with which he was coming into contact.
“Does it hurt or itch?” she asked him.
“He scratches it like crazy,” Sam’s mother answered as Sam’s eyes filled with big, fat tears.
“When did it start?”
“Three days ago?”
“What happened three days ago that changed his routine?”
“Nothing except...we went picking pumpkins in the pumpkin patch for Halloween. He’s not allergic to pumpkins, is he?”
“You’ve had pumpkins in your house before?”
“Every year,” the mother replied.
“And what about the pumpkin patch?”
“This was our first year to go.”
“I’m betting the rash is connected to the pumpkin plant.”
“He’s allergic to the plant?”
“Has there been anything else new introduced in his life since the rash popped up?”
“Not that I can think of,” the mother answered, a frown on her face indicating she was thinking. “No new food, no new clothes, my laundry detergent hasn’t changed.”
“Then for now, let’s go on the assumption that he has an allergy to the actual pumpkin plant and if the rash doesn’t clear up in a few days or it comes back we’ll investigate other possibilities and take some tests. For now, I’d rather save him the trouble, though. So, any of the over-the-counter hydrocortisone creams will help with the rash, and I’m going to give him a shot today that should speed things along.”
She looked down at Sam, who looked back at her with big, sad eyes. “Will it hurt?” he asked.
