for contact dermatitis.”
She frowned. “How does a man go from a simple skin rash to cardiac arrest?”
“Good question.” Dr. Dave sat back in his chair. “The treating physician gave him samples of diphenhydramine to take before he left and the wheezing started shortly afterward.”
“He was allergic to the anti-allergy medicine?”
“It would appear so.”
“Looks like they gave him point one cc of epinephrine to counteract his reaction to the antihistamine.” She traced her finger down the chart documentation. “Could he have an underlying heart condition? A skin infection like cellulitis can cause a rapid pulse. Or perhaps inflamed blood vessels from vasculitis?”
“Nope. His CBC results were normal. No signs of an infection anywhere.”
“Hmm.” She flipped to the patient’s labs, then went back to the history and the physical. “No food allergies? He’s not taking any meds on a regular basis?”
“None.”
“And he’s been complaining of strange scents?”
“Yes. Says he smells cinnamon and cloves all the time.”
“All right.” Difficult cases were Molly’s bread and butter. She took them as a personal challenge. “Can you please order a CT of his chest to rule out Churg-Strauss Syndrome? His bloodwork may have been normal, but inflammation of the blood vessels in his heart, lungs and skin would explain all his symptoms. Also, let’s start him on a high-dose steroid therapy.”
“CSS doesn’t have a good prognosis, does it?” Dr. Dave asked, his tone concerned.
“For patients diagnosed and treated quickly the life expectancy is five years. Untreated, Mr. Templeton would have a year at most. Of course there’s always the chance this isn’t autoimmune-related.”
“You’re the expert, Dr. Flynn. I’ll get these orders to the staff right away.” Dr. Dave smiled—the kind of fond grin she’d always wanted from her own father but never received. “You look so much like your dad.”
Molly clasped her hands atop the file on her lap. Looks were about the only thing she and her father had in common. Always active, Roger Flynn expected everyone around him to adhere to his hectic schedule. To him, Molly had always been too quiet and boring, preferring to stay home and read a good book rather than operate in the jungle.
“Would you like to meet your patient now?” Dr. Dave stood and moved toward the door. “I believe your crew’s waiting for us outside Bobby’s room.”
“Of course.” She followed him out into the busy hallway. “And, please, call me Molly.”
“Okay.” He pushed the button for the elevator. “All the staff assigned to Bobby have signed the required releases except one. I’m still working on him.”
“Unfortunately anyone who doesn’t sign the forms can’t participate in the care of the patient from this point forward. My crew films whenever I’m present, to make sure we get an accurate portrayal of the process.” The elevator dinged and they boarded. “Perhaps this person can be reassigned?”
“Right.” Dr. Dave chuckled. “And perhaps polar bears will learn to tap dance.”
Molly glanced up, surprised by his sarcasm.
“This particular physician is a close friend of Bobby’s and can be...stubborn when it comes to people he considers family. I talked to him again, before you got here, but he hasn’t budged on the publicity releases. I’m afraid he prefers to keep a low profile. Dedicated workaholic, really.”
“I see.” Molly crossed her arms, wishing she’d had time to unpack her lab coat and cover up her casual travel clothes. “Well, I don’t know anything about this Dr. Ryder, or his reasons for not signing, but those rules come directly from the network. Besides, treating a close friend or family member is a conflict of interest.”
“Oh, I’m still the patient’s official care provider.”
The elevator arrived on the fourth floor and Dr. Dave held the doors, exiting after Molly.
“But Bobby signed consent forms allowing Jake full access to his medical records when he was admitted, and granted him power of attorney in case he’s incapacitated.”
Molly waited while Dr. Dave walked on ahead to the nurses’ station, to speak with a curvy Latino woman whose name tag read “Gladys.”
“Our boy available?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, Dr. Dave. He’s got company, though.”
“Dr. Ryder?”
“Yep.”
“Great.” He turned to Molly once more, his smile broad. “You’ll like Dr. Ryder. He’s a brilliant trauma surgeon, like your father. The youngest head of EM in Anchorage Mercy history. Cut his teeth on combat rescues in Afghanistan...”
Molly only half listened from that point, her mind still snagged on Dr. Dave’s earlier words.
“He’s a brilliant trauma surgeon, like your father.”
Great. Just what she needed. Roger Flynn, Version Two.
“Hey, Mol. About time you got here,” said her cameraman Rob, coming around the corner with her show’s field producer, Neal. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”
“Funny.” She smoothed her hand down her shirt, then asked Neal, “Everything all set?”
“Everything except the guy sitting in the room with the patient.”
“Molly?” Dr. Dave stood with his hand on the door. “Ready to go in?”
“Of course.” She turned to her crew. “Give me a moment.”
Resolve steeled, she followed Dr. Dave into Bobby Templeton’s room. Whatever this Dr. Ryder’s issue was with being on TV, she needed him to get over it or get out. Perhaps all those years of dealing with her father had made for good practice after all.
“Bobby, this is Dr. Molly Flynn, from Diagnosis Critical. As we discussed, she’ll be managing your case from this point forward.” Dr. Dave placed a guiding hand on Molly’s back and gave her a slight nudge. “Dr. Flynn, this is our local superstar—NWHL MVP Bobby Templeton.”
“Hey.” The burly guy gave her a small wave. “Honor to meet you. I watch your show all the time when I’m not training. My favorite episode was the one with the weird toe fungus.” His gaze darted from her to the man at his bedside. “What’s the matter, Jake? Tongue-tied around a beautiful woman?”
Dr. Dave smiled. “Dr. Flynn—this is Dr. Jake Ryder.”
She turned, her polite smile freezing then falling. Dr. Ryder was the gorgeous rescuer from the accident scene. With her luck, she should’ve guessed.
He looked different
